Payback

110

Though Rubens had spoken to George Hadash several times since the national security adviser had returned to Washington late Monday, the circumstances were never right for the kind of personal discussion he wanted to have with him. Nor did he think speaking to Hadash by telephone was the right way to handle what he wanted to say.

A full briefing for the National Security Council was arranged for Wednesday evening at seven; Rubens knew from past experience that Hadash’s ever efficient secretary would block off the last hour before the meeting to make sure he would get there on time. He also knew that Hadash typically skipped dinner when an evening session was planned — not out of design, but because he inevitably got caught up in last-minute details for the meeting. So Rubens decided to stop by Hadash’s office a little past six, gambling that he would manage to get a few minutes alone with his one-time college mentor.

“Have you had dinner, George?” asked Rubens, walking in on him.

“I was going to have something sent up.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“No. Please. I’m just looking over some of the most recent updates.”

Rubens went to use the secretary’s phone to order Hadash’s normal dinner: a roast beef on rye, heavy on the mustard. He got a club sandwich for himself.

“Anything new in the past two hours?” asked Hadash.

“No,” said Rubens. Even so, he began cataloging some of the rumors that had fizzled and a few relatively insignificant details gleaned from intercepts of Peruvian army units. He realized he was going on a bit too long, but had trouble stopping himself.

“How smooth do you think the transition will be between the present government and Aznar?” asked Hadash when Rubens finished.

“Aznar has appointed a former air force general as his top military adviser. That’s being taken as a sign that he wants status quo with the military.”

“Do you take it that way?”

“I have no evidence one way or the other. It’s too soon after the election. He did make a point of going to our embassy and talking to the ambassador. That I suppose is a good sign. He thanked us.”

“We’ll see what that translates into in a few months,” said Hadash. “The CIA is starting to believe that the general staff may be hiding Túcume, or at least dragging their feet on finding him. The feeling might be that there’s no reason to disgrace him further.”

“Just speculation,” said Rubens. “Everything we’ve seen indicates the generals are serious about finding him. They haven’t been looking for Babin — Sholk — the Russian arms dealer. They issued a bulletin, but they’ve left his search to the police and intelligence people, and they really haven’t done much.”

Hadash grimaced. At first, Rubens thought it was in reaction to what he had said, but then he realized it was something else.

“Are you all right, George?”

“Yes,” said the national security adviser, though he obviously wasn’t.

Rubens watched as Hadash put his hands over his eyes, squeezing his head.

“I’ve been getting migraines,” Hadash said. “Terrible.”

“Is that why you’re resigning?” The words came out in a blurt, but at least they were out.

“I have a tumor, George.”

“A tumor?”

“It’s operable. That’s a start. Not a death sentence.”

“But—”

“I found out the day before I left for China. It seemed proper to deal with it immediately. I told the president, and no one else. I’ll be leaving as soon as it can be arranged. The end of the month, I hope.”

“You shouldn’t resign. You’re too valuable to us. To the country.”

“Thank you for that. But I don’t see how I can do my job.” Hadash rubbed his head again. When he continued, his voice was awkward, his words tripping over each other. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t planned on telling you quite like this. I thought it would be better to have a different setting. More relaxed. But circumstances haven’t allowed.”

“The president didn’t say anything about this.”

“I asked that he not.”

“He told both myself and Debra Collins that you were resigning, but he did not offer an explanation. He made it sound as if we were both being considered for your position,” said Rubens.

“Do you want it?”

Did he? Yes, yes—he definitely wanted it.

But he didn’t want to be the person it would make him.

“I don’t think I want to play the political games that you have to play if you’re in the White House.”

Hadash glanced at him from beneath his clasped hands. Rubens realized, belatedly, that what he had said could be interpreted as an insult. But all Hadash said was, “I know what you mean.”

Rubens thought his old friend might talk him out of it, but instead, Hadash began speaking about China and continued to do so right up until the time came for them to leave for the session.