Weapons of Mass Deception

CHAPTER 32

Through a gap in the drawn drapes, Rafiq could see a blindingly white slice of Argentinean winter sunshine. The gloom of the sickroom unnerved him, reminding him of Farid’s painful last weeks battling pancreatic cancer.

He shifted in his chair, breaking the silence with a creak of wood and leather. The nurse reprimanded him with her eyes. Rafiq ignored her.

Javier lay in the hospital bed, his face the color of the bedsheets. His eyes flickered and Rafiq realized the old man was awake, watching him. His fingers beckoned to Rafiq to come closer. The nurse stood and wiped a line of spittle from his chin. Javier whispered to her.

“Pardon?” she replied in Spanish.

“Leave us,” he said in a louder voice.

The nurse looked from Javier to Rafiq, opening her mouth to protest. Rafiq met her gaze, and she hurried to the door.

Javier patted the bed next to him; Rafiq sat and took the old man’s hand in his own.

“Do you know what today is?” Javier wheezed.

Rafiq shook his head.

“I asked Consuela to marry me, forty years ago today.” He paused for breath. The oxygen line under his nose had slipped down, and Rafiq adjusted it. “Today is the day I see her again.”

“Papa,” Rafiq said. It still amazed him how normal it felt to call this man his father. “Papa, don’t talk like that.”

Javier shook his head. “It is my choice. I want it this way. Today is the day.” He paused again for breath. “Open the drapes, my son. I want to see the mountains again.”

Rafiq rose and pulled the cord to open the heavy window coverings. Sunlight flooded the room, making both of them squint. Rafiq started to close them again.

“Leave it!” Javier called, with a cough. His hand found the controls for his bed and he raised his head up. He patted the bedside again.

For a long time, the two of them sat staring out the window. The ranch house was built on a bluff overlooking the hillside vineyard and a long valley. Mountains loomed in the distance, dappled by the shadows of clouds and dusted with snow.

“Nadine was an accident, you know,” Javier said. “We were told we could never have children… my Consuela lit so many candles in church I was afraid she would burn the place down!” He laughed, a deep, phlegmy burble in his chest.

The old man’s decline tore at Rafiq’s heart. Only a few months ago, he’d been a healthy, hearty soul drinking his red wine and smoking cigars in the dark of the nighttime veranda. Now he was a pasty imitation of Javier, an abomination. Rafiq was glad today was the day and his adopted father would leave this world on his own terms.

Javier lifted his hand toward the window then let it fall back to the bedding. “This, my daughter, my life’s work, everything I have, I leave to you, my son. My estancia is now yours.”

Rafiq said nothing. They had reviewed Javier’s will and the ranch finances together. He was a rich man.

“Your cargo,” Javier said finally. “What are your plans?”

Rafiq avoided his eyes. “It’s been more than seven years, Papa. If they were going to activate me, it would have happened by now.”

Javier was having none of it. He struggled to sit up higher, beckoning Rafiq to put another pillow behind his back so he could see him eye to eye. “No,” the old man said, when he had caught his breath. “They will call. They always call. You must tell them, son. You must walk away now. Give them a fortune, but walk away. For the sake of your family.”

His hand latched onto Rafiq’s forearm with a surprisingly strong grip. “Promise me,” he whispered.

Rafiq met his gaze and held it. He nodded. “I promise.”

Javier smiled and lay back against the pillows. “Gracias.”

A light knock at the door interrupted them, and the nurse peeked into the room. Javier waved at her to enter. “Bring in my grandchildren,” he called out in a loud voice.

Little Javi burst into the room in a flurry of energy, rushing to his namesake’s bedside. Rafiq stopped him before he leaped onto the bed. The old man reached out and buried his withered hand in the boy’s mass of dark curls. “So much like your mother, Javi. How is the riding coming?”

Javi babbled on about his latest exploit on horseback, but the old man’s attention was drawn to the doorway. Nadine entered, stooped over so that Consie could hold her hand as she toddled into the room. The baby let go of her mother’s fingers and made the last few steps to the bed on her own. The old man’s face lit up. “Oh, how I wish your mother could see these two, Deanie. She would be so proud.”

The expression on Nadine’s face sucked the breath out of Rafiq’s lungs. The strain of her father’s sudden illness had taken a toll on his beautiful wife. Her face had thinned and paled, sharpening her cheekbones and enlarging her dark eyes. A line of silver hair sprouted from her right temple, trailing down over her shoulder. Rafiq knew she had bought hair dye to hide it, but the package had lain in their bathroom cabinet for over a month, unopened.

Her eyes were dry. She knows, Rafiq thought. She knows today is the day.

Nadine’s arms trembled as she picked up Consie. “Children, it’s time to say goodbye to Tito now.” Her voice broke when she said the Spanish word for grandfather, and the baby turned sharply to study her mother’s face. Nadine placed her lips on Consie’s forehead and held them there until she had regained some control.

Javier leaned over so Javi could place a kiss on his cheek. The old man fluffed the boy’s dark curls. “You grow up to be as good a man as your father, understand, boy?”

Javi stopped short at the tone in his grandfather’s voice, then nodded. He looked up at Rafiq. “Can I ride Storm past Tito’s window?” Rafiq nodded automatically and the boy sped out of the room.

Nadine leaned in so Javier could reach his granddaughter. The little girl placed one palm on either cheek and studied the old man’s face, her smooth brow wrinkling with concentration. Javier smiled at her. “You have wise eyes, little one. Just like your grandmother.”

“Pa — pa,” replied Consie.

“Give Tito a kiss, Consie,” Nadine whispered.

The toddler wrapped her chubby arms around the old man’s whiskered neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. Rafiq’s vision went blurry for a few seconds. When he regained control of his emotions, Nadine had placed Consie in the care of the nurse and shooed the woman from the room.

Nadine stripped away the oxygen line from his nostrils and removed the other monitors from her father’s body. The machines beeped in protest, so she turned them off and pushed them roughly against the wall. Then she curled up next to her father on the bed. Rafiq sat on the other side, taking the old man’s hand in his own.

For a long time, the three of them just sat there, staring out the wide picture window. The sun painted the mountains in tones of gold and rippled across the grassy valley. Javi, seated astride his beloved Storm, burst into view. The boy was crouched close to the horse’s neck, his face almost in the animal’s mane, as he urged him faster across the yard.

“He rides almost as well as you did at that age, Deanie.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Rafiq saw Nadine nod. “Better.”

Rafiq was not much of a horseman, but he loved to watch his talented son ride. The boy swung the animal around for another pass in front of his grandfather’s window. Rafiq looked over at Javier to say something and stopped.

The old man’s gray eyes were fastened on the window, but all the life had gone out of them. Nadine, still curled up against her father’s shoulder, met Rafiq’s gaze. Her dry eyes held a haunted look.

Rafiq squeezed the cooling flesh of Javier’s hand. “I promise,” he whispered.

There were two funerals for Javier.

The first was at sunrise on the third day following his death, in the small chapel near the ranch. Fog clung to the gray stones of the old church and the interior was cold and damp. The priest, a gray-haired man, said mass in a plain cassock, the unfamiliar Spanish words rolling over Rafiq like a meditation. Javier had converted to Catholicism at the request of his beloved Consuela, and yet his whole life had been spent funneling money and support to the Muslim organization Hezbollah in his homeland. His entire existence was a carefully balanced commitment to two diametrically opposed causes.

How did you do it, old man?

Consie fussed in the pew next to him. Rafiq shifted the girl onto his lap, where she snuggled against his chest and went to sleep. He kissed the back of her head. His promise to Javier burned in his ears.

Despite the hour, the building was full to bursting with plainly dressed ranch hands, vineyard workers, and local shopkeepers. Rafiq was shocked at the turnout and touched by the sincerity of the people as he shook their hands following the mass. Nadine stood at his side, veiled in black but hauntingly beautiful at the same time.

The second mass, held at the Basilica in Ciudad Del Este, was for the elite — and they turned out in force. Mayors, politicians, police chiefs, military officers, anyone who was anyone from as far away as Buenos Aires was there, all saying the same thing to Rafiq: Whatever you need, just ask.

And then they were alone, just he and Nadine, in the massive ranch house. The children were with their nanny and the servants had all been given the night off.

They sat on the veranda as darkness fell, until the black of Nadine’s dress made her body disappear and all he could see of his wife was the pale moon of her face.

“Are you forgetting something?” she asked.

“What?”

“The cargo. You haven’t checked on the cargo today.”

Rafiq reached for her in the dark.

“Not today.”