Georgetown
“You’re late.” Nicole watched her father come through the door and hang his overcoat on a hook.
“Not late, just giving you two a little time to get acquainted. Any tea left?” Elijah rubbed his hands together. “It’s cold out there. Actually, I could do with a little nightcap. Care to join me, Doctor?”
Matt sat at the kitchen table drinking hot tea with Nicole. Their love making, born of fright and survival, had been both passionate and cathartic.
It’s starting. “Care to join me, Doctor?” Matt repeated the phrase loudly. “You can’t believe how many times I’ve heard that.”
“And what did you usually reply?” Eli asked, glancing at Nicole. She looked away.
“Make mine a double Scotch, neat.” The words sprang so easily to his lips. This time, however, he hesitated. An old Robert Frost poem, a favorite of his mother’s, floated into his mind: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I took the one least traveled by, and that has made all the difference in the world.
Matt held up his tea mug. “This’ll do fine.”
“Suit yourself. I’ve got some great single malt Speyside scotch. A high-quality distillery called Glenrothes. It’s 1987 vintage scotch.” He moved toward a cupboard where he kept his special stash.
Matt’s gaze followed hungrily. Elijah reached deep inside a cabinet and pulled out the pinch bottle of amber nectar.
Nicole headed out of the kitchen. “It’s your life. What’s left of it.”
“Seriously. I’ll take a rain check, Eli. I’m still not feeling quite right after the surgery and drugs.” Matt finished his tea. “In fact, I think I’ll turn in. Thanks for helping me out. I’m glad I didn’t blow up.”
“Me too, Dr. Richards. Any friend of Nicole’s is a friend of mine.” Elijah Tajikian poured himself a generous two fingers of scotch. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do next? They’ll keep coming after you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I really don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.”
“Listen, I’ve worked with these types for too many years. I know how they think and move. To them you’re a dangerous and uncontrollable element. You know too much. They won’t rest until they eliminate you.”
Matt sat back down at the kitchen table. “What are you saying?”
Elijah gave a weary smile. “Two things really. Personally, I’m going to sleep with one eye open tonight. But you need to realize you’re the only one who can stop them. You’re the one person who has half a chance of finding this terrorist cell and exposing it. And you may be able to expose the bastards who stole your face as well.”
Matt’s hands began to shake. God I need a drink. “You’re right. I can’t help thinking that I might be able to save the life of the President-does that sound absurd?”
“It does. But in this case it’s probably accurate.” Elijah sat down across the table from Matt and swirled the warm, soothing nectar in his glass. “Let me give you some advice. The only way you’ll think straight is to forget about the consequences. Forget someone might be trying to kill you. Dwell on that stuff and it’ll interfere with any rational thought. It’s like playing soccer. If your mind is cluttered up you won’t perform at your peak. The great Brazilian star, Pele, once said, ‘A full mind means an empty net’. You’ve got to treat this as a puzzle and simply go about solving it. Forget about everything else.”
Nicole came back into the kitchen. “So if this were just a simple exercise to find your old Beirut friends what’s the first thing you would do?” she asked, sitting down at the table.
“Well, I’d probably visit Dr. Martin Thomas. He was our faculty advisor at AUB. His job was to make certain everyone behaved and came back in one piece. He got to know all of us pretty well. And funny enough, I just saw him before…” Matt touched his face. “He hosted the reception for the new personal physician to the President.”
Elijah finished his scotch. “So why not drop in on him? See if you can learn something useful about your fellow students at AUB.”
Nicole nodded. “You can review your Beirut diary. I’ll drive you over to the National Institutes of Health. I’ll call up first thing in the morning; make an appointment under my name. As a reporter I can almost always con my way into an interview.”
Matt felt suddenly uncomfortable. “Yeah. Good idea. But for now I think I’ll turn in.”
When the door closed upstairs, Elijah Tajikian turned to his daughter. “That man’s got problems,” he said, pouring another two fingers of scotch. “And I don’t just mean his face transplant or the people who are after him. He’s got a deeper problem. Something’s eating at him. It’s in his eyes. There’s incredible talent yet it seems encased in an unnatural amount of insecurity and fear. Like he’s running away from something.” The old man shrugged, “But I like him. He’s solid at the core, just frayed at the edges.”
“Can we keep him alive?”
Elijah sipped the scotch. “Let’s hope so.”
Nicole moved to where her father was sitting and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I know I haven’t been the greatest daughter but I’d appreciate it if you could help Matt. He has no idea what he’s caught up in. And he’s totally inexperienced and naive.”
“In the ugly side of politics perhaps. But his love life seems to be on target.”
Nicole smiled. “And how would you know?”
Her father raised his eyebrows.
“Okay. So I like him. Don’t ask why because I don’t know. Maybe he’s just quirky enough to be the man for me.” She gave her father a kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll do some checking around,” Elijah said. “Talk to some old spooks. See if I can’t find out something. But we need to be careful. If not tonight then certainly by tomorrow they’ll be looking for you.”
“Goodnight, Dad,” Nicole said. He locked up his house. Inside one of the kitchen cupboards he flicked a small, nondescript switch, activating sensor pads installed around the property. He took the receiver unit upstairs to his bedroom, checked his. 45 caliber semi-automatic pistol and placed in on the nightstand.
“Matt,” Nicole whispered, “can I come in?”
“Sure.”
She walked over to the side of the bed, paused, and then crawled in beside him. Her lithe body touched his and a momentary charge passed between them. “You’re warm,” she said.
“And you feel really good.”
“But something is wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Matt, you must believe me. I’m on your side, but – “
“But what?”
“I can’t help notice you’ve been avoiding reading your diary.”
He stroked her long hair. “True.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Matt’s hand moved tenderly across her silk night gown. “That’s a lovely fragrance you’re wearing.”
“Dr. Richards.”
His hand withdrew. “I’m afraid to read the diary because of what I was then and what I am now.”
“But you were young. Having big dreams and idealistic notions are normal at that age.”
His smile was bitter. “And now?”
“Okay, let’s hit it head on. In 1968 you were cocky and brash. Today you’re worn and cynical. Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“I’ve made a mess of my life, Nicole. It’s hard to face. And reading that diary will make it pretty clear what a jerk I’ve become.” He buried his head next to her shoulder.
She stroked his forehead. “Did you ever hear the story of the Scotsman who went out partying one night and was so drunk he fell asleep under a tree on his way home?”
“What?”
“Well, you obviously haven’t. Anyway, about an hour later along came sweet Mary down the lane. She sees this big bloke passed out under a tree, with his kilt up around his neck. So she took off one of her hair ribbons and tied it around his big Willy. The next morning he wakes up, staggers over to the side of the lane to take a pee and notices a blue ribbon tied around his rather large member. At first he was amazed. Then he thought for a moment. ‘I don’ know where ye been, laddie, but I’m pleased ta see ya won first prize.’”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he laughed.
“What I’m trying to say, Dr. Matthew Richards, is that you’re a great man.
Matt smiled. “That’s laying it on a bit thick.”
“Not so. You’ve got courage and compassion, I’ve witnessed it. You also have a keen sense of right and wrong.”
“So pluck up my courage and read the journal. Is that what this pep talk is all about?”
She kissed him. “I liked the way you turned down dad’s double scotch.”
“It wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
“I know that. Now read the journal.” She climbed out of the bed.
“Do you have to go just now?”
“We both need some real sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
For the first time in over thirty years Matt opened the leather journal. He thumbed through the pages, barely recognizing the neat handwriting as his own. One page, three-quarters through the book, had a purposefully bent corner. He stopped there. The entry was dated February 3, 1969. A fabulous weekend of skiing in the mountains above Beirut. He read a few pages, devouring the details of a long-ago life in a faraway place. After half an hour of reading he fell into a deep sleep beset by troubling dreams.
Beirut, February, 1969
“What say we stop for coffee?” Demetrie Antonopolis pulled the silver Mercedes off the winding mountain road and into the village of Basharri. “We’ve skied hard all weekend. I need a pick-me-up before driving the rest of the way down the mountain.”
“Fine with me,” said Matt. Maha opened one eye and looked out to see where they were. Brian Walker and Susan Miller were fast asleep in the back seat. The big green land cruiser, carrying Samir, Bedouina, Todd Cummings and Anne-Marie Khoury pulled off the road just behind them.
“This is Basharri, isn’t it?” Maha sat up fully awake.
Demetrie nodded. “Basharri. Birthplace of the mystical poet Khalil Gibran. There’s also an ancient Maronite monastery carved into the side of the cliff.”
“Who or what are Maronites?” asked Matt.
“Early Christians,” Maha said. “They gathered around a priest named Maron and adopted his monastic way of life. They were connected to the Roman Catholic See, and even established a Maronite College in Rome. The Maronites were heavily persecuted by the Ottomans and the other non-Christian invaders of Lebanon, but the Pope didn’t show much interest in their plight.”
“Nothing new there,” Matt said.
“As a result of endless persecution they retreated for several centuries into a 1,000-meter-deep gorge in the Kannoubine Valley, right below us. They built monasteries in the cliffs and grew crops on the valley floor. The history of the Maronites is one of struggle to preserve their Christian faith amid the growing influence of Islam.”
“We can climb down to the monastery,” said Demetrie. “I’ve been there before. It’s fabulous-an entire complex carved into rock.”
“I need some coffee first,” Brian grumbled, waking up in the back seat.
After coffee they set off down a narrow path that negotiated the cliff face in ever tightening turns. They picked their way down about seventy meters to a small landing. A rock archway marked the entrance to the ancient monastery, long since abandoned. The last rays of the sun could be seen far out in the Mediterranean as darkness rolled over the tops of the mountains. With flashlights taken from the car they lit the way through the arch and into the first series of elaborate caves.
Matt aimed his flashlight at the ceiling. Immediately, colorful murals of holy men, angels and a floating figure of Christ erupted before them.
“It’s lovely,” Maha gasped. “I’ve always read how special these monasteries were; now I know why.”
Anne-Marie grabbed Todd’s hand. “Just imagine how difficult it must have been to carve these monasteries out of the cliff face-and while they were hiding from enemies.”
“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” said Bedouina. “There’s still religious persecution, only this time it’s the Jews persecuting the Palestinians. And the Palestinians don’t have monasteries to hide in. Just dusty refugee camps with open-air toilets.”
“Relax and have a beer, Bedouina,” Matt said, breaking open a six pack of Amstel.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Demetrie said, producing a leather pouch carried on a cord inside his shirt. Ceremoniously, he took out a dark block of hashish. Besides being a graduate student in biology, Demetrie was also the local supplier of “killer hash” which he smoked several times a day. Matt wondered how he could function as well as he did, let alone drive.
They watched as Demetrie set the block down on the cold stone floor, drew his thumbs across the top, and peeled off a thin layer of the fibrous hallucinogenic weed. Rolling the wad of hemp between his fingers, he then wrapped a double size cigarette paper around its moist oblong shape. In seconds it was lit and on its way around the group seated on the floor.
Maha and Bedouina were the only ones who abstained. Matt at first refused, arguing that a beer was good enough for him but finally gave in to the urging of Todd and Brian. He took a small puff and held it in his lungs. At first nothing happened and he gave the thumbs up sign. In the next instant he was doubled over in a fit of coughing. “Look you guys, I’m a drinker, not a smoker,” he protested. After more prodding from his friends, he finally inhaled deeply and tried to hold the pungent smoke inside his lungs, but it was no use-again he exhaled, his mouth spewing out thick white smoke, his lungs on fire, his eyes watering. “Shit,” he managed between coughing and spitting. “And you call this cool?”
As the fat joint made its way around the circle Demetrie was busily preparing a second one. Within minutes, a mellow mood descended on the nine students seated on the floor of the ancient monastery. Matt, recovered from his coughing spasm, downed two beers and tried to cool his throat.
“So what’s this crazy world coming to?” said Todd, the first to speak up after a long lull. “I mean is the Middle East going to be the crucible for world destruction?”
“If you believe that spook William Fisher we’re all doomed to be dragged into a holy mega-war.” Brian Walker reached for a beer. “God this shit makes me thirsty.”
“It’s all right for you Americans to have a few joints, drink and complain about conditions here in the Middle East,” sighed Bedouina. “It won’t be long before you jump on a plane and fly back to America and your safe lives. In the meantime we’re stuck here waiting for the Israelis to attack again like they did at the airport in December. Only this time they’ll probably drop a nuclear bomb.”
Matt could barely understand the conversation as it bounced back and forth. His ears were ringing and his mind had morphed into a nonsensical kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, smells and images. He downed another beer, trying to stop the onslaught of images as Maha rocked him back and forth in her arms. Matt vaguely recognized Karl Mitchell and T. J. among the sea of faces; everything seemed surreal and disjointed. Sometime later, he opened his eyes as two older men joined the group.
The next day, trying to recall the events of that evening he couldn’t determine whether they had been real or just drug induced hallucinations. The strangers were introduced by Demetrie as true patriots of the struggle of the Palestinian people. Matt vaguely recalled something about an organization, a red and white keffiyeh, and two names-Mohammed and Yassar.
Washington, DC
The clock on the nightstand registered 6 A.M. when Nicole slipped into bed with him. “I couldn’t sleep very well without you,” she confessed, wrapping her arms around his warm body.
“I tried to read my journal,” Matt said groggily, rolling over and caressing her hair. “I must have fallen asleep. I don’t recall much.”
They kissed, seeking each other’s caress. A few moments later Matt fell back asleep. “Boy, have I got a great effect on men.” she murmured, climbing out of bed. Her toe struck the leather journal on the floor. She picked it up and silently closed the door.
Elijah was rummaging around in the kitchen. “So how’s Prince Charming?” He put a pot of coffee on the table. Nicole tightened her bathrobe to ward off the early morning chill.
“Comatose,” she smiled, pouring herself a steaming hot mug and wrapping her hands around its warmth.
“It’s nice having you here,” Eli said, avoiding her eyes. “It’s like things used to be…”
“Thanks for the sentiment but we’re both a little old to be playing family,” Nicole said. “And in case you don’t remember it was never like this. You were always gone. Mom worried you’d disappear forever during one of your clandestine forays.” Nicole caught herself too late-she could see the hurt in the old man’s face. He turned toward the sink and rattled a few dishes.
Nicole went to him. “I’m sorry, Dad. That just came out. You’re right. We can enjoy the fact that we’re together now. Like I said to Matt the past should be filed in a dusty folder called ancient history.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“I’m going to have my coffee and skim Matt’s journal. Why don’t you take a shower and get dressed? I’ll whip up some bacon and eggs for breakfast. Then I want you to read some of this stuff before he wakes up.” Nicole gave him a gentle push out of the kitchen.
Instead of leaving, Eli walked over to the kitchen cupboard and reached in the back.
“I hope you’re not having scotch at this hour.”
He withdrew a manila envelope closed with tape. Her name was written on it. “This is for you to open and read in case anything ever happens to me,” he said. “I suggest you put it in a safe deposit box somewhere, but only open it after I’m dead.”
Tears welled up. “What’s this all about, Dad?”
“It’s my life. I’ve written it all down over the past few years since I left the agency. There aren’t many national secrets in there, at least not anymore. I wanted you to know where I was and what I was doing during those times I wasn’t there for you and your mother. You should know. There are also a few other things in there that could be useful.” He turned to go.
“Well it’s gonna be a long time before I ever need to read this.” She watched him walk up the stairs. The manila envelope bulged as it lay on the table.
Later that morning, Matt Richards strolled into the kitchen, clean and dressed. “I feel like a new man.” He sat down at the table and accepted a cup of coffee from Nicole. His eyes darkened as he noticed Eli reading his journal.
Eli looked up. “Hope you don’t mind, Matt? That was quite a year you spent in Beirut. There are several big names in here-Martin Thomas, William Fisher, Brian Walker. Thomas is head of the National Institutes of Health, Fisher’s one of the top guys at the National Security Agency, and Walker’s a radical law professor at Berkeley. At least he was. He was killed about a month ago while giving a speech.”
Matt’s coffee mug hit the table hard. “Brian’s dead-what happened?”
“It was in all the newspapers. It happened during a protest demonstration about a month after the suicide attack on the President. Professor Walker was addressing a meeting of Palestinian-Americans at the Long Beach Convention Center. There was a large group of protestors gathered outside. They were pretty evenly divided into two opposing camps. Anyway at some point the crowd got out of control and broke into the convention center. Some of the demonstrators had clubs and knives and quite a few people were killed. Shots were fired. Brian Walker’s body was found lying behind the lectern, a bullet hole in his head.”
Matt sat still, remembering his young friend, the energy and idealism he exuded. Please let it be a coincidence.
“Matt?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay? I shouldn’t have unloaded like that.”
“No, Eli. I needed to know.”
“There’s more.”
Oh shit. “So let’s hear it all.”
“I hang out occasionally with some retired FBI types. We have a drink now and then, swap bullshit stories and try to keep abreast of things. For old times sake.”
Matt nodded.
“Seems the two security guards assigned to Professor Walker mysteriously disappeared. Their families don’t even know where they are,” Eli said.
Matt rubbed his forehead. The stitches itched worse at the moment and his head throbbed.
“After reading this journal and hearing your story I don’t think Brian Walker’s death was an accident, or a coincidence.”
“So you think someone may be trying to eliminate all the people I was with in Beirut?”
“Looks like it.” Elijah sneaked a glance at his daughter.
“Do you think Brian was a member of a terrorist cell?”
“No Matt, I don’t. But he may have known enough from his Beirut days to get himself killed.”
“That means others could be singled out.” But who? And why? “I have to find them – warn them.”
“There’s also a chance one or more of them are a part of this cell,” Nicole put in.
“And,” Eli added, “there could be more than one group after you and your friends; the terrorist cell which doesn’t want to be exposed, and those hunting them.”
“After thirty-five years, how can I know which of my old friends might be involved in this?”
“Look, Matt,” Nicole said. “It’s impossible to know whom to trust. You could be walking right into a trap. You don’t have to do this. Right Dad? Isn’t there someone in the agency we could go to? Matt’s not equipped for this.”
“No.” Eli paused. “There’s a good chance the CIA’s involved or at least some piece of it. And someone high up in the other agencies may be part of this network as well. You have to understand that trust is a commodity with these people-it’s regularly bought and sold, according to the vagaries of global politics and the highest bidder. The only thing you can trust are your instincts.”
Matt nodded. “Eli, I’ve been thinking about this. The best person to start with is Dr. Thomas. And he lives and works right here in Washington.”
“I called his office at the NIH this morning.” Nicole replied. “When I pressed for an appointment his secretary blew me off.”
“Give me the phone.” Matt dialed the number and waited. He sipped his now cold coffee. “Hello, I’d like to get an important message to Dr. Martin Thomas…yes… Tell him that Dr. Wilson Richards, an old colleague of his, is in town just for the day…” Matt listened while he made circles with his finger on the table. “Yes, the heart surgeon…Dr. Richards would like to speak with him about the death of his son, Matthew…yes…” Matt put his hand over the mouthpiece. “She told me to wait for a few moments.”
The doctor’s secretary came back on the line. Matt perked up. “Fine. Seven-thirty this evening. Thank you very much,” He punched the red button and handed the unit back to Nicole.
“Okay,” Matt said. “Now let’s see if we can’t track down some of the others. The easiest should be Todd Cummings. His parents lived in Pittsburgh so perhaps he moved back there after school. He was also the type of person to keep in touch with people. Except me of course. We drifted apart after the explosion at the restaurant.”
Elijah looked at Nicole. “Sounds like a job for a good investigative journalist.”
Matt managed a smile. She’s very good.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad. I’ll get on the Internet. Most folks don’t even know they’re listed on some Internet databases.”
“Even me?” Matt’s eyes darkened.
“I looked up your name when I began snooping around. It was pretty easy to learn about your past.”
“And you’re still speaking to me?”
“She’s a saint-she even speaks to her old man.”
Over the next half hour Nicole dug up the names and telephone numbers for five T. Cummings living in and around the Pittsburgh area. A Google search identified one as senior legal council for Monument Oil and Gas Corporation as well as being a member of the board of directors for the Pittsburgh Children’s Hospital and the Pennsylvania United Way Campaign. Nicole, posing as a journalist doing a story on Beirut in the late 1960s, succeeded in reaching Todd Cummings at Monument Oil. He would be delighted to speak with her about Beirut, he said, and agreed to meet at 11:30 tomorrow morning.
Eli stood up. “Good work. I need to go out for a while.”
“What’s going on, Dad?”
“Just a few errands. Plus there’s a man I used to work for, unofficially. He may have something on this. If not he’ll know who will.” He reached for his coat and wool hat.
“Are you sure you can trust him?” Nicole looked over at Matt.
“Trust him?” Elijah paused in the hallway. “I’ve trusted him with my life more than once and I’m still here.”
For the next several hours Matt made a list of old acquaintances he could recall and those he found browsing through the leather journal. They then tried the Internet search engines again.
“I’ve got an idea.”
“Yes, Doctor?” Nicole looked up from the computer screen.
“What if I claim to be Dr. Richard’s cousin? Just like I did at Sweet Briar. I can tell them I found a few items among Matt’s personal effects with their name on it.”
“That would give us an excuse to deliver to them in person,” Nicole said, nodding.
“So what do you think?”
“Pretty sneaky. Must be the assassin in you.” She ducked as he threw his pencil.
They both started as the door opened. Matt knocked over the chair has he bolted upright.
“Whoa. You two are jumpy.” Elijah walked into the library with his coat half off.
“You were pretty quiet coming in. Something up?”
Her father turned to face his daughter as he hung up his coat. “I may have found something interesting.” His smile was fleeting. A loud crash resounded from the front door. Elijah flung himself towards them. All three hit the floor.
“Dad!”
“We got unwanted company. Stay down. Stay down!”
Something hard bounced into the hallway. “Tear gas. I’d know that fucking sound anywhere.” A loud hiss was followed by white smoke seeping under the door. He bolted the lock as a second canister banged up against the door. “Close the shutters and lock them. Don’t talk.”
Crouching down, Eli folded back the corner of the carpet to reveal a trap door. Matt helped him pull on the cast-iron ring. The door creaked open. Eli and Nicole vanished down a narrow stairway as Matt grabbed his journal and notes.
Boots echoed loudly in the hallway. Matt ducked down the opening as the library door exploded in a shower of splinters and bent metal. The spit from suppressor equipped MAC-10s wheezed into the room. More splinters showered Matt as he reached up to pull the heavy trap closed. Blood from several cuts on his face fell onto the wooden steps.
“Bolt it! Bolt it now!” Elijah reached up. Matt threw the bolt hard.
Nicole shook, “Jesus…”
“Are you hurt?” her father asked.
“Who are they, Dad? Who are they?”
“They’re pros. That’s for certain.”
“And what is this place?” Matt looked around in the dim light.
“It’s my escape route. Just in case… There’s a tunnel here that connects with an underground Washington Gas amp; Light utility conduit and surfaces a couple of blocks away. Follow me.” Elijah ducked into a hole in the wall. About three hundred yards into the tunnel he stopped and looked back at the other two, crawling on all fours.
Thrusting his hand into a small recess in the wall the old man felt around and pulled out a small device resembling a garage door opener. It was sealed inside a zip-lock bag. “Ready?” Without waiting for a reply, he pushed the red button. Two seconds later there was a dull thud overhead immediately followed by a huge explosion that rocked the tunnel and showered them with dirt.
“What the hell is that?” Nicole exclaimed.
“It’s designed to look like a gas leak-I’ll collect the insurance money later.”
“Are they dead?” Dirt now mixed with the blood on Matt’s face.
“They’re toast!.” Elijah started crawling forward again.
“But Dad, what about all your belongings? Your clothes, your furniture, your books?”
This guy’s a professional too. Matt looked at Nicole, who stared open mouthed at her father.
“I have an emergency safe house where I’ve stashed most of my important things. We’ll hole up there.”
A few hundred yards along a ladder came into view. They clambered up, one after the other. Sirens blared just a few blocks away. Before emerging into broad daylight they brushed the dirt off their hair and faces. Nicole used a handkerchief on Matt’s cuts.
An aluminum conduit cover, bolted from the inside, lead out to the street. Eli cracked it and motioned them to follow. They scrambled out into the bright winter sunlight and walked several blocks to the rental car. In minutes they were approaching downtown Washington and a small apartment in a run-down area northwest of Union Station.
Matt looked out at the run-down buildings.
“So how are you two feeling?” Elijah said.
“Shaken up and very scared.” Nicole snuggled next to her father. “Tear gas. Guns. And they were so quiet, no loud ratta tat. Were those silencers?”
“Suppressors actually. They keep the noise level down to 40dB. Lower on. 223 calibers, but these were throwing nine mills.”
Nicole stared at him. “At times like this you frighten me, Dad.”
“It’s what drove your mother and me apart.” He turned away.
“Well at this point I’m glad you’re on our side.” Matt slowed down for a traffic light. “Eli. You talked earlier about going to meet someone you trusted…”
“I did talk to him. I told him what we surmise is happening.”
“And?”
“All he said was ‘Thank You’. Which in spook speak means I’d just given him a key piece to a very big puzzle.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” said Nicole looking at the father she barely knew. “Anything else?”
“Yes, but its water under the bridge now. There was a stakeout car parked up the street from the house. Guess I don’t have to tell you we’re lucky to be alive.” Eli shook his head and wiped his brow. “I’m too old for this shit.”
“Thanks Dad.” Nicole kissed him on the cheek.
The Hart Senate Building
Senator Stevens spoke quietly into his private cell phone. “Look, this evening is not a good time to meet. I’ve got an important dinner engagement. You know the less we meet the better for everyone concerned.”
“I realize the risks, Senator, but we’ve got a situation that needs your immediate support. I’m having a function at the Embassy this evening. Why don’t you stop by for a quick drink on the way to your dinner? It shouldn’t take long.”
“Can’t we just deal with it here and now? Obviously you people have screwed up again.”
“Actually, it’s good news. Our problems were eliminated in a freak explosion caused by a gas leak. The contractors got caught in the blast as well. I just need a little support from you to put a lid on anything the fire department or police may find in the rubble. It wouldn’t do for too many people to be asking questions.”
“I’ll get on it right away. It’s about time you got something right. I’ll be there at 7:15.” The Senator snapped his cell phone closed and chuckled.
Potomac, Maryland
Nicole nudged him. “Ring the doorbell, Matt, we’re committed now.” They stood in front of the large double doors of Dr. Thomas’s Potomac residence. Matt felt odd coming back here again. This was where it all started. The reception for Dr. Melikian, the accident, Kelly’s death, and everything else.
He pressed the buzzer. The door opened right away, taking them by surprise. A butler stood before them. “Yes?”
“Dr. Thomas is expecting me. I’m Dr. Wilson Richards and this is Ms. Nicole Delacluse.”
“Yes sir. This way, please.” The elderly butler led them into Dr. Thomas’s library and took their coats. “I’ll announce your arrival. Dr. Thomas is taking a phone call at the moment. It shouldn’t be too long. Would you care for tea or coffee while you’re waiting?”
“Coffee please.” Matt glanced around where several weeks ago he punched Senator Stevens, breaking his nose and knocking out several teeth. He rubbed his hand unconsciously. Photos of Dr. Martin J. Thomas with various dignitaries, including heads of state and former Presidents filled the desk and coffee table. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases offered elegant bindings. A diploma from Yale University held the place of honor on the wall behind a carved Jeffersonian desk.
The butler returned with a silver coffee service. “Dr. Thomas will be right down.” He departed with a quick bow.
Nicole poured two cups of coffee. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said as the spoon slipped from her hand and dropped on the carpet. Bending down to retrieve it she deftly placed the small listening device Eli had given her on the underside of Dr. Thomas’ desk.
A few moments later the door opened. Nicole turned around, spoon in hand. Dr. Martin Thomas walked in. As soon as he saw his visitors, he stopped. “You’re not Wilson Richards.”
“No, sir. I’m not.”
“Just what are you doing here – both of you?”
“Dr. Thomas, listen to me carefully. We don’t mean you any harm and I regret the subterfuge in coming here but you must hear me out. And the truth may be little hard to take.”
Dr. Thomas stood still and watched them. “Try me.”
“Very well. My name is Matthew Richards. Dr. Matthew Richards.”
“That’s preposterous. I know Matt Richards.”
“Look at the scars on his face, Dr. Thomas,” Nicole said, pleading.
“What?”
“The scars around his hairline. He’s been given a face transplant.”
Matt nodded. “Go ahead, Dr. Thomas. It really is me.”
Martin Thomas hesitated then stepped forward and examined Matt’s hairline. “Dear God. What…? Who…?”
“It’s a full face transplant, sir. They did it to me just after the party you held for Dr. Mekikian’s appointment. After I was reported dead.”
“You were killed in a car crash with Senator Stevens’ daughter that night. How…?” Dr. Thomas slowly lowered himself into an armchair, still staring at Matt.
“I was kidnapped, reported as dead, and given this new face.” Matt sat in the opposite facing chair.
Dr. Thomas stared. “This doesn’t mean you are Matthew Richards. It only proves you have a new face.”
Matt laughed. A look of bewilderment spread across Dr. Thomas’ face. “Okay. Fair enough. How about this? I was at the reception for Dr. Melikian. You and I spoke briefly in the receiving line. You asked about my father and then said you were sorry to hear about the death of my brother, Sam. Later that evening I flattened Senator Stevens, right here in this room and left with his daughter.”
Dr. Thomas nodded thoughtfully.
“And remember the time I came to your office at AUB asking for advice about medical school? You told me that just because I came from a long line of prominent physicians that was no guarantee it was the life for me. You said a person had to have the calling, it was in their blood, otherwise they wouldn’t be happy with such a demanding career.” Matt smiled ruefully. “I should have listened to your advice, Dr. Thomas. I didn’t turn out to be a very good physician.”
“What are you thinking, Dr. Thomas?” asked Nicole.
“I’m thinking about the transplant and the stitches and how the healing process would fit into the time frame. It fits.” He looked from Nicole to Matt. “What have they done to you? And why?”
“Are you ready for more hard news?”
“Can I have some coffee first?” Nicole handed him a cup. “Okay, what next?”
“Whoever did this to me believes there is a terrorist cell here in Washington actively plotting to kill the President and that one or more of the students we both knew during that year at AUB are involved.”
“The suicide bomber that killed Dr. Norman…?”
“Probably the same group,” responded Matt. “That’s why I’m here; why I came to you. To find out who among our group might be involved.”
“But that doesn’t explain your face transplant, Matt.”
“I was to be used to track down my old AUB friends. But I escaped from the hospital where I was being held. I’m trying to figure this out but there are a lot of missing pieces.”
Dr. Thomas sat back, lost in thought. “That’s quite a story young man. Why don’t we just call the FBI and let them get to the bottom of this? The deputy commissioner is a good friend of mine.” He walked over to his desk. “And it’s our duty to warn the President if he really is in danger.”
“Dr. Thomas?” Nicole jumped up from the sofa and wedged herself between him and the desk. “Someone’s trying to kill Matt. They’ve made several attempts on his life already and innocent people have been killed. Anyway, the President’s adequately protected, especially following the recent attempt on his life.”
“I don’t believe I got your name, Ms…?”
“Delacluse, Nicole Delacluse of the International Herald Tribune. I’m on a special investigative assignment following the suicide attack on the President. Don’t you think it’s a little too coincidental that Dr. Brian Walker was killed recently? He was one of Matt’s best friends at AUB. And from what’s happened to us in the past few days we know the people trying to kill Matt must have connections high up in our government. Either that or some friendly foreign country, or both. Please-don’t make that call.”
“Kill Matt?”
Matt shook his head sadly. “There have been several attempts on my life. Innocent bystanders have been murdered. These people are ruthless and determined.”
“Alright, it may be too dangerous to involve the authorities at this time. But what on earth can I do?”
“I need your help locating all the junior year abroad students,” Matt replied. “I also recall a graduate student, William Fisher I believe. He was much older than the rest of us but he came over with our group. He gave some terrific lectures about the Middle East. Could he be somehow involved?”
“There’s no way. Will Fisher is one of the top directors at the National Security Agency. In fact he’s on the President’s Special Task Force on Terrorism and the Middle East. He’s a genius at synthesizing information and drawing conclusions. The NSA and the President are fortunate to have him. In fact, maybe he could shed some light on all of this. I can probably get you a meeting with him.”
“Perhpas in a few days. If I’m still alive. Right now I don’t want to send anyone on a wild goose chase.”
“Dr. Thomas,” Nicole said, “I’ve never heard of a face transplant before. That’s super advanced medical technology, isn’t it?”
“It used to be,” Dr. Thomas replied. “However in the last two years the techniques have advanced greatly. The Israelis seem to be the leaders in this procedure at the moment but the Austrians, Swiss and Germans aren’t far behind. Where did you say this clinic was?” he turned to Matt.
“I’m not sure,” Matt lied. “Somewhere outside of Washington. I was so drugged up I doubt if I could ever find it again. Doctor, do you have your old AUB yearbook from 1968-69? Maybe that will jog my memory. And have you kept in touch with any of the students from that period?”
“Not a one. When I came back at the end of that year I was pursuing my genetics research at Yale. Then NIH called a few years later and asked me to join their management team. Since then it’s been a steady round of work and speeches. But retirement is only a year away.” Weariness entered his voice.
“There’s more to this position than just trying to provide for the health of the nation. In fact, too much politics for me.” Dr. Thomas shrugged. “My yearbook should be on the bookshelf, just over
here,” he said, getting up. “Ah yes, there it is. American University of Beirut, 1969.”
For the next twenty minutes, Matt and Martin Thomas pored over the pictures in the yearbook. Nicole took notes in her reporter’s shorthand. The doctor’s memory was better than Matt’s but then he hadn’t worked his way through a tanker load of scotch in the last thirty plus years.
“I’m sorry to break this off, Matthew, but I’ve got a dinner guest due to arrive in a few minutes.” His hand came up and reexamined Matt’s surgery. “Whoever did it, Matt, its very good work.”
“I’m not sure my mother would approve,” Matt said, pulling back.
Dr. Thomas winced. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. Are you sure you don’t want me to make a call and get you both into a safe house or something?”
“No thanks. But I would like your private cell phone number just in case.”
Dr. Thomas plucked a business card from a silver holder on his desk and wrote on the back. “Now I really must see to my guest. He’s too important for me to cancel at the last minute. Probably arrived by now. Please keep in touch. And good luck.”
“You will keep this just between us for the time being, won’t you?” said Matt, reaching for the card.
“Of course.” They shook hands firmly. “Take care Matt, and you too, Ms. Delacluse. Anderson will show you out. Now you really must excuse me.”
The butler appeared. As they were gathering their coats from a closest in the hallway, a small door opened. Senator Mason T. Stevens stepped out, smoothing his tie and adjusting a tight vest.
“Oh, I didn’t know Martin had guests. I was just freshening up. Haven’t we met before? I’m Senator Stevens,” he said, holding out a fleshy hand to Matt. He smiled approvingly at Nicole.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Senator Stevens.” Matt gripped his hand equally hard. “I’m Dr. Hunter and this is my wife, Veronica. We’re NIH researchers in plastic surgery. I never forget a face. A carryover from my profession. We met about three months ago at the reception for Dr. Melikian. Nice meeting you again, Senator.”
As they got into the car and headed down the driveway, Nicole turned and looked at Matt. “If we live through this, Matthew Richards, I’m going to marry you.”
When they were a block away, Nicole touched his arm. “This is a good spot.”
Matt watched her unwrap the small digital recorder and battery operated receiver. “What if it rains?”
“Haven’t a clue. Dad didn’t mention that. Let’s hope the weather stays good. I’ll just be a moment. She stepped out of the car and set the recorder in a dense hedge bordering a large residence.
“How long is it good for?”
“Dad said up to six hours. We should at least be able to hear what the Senator has to say. If they talk in the library, that is.”
An hour later Matt and Nicole walked arm in arm into Eli’s safe house. Matt used one of the fake IDs and a credit card from the collection in his valise to book the early flight out of Washington’s Ronald Reagan National Airport for Pittsburgh. Tomorrow they had an appointment with Todd Cummings.
“This ain’t the Ritz,” said Elijah, “but it does have a small guest room. You guys figure out the arrangements. I’m going to bed. We’ll listen to the recording first thing in the morning.”
“Don’t worry about us, Dad, and by the way…” She opened the paper bag an pulled out the distinctive pinch bottle of Glenrothes Single Malt Scotch. “Sweet dreams.”
Matt and Nicole crawled into the small twin bed and slipped into each other’s arms. They were exhausted but Matt’s mind kept churning. Past and present bombarding him with images. Somewhere in the assault of images, he slept, and dreamed.
Cairo, early December 1968
The soot-covered train from Aswan to Cairo pulled into the station. It was early morning after a nighttime run along the Nile River and the end of the AUB group’s two week educational trip to the monuments and museums of ancient Egypt. In two days they would be on a plane heading back to Beirut.
Most of the seventeen American students hadn’t slept that night. Instead the journey on the train was an excuse for a party, with beer and liquor flowing freely. Twice during the night Dr. Martin Thomas, their chaperone, tried to confine their revelry to one car and stop them roaming through the train howling like banshees. When the train finally did pull into the Cairo station several of the bedrooms stunk of vomit and booze.
Matt and Todd Cummings wearily dumped their luggage onto the bed of their shared hotel room. “What should we do with our last day in Cairo?”
“I’m gonna sleep.” Todd crashed heavily onto the bed. “You do what you want.” Matt bathed and changed into something loose and comfortable. He was also tired but the covered bazaar, the famous Souk of Cairo, was where he wanted to be.
It was an easy ten-minute walk from the Sheraton Hotel on the banks of the Nile River to the exotic alleys and merchant districts of the bazaar. The ancient market in Cairo was many times larger than the one in Beirut.
At the entrance Matt stood beneath the great arched portico. Dark passageways ran in all directions. Pungent smells from the spice vendors assaulted his nostrils. Merchants and shoppers, many still dressed as they had for thousands of years eyed him curiously. Old women carried string bags full of food and other merchandise bought at the morning market somewhere deep inside the souk. Matt wandered about aimlessly, every once in a while coming across the central courtyard of a mosque.
He found a food stall and ordered a cup of grainy Arabic coffee, a bowl of yogurt with honey and a pita bread sandwich filled with roast lamb. If only Maha were beside me now. Her face filled his memory, sweet and innocent.
With his back turned they didn’t notice him as they hurried by. William Fisher and an elderly Middle Eastern man in an expensive western business suit. Both spoke in animated Arabic as they moved quickly along the crowded thoroughfare.
What is Fisher doing here? Curious, Matt left several bills on the table and followed at a safe distance.
“You are American, yes?” A dirty Egyptian boy came up beside him, walking in lockstep. He smiled, showing rotten teeth. He was young, but his eyes knew more than his age.
“That’s right.” Matt smiled down at him. “And who are you?”
“My name is Saleem. Allah in his infinite wisdom has chosen me to be your guide today.” The boy bowed. “Where would you like to go and what would you like to see?”
Matt glanced after Fisher and his companion. “Your English is very good, Saleem. Where did you learn it?”
“My mother is a maid for a woman who teaches at the American University in Cairo. I also learn some English at school,” he said, beaming.
“And shouldn’t you be in school now?”
“Oh no. Allah says it is my duty to help you. So here I am.” The eyes hardened. “Why are you following those men?”
“Is it that obvious?” Matt said. “Actually, I know one of them. I was just curious where they were going.”
“Follow me. I know where they are going and we will get there before them.” Saleem disappeared around the next corner. “Are you coming?” he said, poking his head back around.
Matt weaved and ran through the dark lanes of the covered bazaar, barely keeping his guide in sight. Abruptly they came upon a lavish nightclub at the edge of the bazaar. Matt stared at the carved door. An immense white sign announced the entrance to the Hidden Veils Nightclub.
Saleem pulled hard on his sleeve, almost dragging Matt into the dark recesses of a carpet shop just across from the nightclub. They both watched as William Fisher and the older man walked by and disappeared into the nightclub.
“Would you like me to take a look for you?” asked Saleem. “I can get in and out without being seen. It would be fun.”
“Yes. But be careful,” said Matt. “And come out in five minutes and tell me what you see. Then I’ll let you guide me around the city for a few hours.”
“It will be a great honor to be your esteemed guide. I shall return shortly.”
Matt stood in a dark alley a few shops away from the entrance to the nightclub and waited. Several elderly men came and went over the next few minutes. Matt looked at his watch. Ten minutes passed and no Saleem. Matt looked around. Shit.
Matt waited a few more minutes, then stepped out of the shadows and headed for the nightclub.
“Hey. Watch where you’re going,” said Matt, regaining his balance after being nearly knocked over by someone from behind.
“Oh, a thousand pardons, Sir. I was late for a meeting and didn’t see you. Are you all right?” A young man a few years younger than Matt looked up, again making apologies.
“I’m okay,” said Matt. “Your English is very good.”
“Why thank you. I am a student. My name is Noubar. My benefactor insists I become fluent in English, and French, German and Russian. He says it will be important for my future success.” The boy looked at his watch. “Now if you will excuse me I must hurry. May Allah protect you.” He hurried towards the nightclub, opened the door, and slipped passed Saleem who was just exiting.
Later that afternoon at a food stall near the giant Helipolis obelisk on the banks of the Nile Saleem told Matt what he had seen in the nightclub. The tall American had been seated with a large Egyptian man watching the belly dancers and drinking Arabic coffee. A man in a Palestinian headdress joined them. The three of them talked very quietly to each other.
“Can you describe them?” asked Matt.
“The man in the red keffiyeh had a hooked nose, large lips, and hadn’t shaved, like my brothers sometimes,” Saleem laughed easily. “He was Palestinian. That is all I can tell. And just before I left, another man, about your age, joined them. He looked like a college student. I have seen many of them at the house where my mother works. And he had an Armenian accent.”
Washington, DC
Eli gently shook Nicole and Matt. “Better wake up.”
Matt stirred, then sat up. Tension hardened his eyes. “What’s happened?”
“Get dressed. We need to talk. Right away.”
“What is it, Dad?”
“Dr. Martin Thomas is dead.”
“Oh, God.” Nicole drew the bedcover up to her neck.
“It’s on the morning news. He died of an apparent heart attack in bed last night. His butler found him.”
Matt dressed quickly. “Were there any signs of violence?”
“If there were it wasn’t reported in the news. All they said is the butler heard noises coming from his room. It seems he died after a coughing fit that was too much for his heart. He had been taking heart medication for the past year.”
Nicole talked as she dressed. “We’ve got to retrieve that recorder. Maybe we can find out something about his death.”
Matt pulled on his trousers and reached for his shoes.
Nicole stood in the doorway. “I’ll go retrieve it. Make some coffee will you?”
“Watch yourself,” Elijah said.
“Just have the coffee ready.”
When Nicole returned Matt was on his third rerun of the Dr. Thomas story on CNN. “Nothing new. Did anyone see you?”
“No. Believe me, I was careful. I parked a block away and walked to the hedge. Dad?” Nicole handed the recording device to her father.
“Give me a few minutes.” Elijah produced a set of headphones and began listening. Matt and Nicole waited, watching as he sat hunched over, listening, eyes fixed in time and space.
“Okay. He made two calls. Most of its blank but the two calls had him phoning his son, a physician in California, and one to William Fisher in Baltimore.”
“Fisher?”
“What did he and Fisher talk about?” Nicole asked, an impatient edge in her voice.
“I couldn’t hear clearly what he was saying to Fisher but he mentioned Matt’s name several times.”
“That’s all? No details about the conversation?”
“Sorry. It must have been a cordless phone and he probably moved away from the desk.”
Nicole stepped close to Matt. “What time were the calls?”
Eli scanned the digital readout. “Just before midnight.”
“Stevens was obviously gone by then. Shit. I wish we had more.”