The Icarus Agenda

Chapter 30

It was ten minutes past one in the morning, and exhaustion hung like circles of dead, heavy mist throughout the house in Mesa Verde. The CIA field agent, his eyes dark with fatigue, walked on to the enclosed porch, where Evan and Khalehla sat on the leather couch diagonally across from Manny in his reclining chair. The three nurses had left, each to her own room, each having been dismissed from duty for the rest of the night; the presence of armed guards patrolling the grounds outside had stretched their nerves. Their patient would survive sleep without being looked in on every half-hour. Dr Lyons had guaranteed it.

'Washington's anxious,' announced the weary intelligence officer. 'The schedule's been moved up, so I'm going down to the airport for the van now. The plane should be here in about an hour which means we don't have much time. They want that bird to come in and get out.'

'The tower down there doesn't operate all night except by prearrangement,' said Kendrick. 'Have you thought about that?'

'Hours ago, in time for your flight from the Bahamas. The Air Force flew over a team of controllers from Colorado Springs. The cover's an AF training manoeuvre cleared through your office. Nobody objects and no one questions.'

'How come?'

'Because you're you, sir.'

'Is there anything we can do here?' asked Khalehla quickly, before Evan could make a comment.

'Yes, there is,' answered the field agent. 'If you wouldn't mind, I'd rather not have anyone up when I get back. We've got this thing worked out by the numbers, and I mean fractions, so the fewer distractions the better.'

'How are you going to handle those cowboys from the park outside?' said Weingrass, grimacing but obviously not from the question he asked. 'I put my head out the door a couple of times before these two got here and they rushed up to me like I was a runaway bear.'

'They've been told a foreign VIP is arriving to see the Congressman—in fact, that's the reason they're here. And since the meeting is highly confidential… and in deference to the visitor who wants to keep it that way, all patrols will remain out of sight. They'll be on the sides of the house and down at the gazebo.'

'They bought that nonsense?' interjected Weingrass.

'They have no reason to question it.'

'Because he's him,' agreed Manny, nodding.

'And because they're being paid three hundred dollars apiece for losing a night's sleep.'

'Very pro, Mr. Containment. You're better than I thought.'

'I have to be… Well, if I don't see you again, it's been a real pleasure meeting you, Congressman. Some day I'll be able to tell my kids about it… No, please don't get up, sir, I've got to run. You, too, Miss Official, as Mr. Weingrass would say… And you, Manny, I tell you, it's been an experience. I think I'm glad you're on our side.'

'You should be, you need all the help you can get… Ciao, young man. Have a good track-down and if the odds are only five to one against you, you'll win.'

'Thanks, Manny, I intend to.' The intelligence officer turned briefly to Evan and Khalehla on the couch. 'I mean that,' he added quietly. 'I heard the reference to Fairfax in the car and let it pass, but it wasn't easy. You see, I'm the only one here who knows what happened; it's why I insisted on leading this team. My older sister's son, my nephew—I brought him into the Agency—he was part of that unit. I intend to have a damned good track-down.' The CIA man left quickly.

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, and employees—young and old alike—simply doing their jobs. Where's your case, sir?

'How terrible for him,' said Khalehla. 'He must feel such hurt, such guilt.'

'Which of us doesn't?' asked Kendrick, his voice floating, then stopped abruptly with a sudden, forced intake of air.

'You can't blame yourself for what's happened,' insisted Khalehla.

'Happening,' exclaimed Kendrick. 'It's happening! How the hell did these people get into the country? Who let them in? Where are our so-called brilliant security measures that can catch fifth-rate Soviet agents we exchange for set-up reporters in Moscow because it's good PR, but can't stop a dozen killers who come in to kill? Who makes it possible?'

'We're trying to find out.'

'You're a little late, aren't you?'

'Stop it!' ordered Weingrass, leaning forward, punching the space in front of him with his forefinger. 'This girl has nothing to do with what you're talking about and I won't have it!'

'I know that!' said Kendrick, reaching for Khalehla's hand, 'and she knows I know it. It's just that everything's so insane—I feel so helpless, so frightened. Goddamn it, how many others have to be killed? We can't stop these people! They're maniacs and they're running loose and we'll never find them!' Evan lowered his voice, his eyes, filled with pain, levelled at the field agent from Cairo. 'Any more than we've found the bastards who stole that “theft-proof” Oman file and splattered me all over the world. How long has it been—eight, ten weeks? We're no closer than when we began. At least now we know why they did it. It wasn't to make me a hero, or to promote my so-called career as a political contender for Christ knows what… it was to set me up for the kill! A “vengeance death” I believe is the literal Arabic translation. The point is we're not getting anywhere!'

'Listen to me,' said Khalehla softly. 'I'm going to say something I probably shouldn't, but sometimes we break a rule because hope is important, too… Other things have happened that you don't know about—are happening, as you say—and each new piece of information brings us a step closer to the truth about this whole horrible mess.'

'That's pretty cryptic, young lady.'

'Manny, try to understand. Evan does because we have an agreement. He knows that there are times when I can't explain things.'

'May an old man who's been a resident in your territory once or twice before ask why?'

'If you mean your work with the Mossad, you shouldn't have to—forgive my being blunt… The basis is an imperative need-to-know, because what you don't know you can't reveal.'

'The Amytals and the Pentothals?' asked Weingrass. 'In the old days, scopolamine? Come on, my lovely girl, we're not in the back streets of Marrakesh or the partisan mountains of Ashot Yaaqov. Who would use chemicals on us here?'

'I'm sure that young prisoner Evan identified, the one who's on his way to a clinic in Virginia, probably felt the same way. Within twenty-four hours his entire life will be on tape.'

'Not applicable,' insisted Weingrass.

'Perhaps not, but something else is. Six hours ago we got a trace—a possible trace—that may take us higher up in this government than any of us wishes. If we're wrong, Congressman Kendrick of Colorado can't be a part of it; quite simply, he can't know anything. He has total deniability. As a result, neither can you, Manny.'

That radio transmission on the plane,' said Evan, looking hard at Khalehla. 'There was no station chief in Cairo, was there?' Khalehla shrugged, releasing his hand and reaching for her drink on the coffee table in front of the couch. 'All right, no specifics,' continued Kendrick, 'but let's talk about the truth—forget deniability, which I don't give a damn about. What kind of truth are you after? Give me an overview—I've heard that word ad nauseam in Washington. What kind of people are doing what to whom? Whoever they are, they've killed my friends—our friends. I have a right to know.'

'Yes, you do,' said Khalehla slowly, sitting rigid on the couch, looking alternately at Evan and Emmanuel Weingrass, finally settling on Kendrick. 'You said it yourself, questioned it yourself—part of the truth, anyway. Someone did let these killers in and made it possible for them to kill. Passports were provided without restrictions, and as I can easily picture their general appearances because I'm one of them, those false papers had to be terribly good to get past the anti-terrorist experts we and our allies have at every immigration point here and abroad, including the Soviet Union, I might add. Beyond those papers are the logistics, the lines of supply without which terrorists can't operate. Weapons, ammunition, money, drivers' licences and hired vehicles; locations where they can hide and prepare themselves, even down to the most up-to-date clothing made in this country in case they're arrested and interrogated. Then there are such items as train and air reservations, all made in advance, the tickets delivered before they walk into a terminal, except when it's on a platform or in a flight lounge at the last minute. You see, nothing is inconsequential to these people; everything is vital down to the last detail for the success of any given mission.' Khalehla paused, shifting her gaze between both men. 'Someone's made all of these things available to them, and whoever it is, or whoever they are, they shouldn't be where they are in this government or have the accesses they have. It's more important than I can ever explain that they be found.'

'You said that about those who stole the Oman file.'

'And you believe they're the same people.'

'Aren't they? It's pretty obvious to me.'

'Not to me.'

‘The set-up. It's the explanation for a revenge kill. Me.'

'Suppose they're separate,' insisted Khalehla. 'One giving birth to the other? It's been ten weeks, remember? The impetus for killing you in the heat of vengeance which is intrinsic to jaremat thaár has passed.'

'You just pointed out all the details that had to be put in place. That takes time.'

'If they have the resources to do what they've done in ten weeks, they could do it in ten days, Evan.'

Emmanuel Weingrass held up his hand, palm forward; it was a command for quiet and he expected to be obeyed. 'You are now telling us that instead of one enemy my son has two? The Arabs from the Baaka Valley and someone else over here who works with them or against them? Are you making sense, my lovely child?'

'Two forces, both elusive, one a deadly enemy, certainly… the other I just don't know. I only know what I sense, and I'm not being evasive. When MJ doesn't have the answers, he keeps blaming it on what he calls “gaps”. I guess that's what I'm falling back on. There are too many gaps.'

Weingrass grimaced again, a silent belch filling his gaunt cheeks. 'I accept your perceptions,' he said. 'If Mitchell ever throws you out, I'll find you reasonable employment with the Mossad, avoiding a certain accountant who would let you starve.' The old architect suddenly breathed deeply and leaned back in his chair.

'Manny, what is it?' said Khalehla, her question causing Kendrick to turn his head, alarmed.

'Are you all right?' asked Evan.

'I'm ready for the Olympics,' replied Weingrass. 'Except that one minute I'm cold, the next minute I'm hot. It was all that running around in the woods like a kid. Lyons told me my systolic was a little high, or maybe it was the other one, and that I had a few bruises where I shouldn't have… I told him I'd been bullfighting. I've got to rest these bones, children.' The old man got out of his chair. 'Would you believe, Khalehla, that I'm not a kid?'

'I think you're not only very young, but also remarkable.'

'Extraordinary is more appropriate, actually,' offered Manny. 'But right now I feel the effects of my virtuosity. I'm going to bed.'

'I'll get one of the nurses,' said Kendrick, starting to rise.

'For what? So she can take advantage of me, ravage me? I want rest, boy!… And—let them rest, Evan. They've been through a lot and they don't even know what they've been through. I'm fine, just tired. Try running in the Olympics when you're sixty.'

'Sixty?'

'Shut up, son. I can still give you a run for your money for that lovely girl.'

'Could it have been something the doctor gave you?' asked Khalehla, smiling warmly at the compliment.

'So what did he give? Nothing. He just took a little blood for his mishegoss laboratory and offered me some pills which I told him I'd throw down the toilet. They were probably samples he got for nothing and then charges enough for a new wing on his fancy house… Ciao, young things.'

The two of them watched as the old man walked through the archway into the living room, each step firmly planted ahead of the other as if he were summoning strength he did not feel. 'Do you think he's okay?' asked Evan when Weingrass was out of sight.

'I think he's exhausted,' said Khalehla. 'You try doing what he did tonight—forget sixty or eighty—try tomorrow.'

‘I’ll look in on him every now and then.'

'We'll take turns. That way we'll both feel better without waking the nurses.'

'Which is another way of saying they'll stay put and away from the windows.'

'I guess it is,' admitted Rashad. 'But we'd still feel better, even if it's on both counts.'

'Do you want another drink?'

'No, thanks—’

'I do.' Kendrick got up from the couch.

'I haven't finished.'

'What?' Evan turned as Khalehla rose and stood in front of him.

'I don't want a drink… but I do want you.'

In silence, Kendrick looked down at her, his eyes roving over her face, finally settling, staring into her eyes. 'Is this pity? Be merciful to the confused man in pain?'

'You'll get no pity from me, I told you that. I respect you too much, I told you that, too. As for the poor, confused man in pain, who's pitying whom?'

'I didn't mean it that way—’

'I know you didn't. I'm just not sure how you meant it.'

'I told you before. I'm not looking for any fast action, not with you. If it's all I can have, I'll take it, but it's not what I'm looking for.'

'You talk too goddamned much, Evan.'

'You evade too much. You told Manny that you weren't evasive, but you are. For at least six weeks I've tried to get near you, tried to get you to talk about us, tried to break down that glass wall you've erected, but “No dice,” says the bright lady.'

'Because I'm scared, damn you!'

'Of what?'

'Of both of us!'

'Now you're the one who's talking too much.'

'Well, you certainly didn't talk last night. You think I didn't hear you? Pacing up and down like an ape in a cage outside my door?'

'Why didn't you open it?'

'Why didn't you break it down?' They both laughed quietly, their arms encircling each other. 'Do you want a drink?'

'No… I want you.'

There was not the frenzy of Bahrain. There was urgency, of course, but it was the urgency of lovers, not of two desperate strangers grasping for release in a world gone crazy. Their world was not sane, they were all too aware of that, yet they had found a semblance of order between themselves, each for the other, and the discovery was splendid and warm and suddenly filled with promise, where before there was only a void filled with uncertainty… each for the other.

It was as if both were insatiable. Climax was followed by quiet talk, and one or the other looked in on Emmanuel Weingrass, then more talk, bodies together, rushing once again for the fulfilment both craved. Neither could stop holding the other, pulling, weaving, rolling, until the sweet juices were exhausted… and still they could not let each other go until sleep came.

The earliest morning sun broke open the Colorado day. Drained but strangely at peace within the warm, temporary cave they had found for themselves, Evan reached for Khalehla. She was not there; he opened his eyes. She was not there. He elbowed himself up on the pillow; her clothes were draped on a chair and he breathed again. He saw that the doors to both his bathroom and the clothes cupboard were open and then he remembered and laughed quietly, ruefully, to himself. The hero of Oman and the experienced intelligence agent from Cairo had gone to the Bahamas with one carry-on bag apiece, and in the rush of events had promptly left both either in a Nassau police car or on an Air Force F-106. Neither had noticed until after their first stampeded race for the bed, after which Khalehla had stated dreamingly,

'I bought an outrageous nightgown for this trip—more in hope than in realistic expectation—but I think I'll put it on.' Then both had looked at each other, mouths gaped, eyes widened. 'Oh, my God!' she cried. 'Where the hell did we leave it? I mean them, the two of them!'

'Did you have anything incriminating in yours?'

'Only the nightie—it wasn't right for Rebecca of Sunny-brook Farm… Oh, good Lord! A couple of real pros we are!'

'I never claimed to be one—'

'Did you have—'

'Dirty socks and a sex manual—more in hope than in realistic expectation.' They had fallen back into each other's arms, the humour of the situation telling them something else about themselves. 'You'd wear that nightgown for roughly five seconds before I tore it off and then you'd have to charge the government for the loss of personal property. I just saved the taxpayers at least six dollars… Come here.'

One of them had checked on Manny; neither could remember which.

Kendrick got out of bed and went to his closet. He owned two bathrobes; one was missing so he went into his bathroom to make himself feel and look reasonably presentable. After a shower and a shave he applied too much cologne, but then, he reflected, it had not hurt him nearly twenty years ago in college with an empty-headed cheerleader. Had it been that long ago since impressions mattered to him? He put on his second bathrobe, walked out of the room and down the stone hallway to the arch. Khalehla was sitting at the heavy pine table with the black leather top in the living room, talking quietly into the telephone. She saw him and smiled briefly, concentrating on the person at the other end of the line.

'It's all clear,' she said as Evan approached. ‘I’ll be in touch. Goodbye.' Khalehla got up from the table, the outsized bathrobe draped strikingly, revealingly around her body. She pulled the folds of fabric together and came to him, suddenly reaching out and placing her hands on his shoulders. 'Kiss me, Kendrick,' she ordered gently.

'Aren't I supposed to say that?'

They kissed until Khalehla understood that in another moment they would be heading back to the bedroom. 'Okay, okay, Kong, I've got things to tell you.'

'Kong?'

'I wanted you to break down a door, remember?… Good heavens, you forget things.'

'I may be incompetent but I hope not inadequate.'

'You're probably right about the first, but you're definitely not inadequate, my darling.'

'Do you know how much I love to hear you say that?'

'What?'

'“My darling”--'

'It's an expression, Evan.'

'At this moment I think I'd kill if I thought you used it with anyone but me.'

'Please.'

'Have you? Do you?'

'You're asking me if I just like to sleep around occasionally, aren't you?' said Khalehla calmly, removing her arms from him.

'That's pretty rough. No, of course not.'

'Since we're talking and I've been doing a lot of thinking, let's tackle this. I've had attachments, as you've had, and I've called several “darling”, even “dearest”, I suppose, but if you want to know the truth, you insufferable egotist, I've never called anyone “my darling”. Does that answer your question, you rat?'

'It'll do,' said Evan, grinning and reaching for her.

'No, please, Evan. Talking is safer.'

'I thought you just gave me an order to kiss you. What changed?'

'You had to talk and I had to start thinking again… And I don't think I'm ready for you.'

'Why not?'

'Because I'm a professional and I have work to do and if I'm screwed up with you—figuratively and literally—I can't do it.'

'Again, why not?'

'Because, you idiot, I'm very close to being in love with you.'

That's all I'm asking for. Because I do love you.'

'Oh, those words are so easy, so facile. But not in my business, not in the world I live in. The word comes down: Have so-and-so killed, or let him be killed—whichever it is, it solves a multitude of problems… And what happens if it turns out to be you… my darling. Could you do it if you were me?'

'Could it really ever come down to that?'

'It has; it might. It's called third-party omission, as in what do I know—but they know what I'll permit. You see, you're one human being—terrific or despicable, depending on the point of view—and by giving you away we might save two hundred or four hundred people on a plane because “they” couldn't get you unless we gave you away before a flight… Oh, my little world is filled with benignly neglected morality because all we deal with is malignant immorality.'

'Why stay in it? Why not get out?'

Khalehla paused, looking at him, her eyes unwavering.

'Because we save lives,' she answered finally. 'And every now and then something happens that reduces the malignancy, showing it for what it is, and peace is just a little closer. More often than not we've been a part of that process.'

'You've got to have a life beyond that, a life of your own.'

'Oh, I will one day, because one day I won't be useful any more, at least not where I want to be. I'll be a known commodity—first you're suspected, then you're exposed and then you're useless, and that's when you'd better get out of town. My superiors will try to persuade me I can be valuable in other posts; they'll dangle the bait of a pension in front of me and a nice choice of sectors, but I don't think I'll bite.'

'According to that scenario, what will you do?'

'Good Lord, I speak six languages fluently and read and write four. Coupled with my background, I'd say my qualifications are ample for any number of jobs.'

'That sounds reasonable except for one thing. There's a missing ingredient.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Me… That's what I'm talking about.'

'Oh, come on, Evan.'

'No,' said Kendrick, shaking his head. 'No more “Oh, come on” or “Please, Evan.” I won't settle for that. I know what I feel and I think I know what you feel and to disregard those feelings is both stupid and a waste.'

'I told you, I'm not ready—’

'I never thought I'd ever be ready,' interrupted Kendrick, his voice soft and flat. 'You see, I've done some thinking, too, and I've been pretty harsh on myself. I've been selfish most of my life. I've always loved the freedom I have, to go and do what I've wanted to do—badly or well, it didn't make much difference so long as I could do it. Self-sufficient, I guess is the term—self, self, self. Then you come along and blow the whole damn thing to pieces. You show me what I don't have and by showing me you make me feel like an idiot… I have no one to share anything with, it's as simple as that. No one I care for enough to run to and say “Look, I did it,” or even “Sorry, I didn't do it.”… Sure, Manny's there, when he's there, but his own opinion notwithstanding, he's not immortal. You said last night that you were scared… well, I'm the one who's scared now, frightened beyond any fear I thought I'd ever experience. That's the fear of losing you. I'm not much good at begging or grovelling, but I'll beg and grovel or do anything you like, but please, please don't leave me.'

'Oh, my God,' said Khalehla, closing her eyes, the tears rolling separately, slowly, down her cheeks. 'You son of a bitch.'

'It's a start.'

'I do love you!' She rushed into his arms. 'I shouldn't, I shouldn't!’

'You can always change your mind in twenty or thirty years.'

'You've loused up my life—’

'You haven't made mine any easier.'

'Very nice!' came the sonorous voice from the stone archway.

'Manny!' cried Khalehla, releasing Evan, pushing him away and looking over his shoulder.

'How long have you been there?' asked Kendrick harshly, snapping his head around.

'I came in on the begging and grovelling,' replied Weingrass in a scarlet bathrobe. 'It always works, boy. The strong-man-on-his-knees bit. Never fails.'

'You're impossible!’ shouted Evan.

'He's adorable.'

'I'm both, but keep your voices down, you'll wake up the coven… What the hell are you doing out here at this hour?'

'This hour is eight o'clock in Washington,' said Khalehla. 'How are you feeling?'

'Ahnnh,' answered the old man, flicking the palm of his right hand as he walked into the living room. 'I slept but I didn't sleep, you know what I mean? And you clowns didn't help, opening the door every five minutes, you also know what I mean?'

'It was hardly every five minutes,' said Khalehla.

'You've got your wristwatch, I've got mine—So what did my friend Mitchell say? That's the eight o'clock in Washington, if I'm not mistaken.'

'You're not,' agreed the intelligence officer from Cairo. 'I was about to explain—’

'Some explanation. The violins were in full vibrato.'

'Manny!'

'Shut up. Let her talk.'

'I have to leave—for a day, perhaps two.'

'Where are you going?' asked Kendrick.

'I can't tell you that… my darling.'