Veil

28

“Mr. Rothschild, your ten o’clock appointment just pulled into the parking garage.”

“Send him right in when he gets upstairs.”

“Yes sir.”

Seventy-two hours from his sobering meeting at the Saudi Embassy, Edward sat dreading the arrival of Suraya, without the evidence, and no closer to a solution. He thumped his desk in staccato then swiveled around facing the window. A clear view of early morning Washington filled the wide panels of plate-glass like his own personal picture postcard.

What Mr. Veil? What were you looking for at Parklawn? It’s the evidence. It has to be.

He felt the eyes of his father and grandfather on the nape of his neck, staring over his shoulder from the painting behind him. Don’t fail us!

Protect the name! Protect the legacy! Kill them all!

“Mr. Rothschild, Mr. Khomeini has arrived.” Suraya swung the door open and rolled his considerable girth through the door. Edward arranged an extra-wide leather chair for the Iranian, a detail not unnoticed by Suraya, effusive in his appreciation. Pleasantries aside, the Iranian turned serious, carefully measuring his words as though other ears might be listening. Edward assured him they could talk freely.

“I hope you have good news for us, Mr. Rothschild,” said Suraya.

“My partners and I are ready to move in your favor.”

“Thank you, Suraya. Everything is in order. I’d like you and the others to hold off just a little longer. Everything will be over in a couple of days, then we can move forward without interruption.” Suraya stared Edward down with cold black eyes. “That’s unfortunate,” he said. “Our people are in place and soon they’ll be ready to go. We need your little situation to cease now, not a few days from now.”

“Listen,” Edward said, his teeth clenched, nostrils flaring. “I too have much riding on this. But there are a few loose ends I must clean up before any action is taken.”

“And what do these loose ends entail?” Edward ran his long pianist fingers across his chin. “As you can imagine, it’s very sensitive or I would’ve taken care of the issue long ago.”

“One wonders,” answered Suraya. “Maybe age has cost you your nerve.”

Edward smiled. “I can assure you and your friends my resolve is the least of your worries.”

“Nevertheless, time is not on our side, is it?” asked Suraya. “We’ve been moving along pretty much as planned, but in sensitive situations it doesn’t take much to catapult things in the wrong direction. So I hope you understand our need to intervene.”

“I understand better than you the importance of resolving this matter.

As you probably already know, there’s a Supreme Court confirmation hearing going on for Judge Fiona Patrick.”

“Yes, I’ve met her at receptions on several occasions. So?”

“The hearing figures into my plans. I need you to pull back your men until after the hearing. If the situation isn’t concluded by then, do what you will.”

Suraya rose and walked over to the painting of Edward’s father and grandfather. “They were involved too, no?” he sneered.

Edward’s nostrils flared. “Suraya, I’m afraid if you and your partners insist on going forward with your plans, I’ll have to withdraw my support, and, as painful as it would be, call off our deal. If there’s so much as a hint of your involvement, especially since nine-eleven, it won’t matter what you’re offering.”

Suraya, breathing hard, eyes red, leaned forward on the desk. “Our people will proceed immediately,” he said, measuring his tone through gritted teeth. “They will handle things expeditiously, including the White House, if it comes to that. They have instructions to carry on as they wish, so they can strike at any moment. Even we will not know when or where. So whatever you have to do Mr. Rothschild, you’d better hurry.”

Wet concrete filled Edward’s chest. Suraya walked to the door. “It’s a mistake Suraya.”

“No, Mr. Rothschild, it’s war,” said Suraya, a jihad storm in his eyes.

“And don’t think for one second our offer places your value above our cause. Our purpose is a holy one and Allah directs our steps. Get in our way and we’ll be happy to add the name Rothschild to the list.” Suraya stomped out of the office. Edward slammed his fist down breaking his phone into several pieces. The threat didn’t bother him, not having the evidence did. He paced the room. The cemetery. Why were you there, Mr. Veil?

He removed a back-up secure cell phone from a wall safe and dialed.

“Hello Vernon. It’s too late to let nature take its course. We’ll have to do without the evidence. Inform Simon and Marilyn, continue to track Veil, and all of you meet me here the morning of Judge Patrick’s confirmation hearing. He didn’t wait for a comment.

Edward sat back down and stared out at the city, the painting of his father and grandfather reflecting in the window. Don’t fail us! Protect the name! Protect the legacy! Kill them all!