The bell over the door chimed as Teddy entered the secondhand bookstore. He closed the door behind him and squinted in the near dark. It was a dusty, musty place, the type where old paperbacks that could be had four for a dollar on the city sidewalk were packed in plastic sleeves and went for five, ten, or even twenty bucks apiece. The type of store where a tattered volume of worthless text sat side by side with a priceless signed first edition of an early Ernest Hemingway.
Teddy pawed through a stack of books, waiting for the shopkeeper to emerge from the back.
The owner, a little old man named Saul, had greedy eyes. He sized Teddy up, said, “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like a first edition of The Maltese Falcon.”
Saul practically salivated. His look became shrewd. “How much are you willing to pay?”
“Depends on the condition.”
“But of course.”
“Do you have one?”
“You have to understand. No one has a copy of a first edition of The Maltese Falcon lying around. But I can make a few calls and facilitate the transaction. If my shop were full of rare books, I would be robbed. So my shop is not full of rare books. My shop is full of books that are not worth stealing.”
Saul realized he’d gone too far. “I don’t mean they’re not worth stealing. I mean they would have to be stolen in bulk to generate the type of revenue a rare book such as you mention would bring. How soon do you need the book?”
“Actually, I have some time. There’s something else I need right away.”
“What’s that?”
“CIA credentials.”
Saul’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
“You don’t know me, Saul? Good.”
“Teddy?” Saul was amazed. “I thought you were dead.”
“Good thinking. Keep thinking that and we’ll have no problem.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re a smart man, Saul. You’ll figure it out.”
Teddy and Saul went way back. Teddy had stepped in and saved Saul’s skin when the little forger was trapped between an irate client on the one hand and the U.S. government on the other. The solution Teddy came up with would have done justice to a Solomon. Saul had paid him back by teaching him some of the techniques Teddy had put to good use in the course of his checkered career.
Saul sized Teddy up. “You want credentials? Of course you don’t want credentials, you could make them yourself. You wouldn’t come to me unless you had no access to the equipment, a position you would not place yourself in, unless you were in trouble. In which case you would not be here in D.C., because you’re dead and you’d like to stay dead. So what do you really want?”
“Information.”
Saul raised his hands, grimaced. “This is not what I sell. I would not stay in business long if my transactions weren’t secure. How would you like it if I made you a passport for two thousand dollars and sold that information for five? You would not like it, and you would be inclined to let me know of your displeasure.”
“How old are you, Saul?”
“Eighty-nine.”
“Like to make ninety?”
“Teddy. We’re friends. We go way back. I help you, you help me, it is a nice arrangement. I thought that arrangement had reached a natural conclusion. I was obviously misinformed. I am delighted you wish to renew our friendship. Please, how can I be of assistance to you?”
“Tell me about the CIA credentials.”
“The ones you don’t wish to buy?”
“The ones you already made, recently. Assuming you made only one. Or did you make more?”
“No, no. Just the one.”
“Who did you make them for?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s less than helpful, Saul. That’s not the answer of a friend.”
“I know the name on the credentials, but I doubt if it’s his.”
“What would that be?”
“Martin Stark.”
“Martin Stark?”
“Yes.”
“So you immediately traced the name to see if there was a Martin Stark of his description, and, if so, if there was anything in his background to be worth some money.”
“Teddy. Would I do that?”
“I know you would. I’m asking if you did.”
“There is no Martin Stark. That’s why I feel confident telling you I don’t know him.”
“So. When you made the ID for him, did he give you a photo, or did you take one?”
“He had a photo.”
“Did you make a copy?”
“I tried. He watched me too closely.”
“What did he look like?”
“Clean-cut. Middle Eastern features. Well-dressed. Could easily pass for CIA. He had that cold, brusque manner, like he expected people to do what he said.”
“Is that how you see us, Saul?”
“No reason to get huffy. That’s not you anymore. You quit.”
Teddy slid the photo of the man with the SUV across the counter. “Is this him?”
Saul peered at it, shrugged. “Could be. It’s hard to tell from that picture.”
Teddy picked it up and put down the photo of Lance’s shooter suspect. “How about him?”
Saul picked it up. His hand trembled. He put it down and shook his head. “Wasn’t him.”
“Have you seen this man before?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Are you sure, Saul?”
“This man was never in my shop. Of that I’m sure. It was probably the other one.”
“Uh-huh. Do you know who this man is?”
“Is he the shooter?”
“Why do you say that, Saul?”
“Teddy. It’s me, Saul. You think I don’t know a surveillance video photo when I see one?”
“He’s a person of interest, Saul. I’d like to know more about him. Are you sure you’ve never seen him before?”
“Teddy, I swear.”
“Don’t make me cross-examine you, Saul. The photo shook you. Have you ever seen this man’s photo before?”
Saul sighed. All the resistance seemed to ooze out of him. “The man who was in my shop. He gave me this man’s ID photo.”
“You made two CIA credentials?”
“No.”
“What did you make?”
“A driver’s license.”
“I see. So ever since the shooting you’ve been sweating bricks. If you didn’t know everything there was to know about this man then, I’ll bet you moved heaven and earth to find out.”
“There’s nothing to find. Believe me, I tried.”
“What’s his name?”
“The name on the driver’s license was Nehan Othman. But it’s not his name.”
“How do you know?”
“If it was his own name, he wouldn’t need me. He could simply get a driver’s license.”
“Unless he couldn’t drive.”
“I suppose. Still, it is not as easy to get a license for a man who doesn’t exist.” Saul laughed. “As if I should be telling you.”
“But you checked it anyway?”
“Of course. There is no one by that name.”
“No, there wouldn’t be.”
“Are you sure he is the shooter?”
“It looks like it.”
“I’m sorry if I helped him in any way.” Saul shrugged. “But how was I to know?”
Teddy shook his head. “I’m sure it helps you to believe that.”