“Ah, Ms. Delacluse,” said a trim man with a closely cropped beard and neatly styled salt and pepper hair, “I’ve been looking forward to your visit. It’s not everyday I get an opportunity to talk about something other than oil and gas.” He smiled, extending his hand.
“I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Cummings, but I brought one of my colleagues along. It’s his first assignment with our paper and I’m showing him the ropes. This is, ah… Sam Parsons.”
Matt studied the sleek features obviously maintained by an active outdoor life. He’s aged well. Better than me. As Matt watched him from behind his new face, he recalled Beirut. Splashing azure blue water, intense conversations, Maha…
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Parsons,” Cummings said, extending his tanned hand.
Matt just nodded as they shook hands. Three decades. Where did it all go?
“We’ll soon go upstairs for lunch,” Cummings went on, “but we can begin here.” He motioned them over to a sofa while he sat down in a large wing chair. “It was Beirut in the late 1960s you were interested in, wasn’t it?”
For the next half hour Nicole was the consummate journalist, starting out with questions that allowed Cummings to brag a little about his career then when he seemed relaxed, posing interesting but superficial questions about Beirut; his first impressions, special things he remembered vividly, any people he still kept in contact with.
“Actually, I’ve not kept in touch with too many from those days,” Cummings said, fingers touching his neatly trimmed beard. “But I do stay in touch with a couple of old friends, Anne-Marie Khoury, a brilliant artist, and another good friend, Theodore Janus.”
“Good friends from our early days are to be treasured,” Nicole said, closing her notebook, offering no threat.
“Yes indeed. In fact, sadly we’ve just lost two friends from the AUB days. Brian Walker. Perhaps you read of his death at that Palestinian rally; an appalling business. And then Matt Richards.” Cummings leaned back in his chair. “Odd the paths our lives take. Matt was a brilliant student, great promise all around. But I hear drink got him pretty bad.” He waived his hand. “Sorry, I’m drifting off the subject, Ms. Delacluse.”
Matt doodled in his reporter’s notebook. He’s still a pompous ass.
Todd Cummings rose abruptly. “Time for lunch.”
After lunch had been served in one of the small private dining rooms on the top floor and the waiter had left Matt knew it was time to begin. Here goes nothing.
“There’s something I must say to you.”
Cummings paused, fork in mid arc. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Parsons?”
“Brace yourself, Toad.” Matt gazed intently in his eyes. “I’m not Sam Parsons. It’s me, Matt-Matt Richards.”
“That’s a sick joke. Just what the hell is going on here, Ms. Delacluse?”
Nicole reached over and touched Cumming’s hand. “You should listen, Mr. Cummings.”
Matt noticed the eyes change. The corporate animal was on alert. No telling what he would do next.
“I suggest you explain yourself.”
“Of course. I called you Toad because that’s what I always called you. Remember? Back at Harvard. And at AUB.”
Cummings stood up. Nicole pulled hard on his sleeve. He settled silently back into his chair.
“I suggest you listen, Toad.” Matt leaned forward. “Listen to my voice. You can’t deny it’s my voice.”
Cummings stared. His eyes darted between Matt and Nicole. “What in God’s name are you two doing…?”
“I had surgery. A face transplant. And it wasn’t my idea. And they faked my death as well. It’s me, Toad.”
“Dear God. I don’t believe it.”
“He’s telling the truth, Mr. Cummings. You can check his stitches,” Nicole said.
“That won’t be necessary. Okay. So if you are Matt, which I still very much doubt. What do you want?”
“Matt’s in big trouble. He desperately needs your help. That’s why we are here.” Nicole stopped talking.
They all sat quietly while the waiter refilled the water glasses and left.
“Tell me exactly what is going on,” Cummings said. “And tell me everything. And don’t think I won’t call the security guards if…”
Matt nodded. “You were right about my drinking, I went downhill fast. But I’m recovering now. Only things are happening which I don’t understand. I really need your help, Todd.”
Tension left the table. “How can I help?”
“I’m going to tell you everything I know. I only hope you will believe me because it’s pretty far fetched.”
“Try me. What you’ve already said is far fetched.” Cummings’ voice was cold. He was a practiced negotiator.
“I was kidnapped, portrayed as dead and given a face transplant. Someone wants to use me as a ferret to track down a terrorist cell planning to kill the President of the United States.”
“That’s the biggest crock of shit…”
“Listen to him!” Nicole interjected.
“I escaped from the clinic where I was held prisoner and am trying to find out who these people are. They have tried to kill me twice already. I have to find out why.” Matt stood up. “Look, Todd. We didn’t always see eye to eye during college, but we trusted each other once. And I’m asking you to trust me again.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m afraid they may try to eliminate those who were at AUB with me that year. And that means you might be in danger as well.” Matt sat down again. He doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. Matt plunged in again. “Look, don’t you think the deaths of both me and Brian are a strange coincidence in timing? Well, I’ve got worse news. Dr. Thomas died last night of an apparent heart attack just a few hours after Nicole and I visited with him. Someone is systematically eliminating all the people we went to Beirut with.”
“Okay, okay-if you really are Matt Richards, then why don’t you just go to the FBI? Why talk to me under false pretenses?” He reached for his water glass. His hand trembled.
“Because we have reason to believe someone high up in the federal government might be involved,” Nicole said.
Matt debated with himself. One last chance. “Todd, you saw the television pictures of the assassination attempt on the President. Did you happen to look closely at the face of the bomber?”
“Of course, they only showed it a thousand times. Why do you ask?”
“You tell me.”
“Well, I did think for a second that she resembled Bedouina…but it couldn’t have been. What are you driving at?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking this over and over in my mind for years, all with no answers – except one.”
“Which is?”
“The only person I actually saw killed that night at the restaurant in Beirut was Samir.”
Todd Cummings went white. “You are Matt Richards.”
Matt lost it, nerves snapping. “Jesus Christ, Toad! I thought we were past that…” What an asshole.
“Yeah, well you expect too much, like always. You come in here unrecognizable, with a reporter, notebooks, and lies. I need time.”
“I need time too. But I haven’t got much. They’re trying to kill me!” Matt’s sweeping arm knocked his glass on the floor. They froze as the waiter opened the door.
“No problem, Charles. Close the door please.” Cummings pushed back his chair and studied Matt and Nicole. “So what you are saying is that Maha and Bedouina may not have died that night. Then where did they go?”
“I don’t know but it was Bedouina who…”
“You don’t know that. It may have been someone who looked like her.”
“I feel it. It was her.”
“Look, Matt. You were in love with a beautiful redheaded Jordanian, deeply in love.” Cummings glanced at Nicole. She nodded for him to continue. “The human mind is pretty complicated. I can understand your yearning for Maha to be alive but it’s just a romantic delusion. And there’s no evidence about either Maha or Bedouina.” Cummings stood up. “There’s nothing I can do for you. I want you both to leave right this moment. This is sickening.”