The Oval Office
The White House
Washington, D. C.
United States of America
17 March 2010
Vice-President Elliot Webster walked along the carpeted hallway to the president’s sanctum. Excitement vibrated through him because he knew everything he had planned for so long was coming to a head. He’d actually thought this time might be as much as two or three years away. He had had a handful of plans in mind to trigger the coming events, but Professor Thomas Lourds’ arrival in Istanbul had been too good to pass up.
He knew the re-emergence of the lost book was a sign of successes to come.
Two young secret service agents, one male and one female, stood in front of the Oval Office door. Both of them nodded as he approached.
‘Good morning, Mr Vice-President,’ one of them greeted him.
‘Good morning, Vincent. How did your mother do with her hip surgery?’ Webster’s mind was like a steel trap. He remembered everything he had learned, and every person he had ever met. All of them were little people who wanted some kind of recognition from those in power. He utilized his talents to make them feel appreciated. It bought him loyalty at no cost to himself. He’d cultivated that trait since he had gone into business.
Vincent smiled eagerly. ‘She’s doing much better, Mr Vice-President. She’s up and around these days, and talking about going dancing.’
Webster chuckled. ‘As an incentive to your mother, tell her that when she’s able to dance again I’ll take her out one night and we’ll paint the town red.’
Vincent reddened slightly. ‘I’ll tell her, sir. And she said to tell you thank you very much for the flowers.’
‘She’s very welcome, Vincent. After everything you do for the president, it’s the least that I can do.’ Webster turned his attention to the female secret service agent. ‘How are you this fine morning, Mildred?’
‘Fine, sir. Thank you.’
‘How is the new Little Sister coming along?’
‘She’s good, sir. A bit of a handful at times, but I enjoy taking her places.’ The young agent had recently signed up to be a Big Sister. Webster had provided the letter of recommendation that had sealed her sponsorship.
‘Excellent, Mildred. I’m glad it’s working out for you.’ Webster rubbed his hands together briskly. ‘Well, I guess I should find out why the president called me out of my meeting this morning.’
Vincent nodded, then turned and knocked on the door of the Oval Office.
‘Yes,’ a deep voice answered from within.
Vincent opened the door and said, ‘Mr President, Vice-President Webster is here to see you.’
On the other side of the room, President Michael Waggoner rose from behind his paper-strewn desk. He was a tall, gaunt man with dark hair that had gone grey at the temples while he’d been in office. In college, he had been a basketball player – had, in fact, almost gone pro – before enlisting in the Marines and putting in twenty years service. Some people believed Waggoner had joined the military to avoid his father’s political dynasty. Senator Kendall Waggoner had been in politics his whole life, and had died while still in office. On his deathbed, he had asked his son to finish out his term. Everyone had known about the illness that had eventually killed him, and his death had come as no surprise.
What had been a surprise to most people was how well the son had served the senator’s last two years. That service had also changed Michael Waggoner’s view of politics. It had got into his blood and he had made a career of it. Another term and a half later, he’d had the Democratic nod to run for president, and had swept the nation. Especially after he’d added Elliott Webster as his running mate.
Waggoner’s popularity remained high in the polls and everyone agreed that he was one of the best presidents who’d ever served. But it had taken its toll on him.
‘Good morning, Elliott,’ Waggoner said as he walked round the desk. He wore slacks and a shirt, but his tie lay in a wad on one of the two chairs in front of the desk.
‘I’d say good morning, Mike, but this looks more like a long night.’ Webster took the offered hand and shook it. Then he sat in the unoccupied chair in front of the desk.
‘It has been a long night,’ Waggoner agreed as he crossed the room to the coffee service.
‘You could have called, you know.’
‘I did. The minute I was sure I needed you on this. You’ve got a host of duties to perform, too. Don’t think I don’t know that. I knew I was going to be working late and I wanted one of us with a clear head.’
‘Me?’
‘Yours is usually the clearest in the room at any given time anyway,’ Waggoner said with a smile. ‘But, yes, you. Coffee?’
‘Please.’
The president poured and served. He didn’t bother sitting, though. He blew on his coffee and sipped, but Webster didn’t think Waggoner even tasted it.
‘What’s the problem, Mike?’
‘We’ve got an unconfirmed report from Riyadh that someone assassinated King Yousef bin Abdul Aziz and Crown Prince Muhammad bin Abdul Aziz last night.’
Webster placed his coffee on the desk and sat back as he contemplated what that meant. ‘Is anyone taking the credit for it?’
Waggoner ran a hand through his hair and sighed. ‘We haven’t got anything solid yet. It’s still too early, but this looks like the real deal.’
‘What happened?’
‘Things have gone crazy over there. Despite the amount of oil Saudi Arabia has and how much it’s able to produce, those oil fields can’t keep up with the demands put on them by the western world, India and China. Everybody wants a piece of the petroleum pie, and they’re willing to do whatever it takes to make sure they get their share. More, if they can get it.’ Waggoner folded his arms across his chest. ‘We’re just as guilty as anyone else in this, Elliott. We’ve wooed the royal family for generations. At that time, we were the only ones with economic and military means to protect them. With China, India, Pakistan all emerging this century with strong economies as well as strong military forces, we’ve lost ground. Our economy is shaky and our protracted military engagement in the Middle East bleeds us dry. Iraq was just the beginning there.’
‘Where did you get the report?’ Webster asked.
‘From the CIA units working on the ground in Saudi. They got the information from one of their assets near the royal family.’
‘What happened?’ Webster’s excitement and anticipation grew but he didn’t let it show. He had known that the Middle East would be the ignition point for the conflagration that would sweep the world. He had counted on it.
‘What we’re getting is that the king and crown prince were having a meeting off the books in King Abdullah Economic City.’
‘A meeting with whom?’
‘We’re not sure of that, either. Possibly a coterie from the Indian government.’
‘Renegotiating deliveries?’
Waggoner shrugged. ‘Possibly brokering a deal for a pipeline across their country.’
‘That’s supposedly been in the works for some time.’
‘I know. And if they do that, it’ll change the economic model we’ve been working from. A lot of people I talk to are nervous about this.’
‘I know. I’ve been talking to them, too.’ Webster thought for a moment. ‘You know, Mike, as a businessman, I can’t blame the royal family for wanting to negotiate this deal. No one knows for sure how much oil they’ve got in their reserves. No one outside the ruling family knows. Maybe they’re reaching a point where they’re going to have to cut production. They may be afraid that the United States will take their business to South America or Africa.’
‘Or that we’ll finally be motivated enough to find an alternate fuel source since our economy has flatlined for a while. A viable alternate fuel source would change the United States, but it would really change the entire face of the Middle East. That possibility has to be on their minds.’
‘It is,’ Webster acknowledged. ‘The way the Middle East is set up now, in order to be successful, they’ve got to export oil. They don’t have a lot of other options – no manufacturing base, limited water, limited other resources. If another fuel source becomes viable, the distance we have to go for oil and the price we have to pay is counterproductive to us as an economy and a military force. We can afford to have our Middle Eastern fuel lines cut if push comes to shove.’
‘I know. But we’re not there yet. Someday soon, maybe, but not yet. We’re still dependent on these people. The problem is, they don’t want to be dependent on us any more than we are on them.’
‘Right now, though, we still need each other.’
‘Not so much, these days.’ Waggoner shook his head. ‘We need them more than they need us. They have other buyers lining up. But we’ve invested so heavily in the Middle East that we can’t think about pulling out for years. Or losing their resources.’
‘Yousef and Muhammed are – were – both actively seeking some kind of alliance regarding increased oil production for India and China. They haven’t been chasing Pakistan, to my knowledge at least, because of all the terrorist concerns in that country.’ Webster was silent for a moment. ‘Have you given any consideration to the possibility that maybe we were the ones who killed – or at least tried to kill – the king and crown prince?’
‘I have. It might just be possible. I don’t like the idea that some mercenary force employed by an American citizen or an American corporation would do something like this.’ Waggoner shook his head. ‘But these are desperate times, and this country isn’t as well liked overseas as she has been in the past. I’m betting it’s somebody else. Somebody who doesn’t like us. We’re still coming out of the recession, and we’re overextended militarily. We’re vulnerable. Other countries are going to throw that possibility around.’
Webster let the silence in the room stretch out for a time before he said anything. ‘You know I’m there for you, Mike. Anything you need, anything at all, and I’ll do my best.’
Waggoner stared out the window, put his cup on the desk, and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘I know you will, Elliott. That’s why I’m telling you this now. You’ve got friends over in Riyadh, and it may be time for us to call in a few favours from those people.’
Webster waited for the president to cut to the chase. It sometimes took the man a while to get to it, but he never flinched when it came to making hard decisions. Part of it was because of the military training he’d had, but part of it was due to the fact that Waggoner was a man who believed in good and evil. His weakness, as far as Webster was concerned, was that he still believed good always triumphed over evil.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Webster asked.
‘I want you on the ground over there in Saudi. I want to know what’s going on there. And I want to know it as soon as you can find out.’
Webster stood. ‘All right, Mike. Is there anything else?’
Waggoner shook his head wearily. ‘Just be careful, Elliott. I watched the sun come up this morning and I felt that somehow the whole world had changed overnight.’ He paused. ‘Isn’t that a strange thought?’
Smiling confidently, Webster dropped a hand on the president’s shoulder. ‘You just need some rest, that’s all. You get some sleep and you’ll feel better. Me and you, we’re keeping the faith. That’s what we promised the American people we would do when they put us in office.’
‘I know, I know. I keep telling myself that. You just keep your head down over there until you figure out what’s what.’
‘Will do.’ Webster shook hands a final time, then turned and left the room. He said goodbye to both secret service agents and took out his phone to start making arrangements. Between figuring out what to do with Professor Thomas Lourds and the coming unrest in the Middle East, it was going to be a busy day.
Burger King
Taksim Square
Istanbul, Turkey
17 March, 2010
Cleena sat at a booth in the back of the restaurant and tried not to feel like a voyeur as she looked at the laptop Sevki had given her before she had left his apartment after Lourds’ release from the police department. Of course, a voyeur was what she was. There was no getting round that. She was watching Lourds and his lady friend – the older college professor, whatever her name was – in the hotel room.
The problem was Cleena wasn’t the only voyeur.
‘Your professor-’ Sevki started.
‘So not my professor,’ Cleena interrupted.
‘Sorry. One of us was working while you were sleeping and may be a little fatigued at the moment.’
‘Spare me. I went three days without sleep working on something for you.’
‘And you were paid quite handsomely for it, as I recall.’
Cleena glanced from the laptop monitor to the restaurant’s clientele. It was late afternoon before the early evening rush. Most of the clientele would be American tourists looking for a familiar meal, or Istanbul college and high school students wanting to sample food from an American chain restaurant.
She had chosen the place as a base of operations because Taksim Square was only four kilometres from the professor’s hotel. If he went somewhere, she felt certain she could intercept him on the motorcycle she’d purchased from a black market contact. She also hoped that the men from the catacombs, if they could find the professor, would stand out in a place like Burger King.
Sevki had also given her an earwig tied into an encrypted sat-phone that also functioned, like now, through WiFi hot spots. The device felt bulky in her ear, but she had been surprised at how small it was. Unless someone looked closely, no one would know she was wearing it. Except for the way I apparently keep talking to myself.
‘Anyway,’ Sevki went on, ‘as I was saying, the professor isn’t alone in there.’
‘I can see the woman.’
‘I know, and I must say she’s even better looking than her photograph.’
‘Focus.’
‘The room is bugged,’ Sevki said. ‘That’s why you’re getting video feed from inside the room instead of just the hallway.’
Cleena was so used to Sevki producing technological marvels that she hadn’t even realized she was peering inside the hotel room.
‘Who bugged it?’ she asked.
‘Judging from the frequencies and the hardware, I’d say it was the United States Central Intelligence Agency. Or a similarly equipped corporate security team. It’s getting hard to know whose toys are whose these days. Corporate espionage has cutting edge stuff, some of it even better than the CIA’s.’
‘The CIA?’ Cleena pushed back from the laptop a little. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’
‘As in, if the CIA has already got someone watching the professor, why do they need you? I started wondering the same thing when I locked into these feeds. I played with the idea that this might be the work of some corporation, but no likely suspects spring to mind. Why would anyone, including the CIA, suddenly develop an interest in the professor?’
Cleena didn’t like the route her mind automatically took.
‘If this is the CIA’s handiwork, the only thing I can figure you for is a fall guy if things get sticky’, said Sevki.
‘Can they catch you spying on them?’ The idea that the CIA might even now be spying on them while they spied on Lourds was unsettling, to say the least.
‘Doubtful. But look at our professor. Looks like he’s got his hands full.’
On screen, Lourds and the college professor were more amorously engaged than previously. Cleena wasn’t mortified, but she wasn’t interested in watching either.
‘Lech,’ she growled at Sevki.
‘Sticks and stones and all that rot.’
‘I was talking about the CIA catching you.’
‘Oh.’ Sevki sounded distracted, and Cleena had to admit that what she was watching was distracting, and a little more intriguing than she’d thought it would be. Lourds was evidently a man of considerable skills.
‘The CIA,’ she reminded Sevki.
‘Them. No. I don’t think they’ll find us. I’ve masked all the work I’ve done to break in there. If they even find out we’re in there, it’ll be a miracle.’
‘Can you trace their video and audio feeds back?’
‘Already done that. The trail leads back to the United States embassy offices here in the city.’
‘And… the professor has no idea he’s being watched right now?’
‘Would you be doing what he’s doing right now if you knew someone was watching you?’
Mild irritation swept through Cleena. ‘You really shouldn’t be watching this.’
‘Then who’s going to watch the professor and make sure he stays put?’ Sevki’s tone was mocking.
‘You said you have access to the video in the hallway.’
‘I do.’
‘Then you can use that to keep tabs on the professor.’
‘And miss the show? I’ll make you a deal. You turn your computer off – and I’ll know when you do – I’ll do the same for mine. Up the ante, so to speak. Do we have a deal?’
Cleena didn’t answer, but she didn’t cut the video feed either.
‘Are you using the audio feed?’ Sevki asked.
‘I’m in a public place.’
‘There’s a pair of earbuds tucked into the computer case.’
Cleena hesitated only a moment, then opened the computer case and took out the earbuds. She attached them to the computer and adjusted the volume. The sound was good. It was as though she was in the room with Lourds and his professor lady friend. The idea was faintly embarrassing but more erotic than she would have thought.
While on the flight over to Istanbul, she had listened to the audio-book version of Bedroom Pursuits. The narrative had been more compelling than she had imagined. And that type of entertainment definitely wasn’t her usual venue.
‘Ah,’ Sevki chuckled. ‘Aren’t you the dirty girl?’
‘Shut up.’
Eserin Crown Hotel
Sultanahmet District
Istanbul, Turkey
17 March 2010
Lourds kissed Olympia as he unbuttoned her jacket. They stood just inside the room. No one else was there, but the scent of the strange perfume he’d noticed still lingered on the air.
Breaking free of the passionate kiss they shared, Lourds gazed into Olympia’s wide-set brown eyes. ‘Do you smell the perfume?’
‘Yes.’ Olympia’s hand curled round the back of his neck and played with his hair. The sensation was incredibly delightful and Lourds knew she was aware of that. They’d been good lovers who had explored each other’s bodies well enough to know what worked and what didn’t.
‘Doesn’t that worry you?’ Lourds ran his hands under her jacket and the matching teal chemise she wore to unfasten her bra. He managed the feat with one hand, which brought a smile to Olympia’s beautiful face.
‘You’ve still got your touch, I see,’ she whispered.
‘The perfume?’ Lourds reminded.
‘And you still have a one-track mind.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Lourds closed his hands over the tender flesh of her breasts and gently tweaked her nipples. ‘I’m quite capable of multi-tasking when there’s a need.’
A quiet moan escaped Olympia as she tilted her head back. ‘Oh, there’s a need. A definite need.’
Lourds grinned and kissed her again. He slid his hands across her back and pulled her close to him. He felt the heat of her melding into his.
‘The perfume could have been from a maid stopping by to turn down the bed,’ Olympia suggested. She pushed free of Lourds and gazed up at him. ‘There is a bed, isn’t there? I specifically asked for one when I reserved this room.’
‘There must be one in here somewhere. I just haven’t seen it yet.’
Olympia looked around the room. ‘If it were me, I’d guess it was behind that door.’
‘Well, then we’ll try that one. You do have a doctorate, after all.’
‘Three, actually.’
‘You’re obviously overcompensating for something.’ Lourds bent down and lifted her into his arms, then started for the bedroom door. Once inside he fumbled for and found the light switch. He turned it on and a soft glow filled the room.
The bedroom was spacious and adorned with pastel-coloured curtains and bedding. The king-sized bed dominated the room. Lourds carried Olympia towards it and gently laid her on it. When he tried to crawl after her, she pushed him away.
‘You’re dirty,’ she said.
Lourds stood at the side of the bed, only then remembering his current state. ‘You weren’t objecting a moment ago.’
‘A moment ago, we were in the living room, not in the bed where I expect to be happily entertained for the next ten or twelve hours.’
Lourds cocked an eyebrow in mock surprise. ‘You do have grand designs, don’t you?’
‘A large appetite, thank you. And it’s already been kept waiting for two days while you’ve been off gallivanting around.’
‘I’d hardly call nearly getting killed – on more than one occasion – and getting interviewed by the local constabulary “gallivanting”.’
‘An imposition, then.’
‘Most impositions I’ve had don’t include getting shot at.’
Olympia sat on the edge of the bed and unbuttoned his shirt. She ran her hands across the flat planes of his chest and stomach. Years of playing soccer had kept him taut and lean. He ran his fingers through the shimmering waves of her hair, then bent down to kiss her. As they kissed, her fingers busied themselves with his belt buckle and trousers. A moment later they slid down his slim hips. He’d already been erect, and getting freed only promoted that. Her fingers closed round his erection and he shivered in anticipation. He cupped her breasts again and squeezed just enough to elicit a moan. She broke free of his lips then trailed kisses down his chest and stomach. She made him wait, his hands knotted in her hair, before she slowly, delicately, took him into her mouth.
Lourds’ knees almost buckled at the sensation. His breath came in ragged gasps and he teetered on the edge of control. He was aware she knew that, and doubtless enjoyed being in a position of power. Olympia had always been a generous lover, but she’d also been an incredible tease. Just before he begged for mercy or permission, Olympia drew back and smiled wickedly up at him.
‘Go,’ she said sternly. ‘Shower. We’ll continue the frivolity after you’re clean.’
‘Of course, my lady.’ Lourds took her hand and kissed her fingers. ‘I won’t be but just a moment.’
‘You’d better take longer than that. You reek.’
Lourds turned to walk away and very nearly tripped over his own trousers, which were down round his ankles, forgotten during the distraction. He unlaced his boots and stepped out of them, then the trousers. He glanced back at Olympia, who sat on the bed half-undone with one sleek leg tucked under her.