Destiny

SEVENTY-SEVEN

Marcus’s phone rang. Alicia looked at him. Marcus glanced down at his watch. 1:07 a.m. He stood and walked to the chest-of-drawers where the phone sat, its tiny, red light flashing with each ring. Marcus looked at the caller ID. UNKNOWN. He answered, and Bill Gray said, “Paul, intel tells us Taheera Khalili is dead.”

“I could have told you that if you’d asked.”

“Did you kill her?”

“Your same intel should have told you she committed suicide. Before that, she had a pistol pointed at my head. She told me Jennifer and Tiffany were killed by an Iranian operative. Why’d you lie to me, Bill? Local suspect! Bullshit!”

“We, rather the CIA, had reason to believe you’d been recruited by Iran.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“No, but I’m a cog in the wheel. Come home, Paul. If you don’t, they’ll find you.”

“Listen to me! Tell them to try finding the assassin who killed Jennifer and Tiffany. One of his aliases is the Lion. Find this guy.”

“The Lion. If it were the same assassin, you wouldn’t have survived the hit either. He doesn’t miss.”

“But he did. What do you know about the Lion…do you know his name?”

“Tell Alicia to report back to work. You continue as you are and you’ll put her in the cross-hairs, too. You don’t want her blood on your hands.”

“What do you know about the Lion you’re not telling me?” He looked up at Alicia, the light from a lamp falling softy on one side of her face.

“Look, Paul, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I have some bad news. It’s your grandmother…she had a brain hemorrhage — a massive stroke and she has slipped into a coma. I’m sorry.”

Marcus said nothing. His heart pounded. A sharp pain flowed through his stomach and guts as if he’s swallowed broken glass. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I would never stoop that low.”

“You stooped lower when you told me police made an arrest for the murders.”

“I hope one day you’ll forgive me. I thought it was the best, safest, and easiest way to get you back home.”

“Home? What does that mean anymore, Paul? The killer of my wife and little girl is out there. Obviously, you know something about the Lion that you won’t tell me. Well, let me tell you something, if the CIA won’t make an effort to find him, I will.” Marcus disconnected, his heart hammering in his chest.

Alicia waited a moment, then asked, “What is it, Paul? What happened?”

“If Bill’s honest, my grandmother is in a coma. She had a stroke.”

“I’m so sorry.” She touched his arm, her eyes searching his face.

“She’s all I have left.”

“It’s obvious how much she loves you — her eyes lit up each time your name was mentioned. I feel fortunate that I had a chance to sit and talk with her.”

Marcus looked at Alicia and nodded. “I’m glad you did, too.” He walked over to the window and looked to the street below at the falling rain and the blurred movement of the taxis strolling through the neon lights reflecting off the wet streets.

Alicia closed her laptop and walked over to Marcus, but said nothing. She looked up into his eyes, which were filled with pain. She touched his cheek and hugged him. They stood there, holding each other, the rain rolling down the outside windowpane, rainbows of light reflecting from pools of water across the streets of Paris.

Alicia reached for Marcus’s hand, looked up into his eyes and kissed the inside of his hand. “Come to bed. Let’s get some rest.”

He nodded. She glanced at the two queen-sized beds. “Which one do you want, the bed closer to the TV or closer to the wall?”

Marcus smiled. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, I’ll take the one closest to the TV.” She climbed in the bed and crawled underneath the sheet and blanket.

Marcus shut off the light and got in the other bed. He rested his head on the pillows and closed his burning eyes, his grandmother in his thoughts.

Alicia said, “Do you mind if I watch a little TV? Maybe I’ll find a movie to lull me into sleep.”

“I don’t mind.”

Alicia turned on the plasma screen and flipped through the channels, stopping to watch a French talk show. Through an interpreter, the host was interviewing actress Angelina Jolie on the set of the movie she was filming in the south of France. Alicia changed channels and stopped as images of Adam Spencer came on the screen. The video showed him being greeted at Reagan International Airport in Washington. He was met by a mob of reporters. A CNN reporter said, “Adam Spencer will be taken to Georgetown University Hospital for observation and a checkup. He appears thin but in good health. He wouldn’t comment on specific questions pertaining to what he’s been through the last six months at the hands of the Iranians. However, he said the release of his fiancée, Brandi Hirsh, is all he’s thinking about.”

The image was a close-up of Adam, his face pained, hair unkempt, and clothes that looked like he’d slept in them for weeks. He said, “We’ve been treated humanely. I’m convinced that they’ll soon discover the detainment of Brandi and I was a simple mistake. The borders between that stretch of Turkey and Iran are not visible. My concern is making sure that Brandi will be home soon, and it’s my prayer that she’ll be reunited with her family before Christmas.”

The screen filled with a picture of Brandi smiling and sitting on the Santa Monica Pier, blue water visible in the background. The image faded to her after she’d been in prison for a few weeks, her face empty, eyes dark. The reporter said, “The Iranians aren’t saying exactly why they only released Adam Spencer. His fiancée, Brandi Hirsh, who has had diabetes since she was thirteen, sits in a cell at Evin Prison north of Tehran at the base of the Alborz Mountains. Secretary of State, Merriam Hanover, wouldn’t comment as to whether negotiations are underway to secure the release of the young American. Robert Simpson, CNN News, Washington.”

Alicia sat on the edge of the bed, legs drawn up, staring at the screen. “I took that picture of Brandi on the Santa Monica Pier last year. I don’t even know how the news media got it. Brandi was so full of life there. Look at the photo of her in that prison. She has dark circles under her eyes.” Alicia turned to Marcus. “Paul, I’m so cold all of a sudden. Can I lie next to you for a moment? I am so frightened for her.”

Marcus nodded. “Sure.”

Alicia climbed in bed and turned her back to Marcus. She said, “If you’d hold me a minute, maybe I’ll stop shaking. Just seeing Brandi on television, the sad and helpless look in her eyes, is tearing my heart apart.”

Marcus wrapped his right arm around Alicia’s shoulders. She adjusted her body to meet his, the warmth immediate. He could smell the scent of lilac soap on her neck, the heat from her back warm against him. Then there was the first soft sob, the deep inhalation and erratic shudder of muscles as she tried to hide her crying.

“I rarely cry. Believe me. I miss my dad so much…and I’m so afraid for Brandi. I don’t want her to die in that hellhole, Paul.”

Marcus held her closer and said nothing. She gently sobbed, her body radiating heat, her fists clutching the sheets. Within a few minutes her breathing became regular, her trembling gone. She turned to face Marcus. “I’m sorry. You learned your grandmother had a stroke, and I’m the one crying.”

“It’s okay.”

She reached out and touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers, tracing the structure of his face. “Paul, all of these revelations you’ve uncovered…the same group that killed Patton probably killed Kennedy Junior, maybe his father. Do they really have roots going back to the Nazis? Is Jonathon Carlson part of it? What else have they done? Who else have they killed? What do you know from Newton and those Bible codes? What have you found that you aren’t telling me?”

“I’m still trying to understand them. I think finding the Spear of Destiny will be key. Maybe I’ll never understand this stuff. Maybe Newton never did.”

“But you know something. I can feel it somehow. You knew the prime minister was going to be assassinated. You’ve uncovered this connection with the Circle of 13 back to 1933. You peeled back the information from the Nuremberg trials to David Marcus and Philippe Fournier. Isaac Newton fought William Chaloner three centuries ago. Now we have a great, great, great grandson, Jonathon Carlson, connected by his grandfather to the atrocities of World War II; and Carlson’s company is one of America’s biggest defense contractors today. Where is it all heading?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that more than six million people died as slaves and prisoners under the Nazi Germany regime. What if some American companies and the people who ran them were complicit in that? They may not have turned on the gas in those death chambers, but they financed the people who did. After the horror of it all, what if they helped them escape and with the money they looted from the afflicted people and nations?”

Alicia used two fingers to gently press against Marcus’s lips. She touched her fingers to her lips. The flicker of bluish light from the silent television screen danced in her eyes. She inched her body closer to Marcus, reached for his hand and leaned in to kiss him. Her lips were soft, searching. Marcus could feel the pulse rise in her hand.

She kissed him again, her lips hot, searching. He returned her kiss, the taste of her mouth, sensual like honey on his tongue. They kissed slowly, probing. Alicia moaned softly. Marcus used his thumb to push a strand of her dark hair away from her eyes. “I’m not sure if this is the right thing at this time…”

Alicia sat up quickly, and walked to the window, her back to Marcus as she stared at the traffic below. She turned to him and said, “You’re right. I don’t want to make love with you just because I’m feeling vulnerable. I want it to be for the right reasons.”

Marcus stood and kissed her softly. “Would you like some water?” he asked.

Alicia sat back on the bed, stacking the pillows behind her. “That’d be good, thanks.”

A few hours later, Marcus sat up in bed. He reached for the lamp in the semi-dark room, the only light in the room coming from a small opening in the curtains. He felt for the switch under the lampshade, his fingers touching something that seemed out of place. Marcus found the lamp chain and pulled it. Light filled the room, waking up Alicia. He leaned down and looked under the lampshade. His eyes narrowed, staring at the object, no larger than a thimble, stuck at the base of the brass socket.

Marcus straightened and held a finger to his lips. Alicia’s eyes opened wide. She got out of bed and stepped up to the lamp table. Marcus pointed to the bug and then took Alicia’s hand. He picked up the TV remote and turned on the volume and then led her toward the bathroom. He whispered in her ear. “I don’t know who planted it or what they’ve heard. When we talk now, speak at a normal level. Keep any sign of stress or awareness of the bug out of your voice.”

“I am so glad we didn’t make love, it—”

“It’s okay. I’m going to check the entire room for additional bugs. We have to get out of here.” Marcus walked back to the lamp and turned off the light. He stepped to the curtains and looked through the slight opening to the street below the hotel. A lone taxi lumbered by, its exhaust puffing smoke on the chilly and damp night. Marcus scanned the line of cars parked across the street. All looked unoccupied. All but one.

He spotted the tiny glow of a cigarette on the driver’s side of a parked Peugeot.