Decker was touched by Christopher's obvious pain. For three weeks now Christopher had provided Decker with cheerful companionship, never once saying a word about his own loss.
Perhaps, Decker thought, it was time to start thinking of someone besides himself. Without thinking it through, Decker asked, "Would you like for me to go with you to find them? We could take them home to Los Angeles and bury them there, or we could bring them here and bury them in the backyard near Elizabeth, Hope and Louisa."
Christopher seemed to appreciate the offer but responded that he didn't think it was a good idea. "No, it's, uh… too far," he answered.
"That's all right. I can help you drive," Decker told the precocious fourteen-year-old, trying to make a joke and not catching the hint in Christopher's voice that he preferred not to talk about it.
"Mr. Hawthorne," Christopher said directly, "their bodies have been up on that mountain, exposed to the elements and animals for nearly a month. I don't think… "
Decker was shocked at his own stupidity. How could he have missed that? "I'm sorry, Christopher. I didn't think."
"It's okay, Mr Hawthorne," Christopher said, and from the understanding look on his face, Decker could tell that it really was. Christopher had apparently accepted the harsh truth with determined resolve to go on. "Come on," he said. "The waffles are getting cold."
Decker was beginning to understand Harry Goodman's fear of disclosing Christopher's origin. Over the past few weeks, almost without knowing it, Decker had come to think of Christopher almost as his own son. Perhaps it was because of the loss of Elizabeth, Hope and Louisa. Much of the feeling, though, was due to Christopher's totally unselfish attitude: always giving of himself and never asking for anything more in return than room and board. Decker finally and firmly resolved that the story of Christopher's origin was one the world could do without.
Three days later Decker was spending the afternoon reading through recent copies of NewsWorld that Hank Asher had brought over to help bring him up to date on the world, restore his interest in life, and assist in his recovery. He was reading the special issue on the effects of the Disaster and how people were handling their pain and loss, when the phone rang.
"Mr. Hawthorne's residence," Christopher answered, sounding more like a domestic servant than a fourteen-year-old boy. "Yes, just a moment, I'll get him for you." Decker got up and headed for the phone as Christopher reported that it was Mr. Asher calling from NewsWorld.
"Hank, how are you?" Decker asked warmly.
"I'm fine. How are you?" Asher's voice made it clear he was willing to listen to a detailed response.
"Much better, actually. Really, I'm doing all right," Decker said resolutely.
Hank Asher understood the determination in Decker's voice. He was probably a long way from being 'all right' but he was determined to be all right and that, in itself, was a major step in the right direction. "Good," Asher said. "So when are you going to get back to work and start earning your keep, you bum?"
Decker knew that Asher was joking, but he sensed that there was a somewhat serious nature to the question. It was clear enough that Asher's real concern was getting Decker back into life; back into the work that was his life. Decker appreciated Hank's concern but was in no hurry to face the world just yet. "I don't know," he answered, "maybe after the first of the year."
Asher didn't respond.
Decker waited and then, feeling a little guilty about receiving a salary without doing anything to earn it, he moderated his answer. "Well, maybe in a few more weeks."
Asher still didn't answer.
Decker had compromised all that he cared to, so for a long moment there was total silence. Finally, Asher spoke. "I need you in New York on Monday."
"Monday!" Decker blurted. "If you've got a story in New York why not just have someone from the New York office cover it?"
"The New York office is understaffed since the Disaster, and really, it's just a small assignment. It'll be good for you. You'll be in and out in one day. I'd send someone else, but he's your friend. You could do the whole interview and still have plenty of time to see a show. You know what they say, Disaster or no, 'the show must go on.'"
Decker ignored Asher's darkhumor. "What do you mean, he's my friend? Who are you talking about?"
Hank Asher knew exactly how to get to Decker Hawthorne: just appeal to his curiosity. He had taken the bait; now to reel him in.
"Jon Hansen," Asher answered.
"The British Ambassador to the U.N.?" Decker asked, more out of surprise than for confirmation.
Asher didn't answer the obvious. "I've already set up the interview for Monday afternoon and bought your plane ticket."
"I don't know, Hank," Decker said reluctantly, but yielding a little ground. "What's this all about? What's the story?"
"It's about Hansen's report on the situation in the Middle East. The U.N. lost nearly 2000 men assigned to that area in the Disaster. They've tried to replace them with reinforcements but many of the countries that provide the U.N. with soldiers were hit just as badly. The U.S., Britain, Germany, Switzerland, all have major losses, as high as twenty percent. With the threat of war in the Middle East because of the Jews building a temple on the site of the Dome of the Rock, there's serious doubts that the U.N. forces can maintain the peace.
"We have a tip that Hansen is going to recommend that unless Israel agrees to halt construction of the Temple, the U.N. should withdraw its remaining 13,000 man force from around Israel's borders immediately. If the U.N. removes its troops, war is almost certain."
"How many people know about this?" Decker asked, as he felt his resistance slipping away.
"There are a lot of rumors and suspicions, but no one knows the facts. Hansen refuses to talk to the press, except for… " Asher paused.
"Except for me!" Decker said, completing Asher's sentence for him. "So that's it. And I thought you were just concerned about my well being."
"I am concerned about your well being, and I think this would be good therapy for you."
This time it was Decker's turn to respond with silence.
'Well… will you do it or not?" Asher finally asked.
"Yeah, I'll do it." Decker looked over at Christopher who had been listening quietly to Decker's end of the conversation. "But, I'll need two tickets instead of one." Christopher understood and nodded with great enthusiasm. "And can you set up a tour of the U.N. for Christopher?"
"That's a great idea," Asher said. "The kid must be going crazy with cabin fever by now. I'll even make reservations for you in the Delegates Dining Room for lunch. Your appointment with Hansen is set for 2:00 Monday afternoon."
New York
"Where to?" the cabby asked.
"The U.N. building," Decker answered. Christopher got in first. When Decker joined him he noticed a very strange look on the boy's face. Something was not quite right. It took only an instant for Decker to understand. Sealed in the cab, a strange but familiar smell made its way into their lungs. It was not overpowering, but it was definitely there and it wasn't pleasant. Decker thought about getting out and hailing another cab, but it was too late. The driver punched the gas pedal and pulled his cab across two lanes of traffic and was off.
Decker and Christopher looked at each other. Christopher silently mouthed, "May I roll down the window?"
Decker held up his hand with his thumb and forefinger spread apart, indicating that about three inches would be acceptable. It was pretty cold outside but that seemed a good compromise with the smell.
After a few minutes, Decker cracked his window as well. It was then that he noticed the driver looking at them in his rear view mirror. He seemed to be studying them. If he asks me to roll up my window, Decker thought, I'll make him stop and let us out. In a moment their eyes met in the mirror and the cabby realized that Decker had been watching him looking at them. He quickly reached up, as if he had been checking the adjustment on the mirror.