The Icarus Agenda

Chapter 29

The CIA station chief in the Bahamas, a short, deeply tanned man with broad features, manoeuvred quickly from his office at the embassy on Queen Street. An armed escort was sent by the Nassau police to the Cable Beach Hotel, on the shores of Bay Road, where four uniformed officers rapidly accompanied a tall man with light brown hair and a striking olive-skinned woman from their suite on the seventh floor to a waiting vehicle in the efficiently emptied drive outside the imposing marble lobby. The hotel's director of operations, an alert Scotsman named McLeod, had mapped out a route through the service corridors, where his most trusted security guards stood watch, to the brightly lit entrance fronted by two enormous fountains sending floodlit sprays up into the dark sky. McLeod's two assistants, an immense good-humoured man with a booming laugh and the improbable name of Vernal, accompanied by an attractive young hostess, courteously explained to those arriving and departing that the delays would be brief. They persuasively explained while the five-man motorcycle unit swept the dramatically shadowed grounds. The station chief had personalized everything; favours were done for him. He knew by name everyone there was to know in the Bahamas. And they knew him. In silence. Evan and Khalehla, shielded by the wall of police, climbed into the government vehicle, the CIA man in the front seat. Kendrick was beyond talking; Khalehla could only grip his hand, knowing only too well what he was experiencing. Clarity of thought eluded him; burning sorrow and a furious anger had replaced it. Tears had welled in his eyes over the deaths of Kashi and Sabri Hassan; he did not have to be told of the mutilations, he could easily, horribly imagine what they were. Yet those tears had been quickly, impulsively wiped away by a clenched fist. A reckoning was coming, that, too, was in his eyes, in the cores of his pupils. Fury.

'As you can understand, Congressman,' said the station chief, turning partially around in the seat beside the driver, 'I don't know what's going on but I can tell you that a plane from Holmstead Air Force Base in Florida is on its way to take you back to Washington. It should arrive about five or ten minutes after we get to the airport.'

'We know that,' said Khalehla pleasantly.

'It would have been here by now but they said there's rotten weather in Miami and several commercial flights are on the same route. That probably means they wanted to stock up the aircraft properly for you, sir—I mean the two of you, of course.'

'That's most kind of them,' said the field agent from Cairo, squeezing Evan's hand, conveying the fact that he did not have to speak.

'If there's anything you think you might have left behind at the hotel, we'll gladly take care of it—’

'There's nothing,' exclaimed Kendrick, whispering harshly.

'He means we've taken care of everything, thank you,' said Khalehla, pulling Evan's hand against her leg and grasping it even more firmly. 'This is obviously an emergency and the congressman has a great deal on his mind. May I assume we've been cleared through customs?'

'This parade is driving straight through the cargo gates,' replied the government man, glancing briefly, closely at Kendrick then turning away as if he had unwittingly invaded another's privacy. The rest of the trip was made in silence until the high steel gates of the cargo terminal swung open and the procession drove through over the tarmac to the end of the first runway.

'The F-106 from Holmstead should be landing soon,' said the station chief.

'I'm getting out.' Evan reached for the handle of the door and yanked it back. It was locked.

'I'd rather you didn't, Congressman Kendrick.'

'Let me out of this car.'

'Evan, it's his job.' Khalehla gently but firmly held Kendrick's arm. 'He has to go by the rules.'

'Do they include suffocating me?'

‘I'm breathing fine—’

'You're not me!'

'I know, darling. No one can be you right now.' Rashad angled her head and looked out of the rear window, scanning the terminal's buildings and the grounds. 'Our status is as clean as it could be," she said, turning back to the intelligence officer. 'Let him walk. I'll stay with him and so can the men.'

'A “clean status”? You're one of us?'

'Yes, but you've already forgotten me, please… The flight to Washington's going to be rough enough.'

'Sure. We're okay. The guy who made up this rule isn't here. He just said, “Don't let him out of that vehicle”, in a very loud voice.'

'MJ can be extreme.'

'MJ…? Come on, let's get some air. Release the doors, please, driver.'

'Thank you,' said Evan quietly to Khalehla. 'And I'm sorry—'

'You don't have a damn thing to be sorry about. Just don't make a liar out of me and get shot. It could ruin my day… Now I'm sorry. It's no time for dumb wisecracks.'

'Wait a minute.' Kendrick began to open the door then stopped, his face inches from hers in the shadows. 'A few moments ago you said that no one could be me right now and I agree. But that said, I'm awfully glad you're you. Right now.'

They walked in a brief Bahamian drizzle, talking quietly, the CIA officer a polite distance behind, the guards flanking them with ominously drawn side arms. Suddenly, from out of the cargo area, a small dark car came racing across the field, its high-pitched engine screaming. The guards converged on Evan and Khalehla, shoving them to the ground, the CIA officer throwing himself over Kendrick and pulling the Rashad woman into his side. As quickly as the panic started, it stopped. There were rapid blasts of a two-note siren; the car was an airport vehicle. The leader of the motorcycle escort holstered his weapon and approached the uniformed man who climbed out of the small car. They talked quietly and the police officer returned to the stunned Americans, who were getting to their feet.

There is an emergency telephone call for your friend, sir,' he said to the station chief.

'Patch it out here.'

'We have no such equipment.'

'I want something better than that.'

'I was told to repeat the letters “MJ”.'

'That's better enough,' said Khalehla. 'I'll go with him.'

'Hey, come on,' countered the CIA man. 'There are other rules, too, and you know them as well as I do. It's a lot easier securing a single than a double. I’ll go and take four men. You stay here with the others and cover for me, okay? This is the meeting ground and you could have a nervous pilot on your hands looking for some special luggage, mainly you.'

The telephone was on the wall of a deserted warehouse. The call was transferred and the first words Kendrick heard from Mitchell Payton caused every muscle in his body to lock, his mind on fire.

'You've got to hear the worst. There was an assault on Mesa Verde—’

'Christ, no!'

'Emmanuel Weingrass is all right! He's all right, Evan.'

'Is he hurt? Wounded?'

'No. In fact he did the wounding—the killing. One of the terrorists is still alive—’

'I want him!' shouted Kendrick.

'So do we. Our people are on the way out there.'

'Mesa Verde was the terrorists' backup for Fairfax, wasn't it?'

'Unquestionably. But right now it's also our only hope in tracking down the others. Whatever that survivor knows, he'll tell us.'

'Keep him alive.'

'Your friend Weingrass has seen to it.'

'Strip him for cyanide.'

'It's been done.'

'He can't be left alone for a minute!'

'We know that.'

'Of course you do,' said Evan, closing his eyes, his face drenched with sweat and rain. 'I'm not thinking, I can't think. How's Manny taking it?'

'With considerable arrogance, to be truthful.'

'That's the first decent news I've heard.'

'You're entitled to it. He was truly remarkable for a man of his age.'

'He was always remarkable… at any age. I've got to get out there. Forget Washington. Fly me directly to Colorado.'

'I assumed you would make that request—’

'It's not a request, Mitch, it's a demand!'

'Of course. It's also the reason why your plane is delayed. The Air Force has punched up the fuelling for Denver and points west and is clearing a flight plan above the commercial routes. The aircraft has a maximum speed of Mach two point three. You'll be home in less than three hours, and remember, say nothing to anyone about Fairfax. Weingrass has already contained Mesa Verde.'

'How?'

'Let him tell you.'

'Do you really think you can keep everything quiet?'

'I will if I have to go to the President myself, and at this point I don't think there's any alternative.'

'How will you get past the palace guard?'

'I'm working on that. There's a man I studied with years ago in my early life as a would-be historian. We've kept in touch in a casual way and he has a great deal of influence. I think you know the name. It's Winters, Samuel Winters—’

'Winters? He's the one who told Jennings to give me the Freedom Medal in that crazy ceremony.'

'I remembered. It's why I thought of him. Have a good flight, and my love to my niece.'

Kendrick walked to the warehouse door where his police escort stood, two inside, two outside, their weapons levelled in front of them. Even the CIA's station chief, who in the dim light looked as though he might be Bahamian himself, held a small revolver in his hand. 'You people always carry those things?' asked Evan without much interest.

'Ask your friend who knew that the “status was clean”,' replied the intelligence officer, waving Kendrick through the door.

'You're joking. She has one?'

'Ask her.'

'How did she get on the plane in the States? The metal detectors, then customs over here?'

'One of our little secrets, which isn't so secret. A luggage or customs supervisor just happens to show up when we're passing through and the detector is shut down for a couple of seconds, and with customs an immigration inspector is alerted as to what not to find.'

'That's pretty loose,' said Kendrick, climbing into the official airport car.

'Not in nearby places like this. The supervisors not only work for us but they're monitored. Farther away our equipment is waiting for us inside.' The station chief sat beside Evan in the back seat of the small car and the driver sped out to the runway.

The huge, sleek military jet known as the F-106 Delta Dart had arrived, its engines idling in a bass roar as Khalehla stood by a ramp of metal steps talking with an Air Force officer. It was only as he approached the two of them that Kendrick recognized the type of aircraft he was about to enter; it was not a calming recognition. The jet was similar to the one that had flown him to Sardinia over a year ago, the first leg on his journey to Masqat. He turned to the intelligence officer walking beside him and extended his hand.

'Thanks for everything,' he said. 'I'm sorry I haven't been more pleasant company.'

'You could have spat in my face and I'd still have been proud to meet you, Congressman.'

'I wish I could say I appreciate that… what is your name?'

'Call me Joe, sir.'

'Call me Joe.' A young man on the same type of aircraft a year ago had been called Joe. Was another Oman, another Bahrain in his future?

'Thank you, Joe.'

'We're not quite finished, Mr. Kendrick. One of those AF boys with the rank of colonel or above has to sign a paper.'

The signer in question was not a colonel, he was a brigadier general and he was black. 'Hello again, Dr Axelrod,' said the pilot of the F-106. 'It seems I'm your personal chauffeur.' The large man held out his hand. 'That's the way the powers that be like it.'

'Hello, General.'

'Let's get one thing straight, Congressman. I was out of line last time and you handed it to me and you were right. But I'll tell you now that if they transfer me to Colorado, I'll vote for you in spades—don't take that idiomatically.'

'Thanks, General,' said Evan, attempting to smile. 'However, I won't be needing any more votes.'

'That'd be a damn shame. I've been watching you, listening to you. I like the sweep of your wing and that's something I know about.'

'I think you're supposed to sign a paper.'

'I never got one in Sardinia,' said the general officer accepting a letter of release from the CIA station chief. 'You sure you're gonna accept this li'l old document from an uppity goin'-on-fifty nigger in a general's suit, Mr. Old School Tie?'

'Shut your mouth, boy, I'm half Paiute Indian. You think you've got problems?'

'Sorry, son.' The Air Force officer signed and his special cargo got on board.

'What happened?' asked Khalehla when they reached their seats. 'Why did MJ call?'

His hands shaking, his voice trembling at the sudden enormity of it all, at the violence and the near death of Emmanuel Weingrass, he told her. There was a pained helplessness both in his eyes and in his halting, frightened spurts of explanation. 'Christ, it's got to stop! If it doesn't, I'll kill everyone I care for!' She could only grip his hand again and let him know that she was there. She could not fight the lightning in his mind. It was too personal, too soul-racking.

Thirty minutes into the flight, Evan convulsed and leaped out of his seat, racing up the aisle to the toilet. He retched, throwing up everything he had eaten in the last twelve hours. Khalehla ran behind him, forcing the narrow door open and grabbing his forehead, holding him, telling him to let it all out.

'Please,' coughed Kendrick. 'Please, get out of here!'

'Why? Because you're so different from the rest of us? You hurt but you won't cry? You bottle it up until something's got to give?'

'I'm not wild about pity—'

'You're not getting it, either. You're a grown man who's gone through a terrible loss and nearly suffered a greater one—or you the greatest one. I hope I'm your friend, Evan, and as a friend I don't pity you—I respect you too much for that—but I do feel for you.'

Kendrick stood up, grabbing paper towels from the dispenser, pale and visibly shaken. 'You know how to make a guy feel terrific,' he said guiltily.

'Wash your face and comb your hair. You're a mess.' Rashad walked out of the small enclosure past two uniformed and startled flight crew. 'The damn fool ate some bad fish,' she explained without looking at either man. 'Will one of you close the door, please?'

An hour passed; drinks were served by the Air Force attendants, followed by a microwaved dinner eaten heartily by the intelligence agent from Cairo but barely picked at by the congressman. 'You need food, friend,' said Khalehla. 'This beats the hell out of any commercial menu.'

'Enjoy.'

'How about you? You move it around but you don't eat.'

'I'll have another drink.'

Their heads snapped up with the piercing sound of a buzzer heard easily over the outside roar of the engines. For Evan it was deja vu; a buzzer had sounded a year ago and he had been summoned to the flight deck. Now, however, the corporal who answered the intercom on the bulkhead walked back and spoke to Khalehla. 'There's a radio transmission for you, miss.'

'Thank you,' said Rashad, turning and seeing the alarm in Kendrick's expression. 'If it was anything important, they'd ask for you. Relax.' She made her way up the aisle, gripping the few well-separated seats for balance in the mild turbulence, and sat in the seat in front of the bulkhead. The crewman handed her the phone; the spiralling cord was more than adequate for the reach. She crossed her legs and answered. 'This is Pencil Two, Bahamas. Who are you?'

'One of these days we've got to get rid of that garbage,' said Mitchell Payton.

'It works, MJ. If I'd used “Banana Two”, how would you have responded?'

'I'd have called your father and told him you were a naughty girl.'

'We don't count. We know each other… What is it?'

'I don't want to talk to Evan, he's too upset to think clearly. You have to.'

'I'll try. What's your query?'

'I want your evaluation. The information you got from that fellow you went to see from the old Off Shore Investment crowd in Nassau—you're convinced he's reliable, aren't you?'

'His information is, he isn't, but he can't hide if he lied for money. The man's a floating drunk who lives off what's left of his wits, which may have been more acute before his brain was soaked in gin. Evan showed him two thousand in cash and, believe me, he would have given away the secrets of the drug trade for it.'

'Do you recall exactly what he said about the woman, Ardis Montreaux?'

'Certainly. He said that he kept track of the money-whore, as he called her, because she owed him and one day he was going to collect.'

'I mean her marital status.'

'Of course I remember, but Evan told you over the phone, I heard him.'

'Tell me yourself. No mistakes can be made.'

'All right. She divorced the banker, Frazier-Pyke, and married a wealthy Californian from Sun Francisco named Von Lindemann.'

'He was specific about San Francisco?'

'Not actually. He said, “San Francisco or Los Angeles”, I think. But he was very specific about California, that was the point. Her new husband was a Californian and terribly rich.'

'And the name—try to recall precisely. You're certain it was Von Lindemann?'

'Well… yes. We met him in a booth at the junkanoo and there was a steel band, but yes, that was the name. Or if it isn't exact, it's certainly close enough.'

'Banco!' cried Payton. 'Close enough, my dear. She married a man named Vanvlanderen, Andrew Vanvlanderen, from Palm Springs.'

'So blame a mouth drowned in gin.'

'We're beyond gin, Field Agent Rashad. Andrew Vanvlanderen is one of Langford Jennings's most distinguished contributors—read that as a mother lode for the presidential coffers.'

'That's interesting.'

'Oh, we're even beyond interest. Ardisolda Wojak Montreaux Frazier-Pyke Vanvlanderen, an admittedly gifted and obviously talented administrator, is currently Vice President Orson Bollinger's chief of staff.'

"That's fascinating.'

'I think the situation calls for an informal but nonetheless quite official visit from one of our Middle East specialists—you'll be in southwest Colorado, barely an hour away. I choose you.'

'Good God, MJ, on what basis?'

'Threats were supposedly made against Bollinger and an FBI unit was assigned to him. They kept it quiet—too quiet in my judgment—and now the unit's suddenly recalled, the emergency declared over.'

'Coinciding with the attacks on Fairfax and Mesa Verde?' suggested Khalehla, sharply interrupting.

'It sounds crazy, I know, but it's there. Call it the twitching of an old professional's nostrils, but I detect an odour of amateurish offal drifting out of San Diego.'

'Implicating the Bureau?' asked Rashad, astonished.

'No… Using it. I'm working on an inter-agency interrogation. I intend to interview every member of that unit.'

'You still haven't answered me. What's the reason for my going to San Diego? We're not domestic.'

'The same as mine for questioning the unit. With regard to those threats against Bollinger, we're looking into the possibility of terrorist involvement. The good Lord knows that if we're pressed to reveal tonight's events, we have every justification… I don't know where it is, my dear, but somewhere in this madness there's a connection—and a blond man with a European accent.'

Khalehla glanced around the cabin as she spoke. The two attendants were talking quietly in their seats and Evan was staring blankly out of the window. 'I'll do it, of course, but you're not making my life any easier. It's obvious that my boy had an affair with this Vanvlanderen woman—not that it bothers me but it bothers him.'

'Why? That strikes me as an odd sort of morality. It was a long time ago.'

'You're missing the point, MJ. Sex isn't the morality. He was conned, seduced into almost becoming an international crook, and he can't forget it or forgive himself maybe.'

'Then I'll relieve your concerns for the time being. Kendrick must not be told anything about San Diego at this juncture. In his state of mind God knows what he'd do if he even had an inkling of such a connection, and we don't need any loose cannons. Make up something about an emergency business trip and be convincing. I want you to interrogate that very odd lady from left field. I'll prepare a scenario for you by morning.'

‘I’ll handle it.'

'I trust you brought your hat-switch papers out of Cairo, didn't you?'

'Of course.'

'You may want to use them. We're on extremely thin ice. Incidentally, none of our people know you nor do you know them. If I come up with something, I'll somehow relay it through Weingrass in Colorado… Very thin ice.'

'Even Evan realizes that.'

'May I ask how things are going with you two? I warn you, I'm inordinately fond of him.'

'Let's put it this way. We had a lovely two-bedroom suite at Cable Beach and last night I could hear him pacing the living room outside my door until all hours of the morning. I damn near walked out and ordered him inside.'

'Why didn't you?'

'Because everything's so confusing for us, so consuming for him—and now tonight, so horrible. I don't think either of us could handle personal complications.'

'Thank heavens we're on a scrambler. Follow your instincts, Field Agent Rashad. They've served us well in Special Projects… I'll call you in the morning with instructions. Good hunting, dear niece.'

Khalehla returned to her seat and Evan's anxious stare. 'Other worlds go on and they're just as deadly, I'm afraid,' she said, buckling her seat belt. 'That was the station chief in Cairo. Two of our contacts disappeared in the Sidi Barrani district—it's a Libyan connection. I told him what to look for and whom to go after… How are you feeling?'

'All right,' he answered, studying her face.

'Our distinguished passengers and our not too shabby crew,' came the general's deep loud voice over the intercom from the flight deck. 'It seems we're destined to repeat ourselves, Dr Axelrod. Remember that “southern island”?' The pilot went on to explain that in order to avoid the excitement—and publicity—of an 'AF bird' dropping in at the airport of Durango or Cortez, they were instructed to head directly into the one at Mesa Verde. The runway was deemed officially adequate 'but our touchdown could be a mite rocky so when I give the word, belt 'em up tight. We're starting our descent from the satellites; arrival estimated in forty-five minutes—if I can find the damn place… Remember, Doctor?'

As the general had predicted with considerable understatement, the landing shook the aircraft with a series of massive vibrations, the blasting eruptions of the braking jets filling the fuselage. Outside on the ground, thanks were expressed, goodbyes said, and the brigadier delivered his special cargo to a field officer of the Central Intelligence Agency. Khalehla and Evan were ushered quickly to an armour-plated vehicle flown down from Denver, their motorcycle escort an armed six-man contingent from the State Police, oblivious as to why the governor's office had ordered them to the backcountry 'millionaires' airport' near the Mesa Verde National Park.

'Let me get you current, Congressman,' said the CIA man, sitting, as had his colleague in the Bahamas, in the front seat beside the driver. 'There are five of us here, but two will fly back to Virginia with the prisoner and the three dead bodies… I'm spelling things out because I was told I can speak in front of the lady, that you were official, miss.'

'Thank you for your confidence,' said the unrecognized agent for Special Projects.

'Yes, ma'am… We've contracted half a dozen forest rangers from the park for the night, each backgrounded, each a combat veteran, to guard your house and grounds. Tomorrow a unit from Langley will arrive to take up their posts.'

'Christ, what if there's another Fairfax?’ whispered Evan.

Khalehla pressed her elbow into Kendrick's side, coughing as she did so.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Nothing. Sorry. Go ahead.'

'A couple of points—and I don't mind telling you that old Jewish guy should be put in someone's hall of fame, if somebody else doesn't put him in a padded cell—but you both have to know the facts, the cover. Weingrass worked it out before we got there—wow, he's a pistol!'

'Noted and accepted,' said Kendrick. 'What are the facts?'

'The nurses know very little; they think there was only one terrorist, a hallucinating fanatic at that. The three bodies were hidden in the woods until the police left, then carried by your Mexican friend, Gonzalez, back to the garage without the nurses seeing him. They were on the other side of the house, on the porch with Manny—Jesus, how did he get me to call him “Manny”? Anyway, Gonzalez locked the doors to the garage and drove back to his restaurant. Mr. Weingrass guarantees us he'll keep quiet.'

'Mr. Weingrass is right,' confirmed Evan.

'We don't like the arrangement, but I guess you three go back a long time.'

'We go back a long time,' said Kendrick.

'So the Congressman shouldn't make any references to the magnitude of the assault,' broke in Khalehla. 'Is that what you're saying?'

'That's exactly what I'm saying. Everything's containment, Mr. Kendrick, that's the order from on-high in Langley. As far as anyone here is concerned, we're just government personnel, no Agency, no Bureau, no identifications offered and none asked for. They're all too frightened to look for complications, which is usually the case in these situations. A plane will fly in around three o'clock this morning. The prisoner and his dead friends will be taken back to Virginia. He will be sent to an interrogation clinic, the others to the forensic labs. Manny said—excuse me, Mr. Weingrass said I should make all this clear to you.'

'It's clear.'

'Thank you, sir. Boy, that Manny! Do you know he punched me in the stomach when I told him I was taking over. I mean, he threw a fist into my gut!'

'Standard,' said Kendrick, peering out of the tinted window at the road. They were only ten minutes from the house. From Manny.

They embraced in the doorway, Evan holding the old man far more firmly than the other held him. Then Weingrass gently boxed Kendrick's ears and spoke. 'You never got manners from your parents? Behind you is a lady I want very much to meet.'

'Oh, sorry,' said Evan, backing away. 'Manny, this is Khalehla… Khalehla Rashad.'

Old Weingrass stepped forward, taking Khalehla's hand in his. 'We come from a troubled land, you and I. You are an Arab and I am a Jew, but there are no such distinctions in this house, no preconceptions, and I must tell you that I love you very much for giving such joy to my son.'

'My God, you are a marvel.'

'Yes,' agreed Manny, nodding twice.

'I love you, too, for all that you mean to Evan.' Khalehla placed her arms around the frail eighty-year-old architect, her face pressed against his. 'I feel as if I've known you all my life.'

'I sometimes have that effect on people. Also sometimes the opposite, as if their lives had taken a sudden turn for the worse.'

'Mine hasn't,' said Khalehla, releasing Manny but holding his shoulders. 'I've met the legend and he turns out to be a terrific person,' she added, smiling warmly.

'Don't spread such disinformation, Miss Secret Agent. You'll ruin my reputation… Now to business before I take you in to the others.' Weingrass turned in the hallway and peered around the stone archway. 'Good. The girls are on the veranda giving us a few minutes to ourselves.'

That fellow from the CIA filled us in,' said Kendrick. 'The one who came down to the airport to meet us.'

'Oh, you mean Joe.'

'Joe?'

'They're all “Joe”, “John”, “Jim”—you notice, no “Irvings” or “Miltons”—forget it… Payton told me you know about the Hassans.'

'He knows,' interrupted Khalehla, absently reaching for Evan's hand and gripping it; the gesture was not lost on Manny and it obviously touched him. 'It was horrible—’

'It's all horrible, my lovely child. Animals who kill their own! Kashi and Sabri, they spoke so lovingly of you, Adrienne Khalehla Rashad, and I don't have to tell you what they thought of my son… So we will mourn privately, each to himself and herself, remembering what they meant to us. But that must be later, not now.'

'Manny,' broke in Kendrick. 'I have to make arrangements—’

'I've made them. There'll be a private Islamic service, and their remains will be flown back to Dubai for burial in Ash Sharigah. The coffins will be sealed, of course.'

'Mr. Weingrass—’

'That business should have come first. If you call me “mister”, I won't love you so much.'

'All right… Manny. MJ wasn't clear. MJ—that's Payton.'

'I know, I know,' interrupted Weingrass. 'I told him that if he got the phone fixed we could be more cordial, so I think he had somebody killed and now it's working. We're Emmanuel and Mitchell now, and he calls too much. I'm sorry, you had a question?'

'What's my cover here? I feel like an idiot, but I simply don't know. The field agent in the car said I was official, but official what? Who am I to these people?'

'Mitchell suggested that you say you're a representative from the State Department accompanying the congressman.'

'State?'

'Maybe he wants to blame somebody if things don't work out. I understand it's a popular pastime in Washington.'

'No, he isn't like that… Oh, I do see. If I have to give instructions, I'm in a position to do it.'

'Wouldn't you have to show a State Department ID if someone asked for it?' said Evan.

'Well… yes.'

'You mean you've got one?'

'Well, sort of.'

'That's illegal—’

'We wear different hats at different times, Evan.'

'You also have a gun. That Paiute Indian station chief in the Bahamas told me.'

'He shouldn't have.'

'You wouldn't also happen to work for the Mossad, would you,' said Weingrass, grinning.

'No, but you do—you have. And some of my closest friends do.'

'You're in good hands, bubbelah… More business. Mitchell wants Evan to look at the merchandise here—the one in the bedroom and the bodies; they're under sheets in the garage and they're leaving by air express during the night.'

'And the nurses have no idea they're out there?' said Kendrick, his tone disbelieving.

'Your friend Payton was adamant—fanatic, is more like it. “Containment, containment,” he kept saying over and over again.'

'How are you going to get them past that group of park rangers outside?'

'They've rented a van from Durango. It'll be left at the airport, where someone will pick it up and drive it out here. Then it'll be backed into the garage out of sight, the whole operation supervised by Payton's men. They seem to know what they're doing.'

'They do,' said Khalehla softly. 'Has anyone spoken to the girls about what they're to say, or rather, what they shouldn't say?'

'I did, and for once they took me seriously, but I don't know how long it'll last. They're still shook up and they don't know a quarter of what happened.'

'I'll get them together while you and Evan make your grisly rounds and back you up—very officially. MJ's right. I'll play State Department.'

'Why?' asked Evan. 'Just curious.'

'To keep the Agency out of it. We have no jurisdiction domestically and someone might just remember it and let her imagination run rampant. Simpler is better.'

'Very pro,' said Weingrass approvingly. 'So how do I introduce you?'

'I'm simply a Miss Adrienne from the Department of State. Do you mind lying?'

'Let me think,' said Manny, frowning. 'I once told a lie—I believe it was in July 1937… Let's go.' Grabbing Evan's arm and Khalehla's hand, Weingrass ushered them through the stone arch into the living room, shouting to the three nurses on the enclosed porch beyond. 'Herewith, my coven of uglies, is the true warlock! Pay homage to the man who pays for your sexual indulgences and your excessive cases of muscatel!'

'Manny!'

'They love me,' said Weingrass quietly, while striding across the floor. 'They throw dice for my bed.'

'For God's sake—’

'Be quiet, darling. He is a marvel.'

'He broke his leg jumping out of the truck with us above the Jabal Sham,' said Kendrick, staring down at the unconscious young man strapped to the bed. 'He's only a kid.'

'But your ID's positive?' asked the CIA officer standing beside Emmanuel Weingrass. 'He was with you in Oman, there's no doubt about it?'

'None at all. I'll never forget him There was a fire in him you're not likely to find in many teenagers over here… except maybe in the urban rot.'

'Let's go out of the back door and into the garage.'

'That's Yosef,' said Evan, closing his eyes. 'His mother was a Jew—and for a few hours he was my friend. He protected me… oh, Christ.'

'Stop it!' shouted Manny. 'He came here to kill you!'

'Of course he did. Why not? I pretended to be one of them in their goddamned holy cause… They shaved his mother's head, can you imagine that?'

'He shouted that at me when he tried to kill me,' said Weingrass simply. 'If it makes you feel better,. I didn't want to kill him. I wanted to take anyone I could alive.'

'Knowing Yosef, you didn't have a choice.'

'I didn't.'

'These other two,' interrupted the impatient CIA officer, lifting up the sheets. 'Do you recognize them?'

'Yes. They were both in the compound, but I never knew their names. The one on the right had soiled trousers; the other, long ragged hair and stared like he had some kind of messianic complex—I reckoned he was psychotic. That's all I can tell you.'

'You've already told us what we have to know. All these men that you've identified were with you in Oman.'

'Yes, I knew each one… They wanted their revenge, and if I were them, I'm not sure I'd feel so differently.'

'You're not a terrorist, Congressman.'

'What separates a terrorist from a “freedom fighter”?'

'For starters, sir, terrorists make it a point to kill innocent people. Ordinary men and women who just happened to be there, kids with backpacks, employees—young and old alike—simply doing their jobs. Where's your case, sir?'

Kendrick studied the field agent, suddenly jolted, remembering Fairfax and the Hassans. 'I apologize for a stupid and fatuous remark. I regret it deeply.'

'What the hell,' said the CIA man, shrugging off his momentary anger. 'We're all stretched and too damned many labels are thrown around anyway.'

They returned to the house, where Khalehla was speaking to the nurses on the porch. Whatever she was saying she had the rapt attention of the three women; they sat motionless in their chairs, their intelligent eyes riveted on 'the representative from the State Department'. Evan and Manny walked in and crossed quietly to the bar while the CIA officer went to the guest room to check on a colleague and the prisoner.

'I've explained everything, Congressman Kendrick,' said Khalehla, her voice official, 'as far as I'm permitted to, of course, and these ladies have agreed to co-operate. One had a visitor arriving tomorrow, but she'll call and tell him there's a medical emergency and not to come.'

'Thanks a lot,' muttered Weingrass, pouring himself a drink under Kendrick's watchful gaze. 'Now I'm a corpse.'

'Thank you, Manny,' remarked the nurse in question drily.

'I want to thank all of you,' said Evan quickly. 'Washington's convinced this is an isolated incident, a young lunatic on the loose—’

'So was Sirhan-Sirhan,' broke in the nurse who had driven into Mesa Verde to reach Gonzalez, 'and the description didn't change the results.'

'I've told them the prisoner is being transferred back east under cover tonight and not to be concerned if they hear noises in the grounds or the garage.'

'Very pro,' mumbled Weingrass.

'I only have one question,' said the third nurse looking at Khalehla. 'You mentioned that the quarantine was temporary… Well, not that I'm about to be invited to the Grand Prix in Monte Carlo, but how long is temporary?'

'Too many crowds during the Grand Prix,' interjected Manny, drinking. 'You can't cross the streets and the Bains de Mer goes crazy.'

'No more than a few days,' answered Kendrick, again speaking quickly. 'They just want to run the usual checks… And if you get that invitation, Manny will personally accompany you.'

'Congressman, try Daffy Duck.'

'Mishegoss.'

There was a sudden, startling commotion outside. Shouts were heard and a horn blared. 'Get away from the windows!.' shouted the CIA agent racing through the living room. 'On the floor! Everyone on the floor!'

Evan lunged towards Khalehla, astonished to realize she had dropped between the rugs and was rolling over and over to the base of a sliding door, an automatic in her hand.

'It's okay, it's okay!' yelled a voice from the front lawn.

'That's one of us,' said the man from the Central Intelligence Agency, on his knees, his weapon also in his hand. 'What the hell—?' He got to his feet and ran into the living room with Kendrick following him. The massive front door opened and a startled well-dressed figure walked haltingly inside escorted by a park ranger. He carried a black medicine bag; it was open; it had been searched.

'I never expected such a reception,' said the doctor. 'I know we're not always welcome but this is a bit much…Congressman, it's such an honour.' They shook hands, the CIA agent watching, bewildered.

'I'm afraid we haven't met, have we?' asked Evan, equally confused.

'No, we haven't, but we're neighbours, if approximately seven more miles into the hills is a neighbour. My name's Lyons.'

'I'm sorry about your reception. You'll have to blame it on an overprotective President. What is it, Dr Lyons? Why are you here?'

'Because he wasn't there,' replied the intruder, smiling gamely. 'I'm Mr. Weingrass's new doctor. If you'll check his schedule, he was to be in my office in Cortez at four o'clock this afternoon. He never arrived and we couldn't reach him on the telephone, so as this house is on the way to mine, I thought I'd drop in and see if there was a problem.' The physician stopped and reached into his pocket, taking out an envelope. 'Incidentally, in relation to those overprotective measures, here's my clearance from the Walter Reed Hospital, countersigned by the proper officials in the administration. I was to show this to Mr. Weingrass and his nurses, or at least the one who accompanied him to my office. He's all right, isn't he?'

'Manny!' yelled Kendrick irritably.

Weingrass appeared in the veranda archway, a drink in his hand. 'Why are you screaming at me?'

'Weren't you supposed to be at the doctor's this afternoon?'

'Oh, yeah, somebody called last week—'

'It was my receptionist, Mr. Weingrass,' explained Dr Lyons. 'She said you wrote it down and agreed to be there.'

'Yeah, well I do that now and then, but I feel fine so why trouble you. Also, you're not my doctor.'

'Mr. Weingrass, your doctor passed away several weeks ago from a cardiac seizure. It was in the papers and I know you received an announcement of the funeral.'

'Yeah, well I don't go to those, either. Mine's overdue.'

'Nevertheless, as long as I'm here, why don't we have a look?'

'What are we looking for?'

'A little tub-thumping and a short blood sample for the lab.'

'I feel fine.'

'I'm sure you are fine,' agreed Lyons, nodding. 'It's just routine and won't take more than a couple of minutes… It really is an honour to meet you, Congressman.'

'Thanks very much… Go on, Manny. Do you want one of the nurses to assist you, Doctor?'

'It doesn't really matter—’

'So she can wax lascivious over my naked chest?' protested Weingrass, interrupting. 'Come on, Doc. You tap around my ribs and go out and buy yourself a Cadillac.'

'At least a Ferrari,' countered Lyons, smiling at Kendrick.

Emmanuel Weingrass and his new doctor walked down the stone hallway towards the bedroom.