her johns went, what they liked, whom they met or talked to, what they said about their jobs or personal lives, things like that. In her line of work it did not pay to ask questions.
But Marie-Claude was shocked when she heard about Meshad’s murder the next day from another professional. She was frightened. For one thing, she worried whether the authorities would try to blame her. And might the people who killed Meshad come after her next? Panicked, she called the Paris police. The investigating officers interviewed her. Magalle told the inspectors about the male voices she had overheard. Not sure what to make of her story, the police took her passport and restricted her to Paris as a material witness. Several weeks later the lead inspector contacted Magalle and instructed her to come to police headquarters on July 12 for a follow-up interview. Two days before her appointment, on the evening of July 10, Marie-Claude was working a busy corner on Boulevard St-Germain on the Rive Gauche. A black Mercedes pulled up across the street. The man inside beckoned to her. As she crossed the street, another black Mercedes jumped out from the curb and, racing down the boulevard, ran straight into the hooker, sending her careening off the hood. She was dead before she hit the asphalt. In a scenario reminiscent of the mysterious black car that had sideswiped the pretty young girl outside the shipping warehouse at La Seyne-sur-Mer months earlier, the Mercedes and the driver were never seen again. Witnesses could not even remember clearly in what direction the car had headed after striking Magalle. Meshad’s murder would go unsolved, if not unforgotten.
The French, however, soon had new mysteries to investigate. Before he had been sent to prison, Khidhir Hamza’s onetime boss, Jaffar Jaffar, had begun pursuing a two-track process to create fissionable, bomb-grade uranium: while construction on Osirak was being completed, Jaffar would also begin work on the method pioneered by the Americans working on “Little Boy,” one of the atomic bombs developed during World War II—magnetic enrichment. This alternate enrichment process uses huge electromagnets to separate uranium isotopes, known as EMIS for electromagnetic isotope separation, inundating the U235 with radioactive neutrons, making it suitable for bomb-grade fuel.
Salman Rashid, a bright, energetic young electrical engineer who had studied in Britain, was recruited to work with Jaffar on designing a huge electromagnet for the uranium enrichment. It was a tough assignment since much of the research was still classified in the West. Making things worse, neither Jaffar nor Rashid was particularly strong in mathematics, and the two encountered a good deal of trouble handling the very involved design calculations. The Iraqi NRC contracted with a Swedish company in Geneva, Brown Boveri, to help Rashid with the design.
About a month after Meshad was killed, Rashid set off for Geneva for a two-month research fellowship, accompanied by an Iraqi security officer and a half dozen assistants. It soon became clear to everyone involved in nuclear research in Geneva that Rashid was interested solely in magnetic enrichment. The week before he was due to return, the young electrical engineer suddenly came down with the flu. It was a particularly virulent case. Rashid was having trouble swallowing, and soon he began to bloat, his neck and jowls becoming alarmingly swollen. He was admitted to the American Hospital in Geneva, but the staff physicians were stumped. An Iraqi doctor was summoned, but he, too, could not identify the virus. No one had seen this kind of flu before. Six days after experiencing the first symptoms, Rashid was dead. An autopsy seemed to point to some kind of poisoning, though the exact agent could not be isolated.
The security officer insisted Rashid was never out of his sight, but colleagues admitted that the young scientist had frequented the many bars and restaurants in
But Marie-Claude was shocked when she heard about Meshad’s murder the next day from another professional. She was frightened. For one thing, she worried whether the authorities would try to blame her. And might the people who killed Meshad come after her next? Panicked, she called the Paris police. The investigating officers interviewed her. Magalle told the inspectors about the male voices she had overheard. Not sure what to make of her story, the police took her passport and restricted her to Paris as a material witness. Several weeks later the lead inspector contacted Magalle and instructed her to come to police headquarters on July 12 for a follow-up interview. Two days before her appointment, on the evening of July 10, Marie-Claude was working a busy corner on Boulevard St-Germain on the Rive Gauche. A black Mercedes pulled up across the street. The man inside beckoned to her. As she crossed the street, another black Mercedes jumped out from the curb and, racing down the boulevard, ran straight into the hooker, sending her careening off the hood. She was dead before she hit the asphalt. In a scenario reminiscent of the mysterious black car that had sideswiped the pretty young girl outside the shipping warehouse at La Seyne-sur-Mer months earlier, the Mercedes and the driver were never seen again. Witnesses could not even remember clearly in what direction the car had headed after striking Magalle. Meshad’s murder would go unsolved, if not unforgotten.
The French, however, soon had new mysteries to investigate. Before he had been sent to prison, Khidhir Hamza’s onetime boss, Jaffar Jaffar, had begun pursuing a two-track process to create fissionable, bomb-grade uranium: while construction on Osirak was being completed, Jaffar would also begin work on the method pioneered by the Americans working on “Little Boy,” one of the atomic bombs developed during World War II—magnetic enrichment. This alternate enrichment process uses huge electromagnets to separate uranium isotopes, known as EMIS for electromagnetic isotope separation, inundating the U235 with radioactive neutrons, making it suitable for bomb-grade fuel.
Salman Rashid, a bright, energetic young electrical engineer who had studied in Britain, was recruited to work with Jaffar on designing a huge electromagnet for the uranium enrichment. It was a tough assignment since much of the research was still classified in the West. Making things worse, neither Jaffar nor Rashid was particularly strong in mathematics, and the two encountered a good deal of trouble handling the very involved design calculations. The Iraqi NRC contracted with a Swedish company in Geneva, Brown Boveri, to help Rashid with the design.
About a month after Meshad was killed, Rashid set off for Geneva for a two-month research fellowship, accompanied by an Iraqi security officer and a half dozen assistants. It soon became clear to everyone involved in nuclear research in Geneva that Rashid was interested solely in magnetic enrichment. The week before he was due to return, the young electrical engineer suddenly came down with the flu. It was a particularly virulent case. Rashid was having trouble swallowing, and soon he began to bloat, his neck and jowls becoming alarmingly swollen. He was admitted to the American Hospital in Geneva, but the staff physicians were stumped. An Iraqi doctor was summoned, but he, too, could not identify the virus. No one had seen this kind of flu before. Six days after experiencing the first symptoms, Rashid was dead. An autopsy seemed to point to some kind of poisoning, though the exact agent could not be isolated.
The security officer insisted Rashid was never out of his sight, but colleagues admitted that the young scientist had frequented the many bars and restaurants in
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