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“But how did he know you?”
Kenyon shrugged helplessly.
“I don’t know. But he seemed to know all about me and my business. And he said, ‘I’ve heard you might be interested in fifty thousand barrels at thirty-two-point-five.’ Hell, of course I was. That was ten dollars under market.”
“You say he seemed to know all about your business?” Yung asked.
Doherty gave him a dirty look and held up his hand to silence any reply from Kenyon.
“State your name and occupation and then repeat the question,” Doherty ordered.
“Special Agent David W. Yung, Jr., FBI, on assignment to the Office of Operational Analysis,” Yung said. “Mr. Kenyon, you say the man, Lionel Cassidy, who came to you seemed to know all about you and your business?”
“Yes, He did.”
“I’m going to show you a photograph, Mr. Kenyon, and ask if you can tell me who it is,” Yung said.
Kenyon looked at the photograph.
“Yeah, that’s Cassidy all right. The sonofabitch who sucked me into this mess.”
“This is Inspector Doherty. Special Agent Yung showed Mr. Kenyona five-by-seven-inch clear color photograph of a white male approximately forty-five years of age, approximately five feet eleven inches tall, and weighing approximately one hundred sixty-five pounds. Mr. Kenyon identified the man in the photograph as Lionel Cassidy. The man in the photograph is well known to me, Special Agent Yung, and Colonel Castillo by anoth
er name, which we know is his real name. That name is not germane to this interview.”
“I’m telling you he told me his name was Cassidy, Lionel Cassidy,” Kenyon said, plaintively. “Why should I lie to you about that?”
“No one is suggesting that you’re lying, Mr. Kenyon,” Doherty said. “So what did you do when Mr. Cassidy offered you fifty thousand barrels of oil at thirty-two dollars and fifty cents per barrel?”
“Well, I was suspicious at first, but…”
“And now we turn to the contribution you made to the Aari-Teg mosque,” Doherty said, a half hour later. “Why did you do that?”
“Well, I certainly didn’t want to,” Kenyon said. “And I had no idea—I said this before but I’ll say it again—I had no idea there was any kind of a terrorist connection whatever.”
“So tell me what happened,” Doherty said.
“It was in Cozumel,” Kenyon said. “I took the family down there for a little sun and sea, you know. And Cassidy was there.”
“Castillo,” Castillo interjected. “Where in Cozumel was this, Mr. Kenyon?”
“You mean the hotel?”
Castillo nodded.
“Grand Cozumel Beach and Golf Resort,” Kenyon said.
“Go on,” Castillo said.
“Well, I saw Cassidy at the beach and at the bar. I know he saw me, but there was no sign of recognition so I left it there. That was fine with me.”
“Did you happen to notice anyone with Cassidy?”
“Yeah. He was with a guy, about his age. Talked funny.”
“A Russian accent, maybe?” Castillo asked.
“Could be, Charley.”
