“There’s a pattern here,” Matt said. “After Israeli commandos killed Maha’s father at the Beirut Airport her brothers must have hounded her unmercifully about being a slut and having an affair with an American. She was probably ostracized by her family, which would have made her susceptible to join the group along with Bedouina and Samir. Perhaps she’s already been used as a human bomb or maybe she’s still alive and waiting for her call to glory.” He looked at Nicole. “You think Maha’s here in Washington?”
“And William Fisher?” Nicole came back quickly avoiding Matt’s eyes.
“That’s easy enough,” Elijah said. “After the senseless death of his wife at the hands of the Israelis he could have easily been recruited by al Nagib. He preached about the rise in terrorism as far back as 1967 but the State Department ignored him for many years. Then it all turned out exactly as he predicted. Now he’s a celebrity. But with no wife and a burning hatred for the Israelis he would have been the perfect candidate to become a double agent. Maybe he was promised revenge on the man who killed his wife. Plus he undoubtedly got a mountain of cash. He’s probably feeding evidence to al Nagib about what goes on at the President’s Special Advisory Council meetings.”
Holy Shit. Matt felt sick. “Christ, the two of them-Mason Stevens feeding the Israelis, and William Fisher feeding al Nagib. And neither knows what the other is doing.”
“But this is all speculation,” Nicole said. “It could be a house of cards.”
Matt watched her. “There may be two moles inside the President’s inner circle.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time for that, either, Dr. Richards,” Elijah said. “But I won’t bore you with a history lesson.” He drained his Scotch. “Wait a minute, what if the woman bomber wasn’t supposed to kill the President at all but his personal physician instead? Remember the President stood back to let Dr. Norman come front and center to face the press. The bomber could have easily killed the President, but waited.” Elijah stared at his empty glass then at Matt. “I’ll be goddamned.”
“But what purpose would that serve?” said Matt.
“That’s clever.” Nicole said. “Don’t you see, Matt? That way they could get their own candidate endorsed as personal physician to the President-Dr. Noubar Melikian.”
“Dr. Melikian is the terrorist?”
“Could be.” Elijah went over the possibilities. “Who better to assassinate the President of the United States whenever it becomes convenient for al Nagib and his organization? All Melikian has to do is call up the President and say he found something troubling in the last medical test and that he must see him right away. There are a number of ways the trusted personal physician could get into contact with the President on short notice. Hell, you’re the doctor, Matt. Think of the numerous toxins, biological agents and drugs that can kill instantaneously or over a period of time.”
“Eli?” Matt said. “Can you call in some IOUs? Dig up some stats on the good doctor?”
“Can do easy. And while I’m at it I’ll investigate the Blue Ridge Substance Abuse Clinic and Private Hospital. Find out the address, who owns it, who’s on the board of directors, what their expertise is, who goes there, everything. And if Kelly Stevens really is there then that’s how we’ll put the squeeze on Senator Stevens.”
Matt nodded, assessing Elijah Tajikian, a most dangerous gentleman. “Maybe we’re getting somewhere. As for me I’ve got to figure out a way to meet Dr. Melikian myself. If I can just get into his office, look around, maybe speak to him. Easier said than done, however. I’m wanted by the police and the media have plastered the picture of an international assassin all over the place.” He stared at Elijah. “Take a good look, Eli. Have you any idea how obscene it is having the face of a killer? I wish I could tear it off right now.”
“Maybe we’re just imagining all this,” Nicole said quietly. “I honestly don’t know. But if we don’t do something soon they may strike before the President makes his policy statement to the nation.”
They all nodded. Elijah Tajikian poured another Scotch. The tumbling ice cubes echoed in the silence.
The Oval Office
The intercom buzzed. “Yes, Miriam?”
“I’ve done the best I can to juggle your schedule, Mr. President, but I could only squeeze in five minutes. He’s here now, waiting.” Her voice was courteous and professional but he caught the exasperation.
“Send him in. And thank you, Miriam.”
He sported a closely cropped beard and neatly styled salt and pepper hair. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. President.”
“This must be pretty damned important, Todd.” Pierce fingered his tin cup.
“You know my position concerning the country’s continuing dependence on foreign oil. It’s critical for our future. And I’m certain you’re aware of the fact that a war in the Middle East could greatly damage our prospects of continued access to the huge reserves held by the Arab nations.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Todd, or don’t waste my time.” Pierce glared at his old friend.
“Okay. I have good reason to believe that one of your trusted advisors is actually working for a terrorist group. They’ve placed a deep cover cell here in this country for the purpose of assassinating you or some other high public official. If that happens the American people will demand a full-scale war. Need I say more?” Todd Cummings stared back at his oil industry colleague and former golfing buddy.
The President put down his tin cup. His face darkened as he turned toward the window facing the Rose Garden. New shoots were just beginning to emerge from the trimmed stems. “That’s a pretty serious accusation, Todd. Every person on my staff and in an advisory capacity has been thoroughly screened by the FBI. They’ve even had their assholes checked.”
“I recognize that, Ross. But I’d say the consequences are too great to ignore the possibility. Let me tell you what I know and then you can decide for yourself. Sometimes, Mr. President, self-interest and the interests of the nation coincide. This is one of those times.”
Pierce flipped his intercom switch. “Change of plans, Miriam. I need some more time with Mr. Cummings. Do the best you can. And tell Mr. van Ness I must see him right away.” He gestured at his old friend. “Sit down, Todd. And don’t leave out one scrap of information or you’ll find your ass transferred to Mongolia. The chairman of Monument Oil owes me a couple of big favors and I won’t hesitate to use them. By the way, I’m going to record this conversation.”
For the next half hour Todd Cummings filled the President of the United States in on his Beirut experiences of thirty years ago. He described his recent visit from Matt Richards, Matt’s association with Senator Stevens’ daughter, the phony account of his death, his kidnapping, face transplant, and someone’s attempts to use him as a ferret.
“A face transplant?”
“Yes, Mr. President. Grotesque as it sounds.”
“Dear God.”
“Matt and I spent a year together in some pretty unusual circumstances and I haven’t seen him in over thirty years until the other day,” Todd went on. “He’s a recovering alcoholic and a failed physician. But on the inside he’s made of solid stuff.”
“What I want to know is, do you trust him?”
“Yes. I trust him. He’s in big trouble and he came to me for help. And I know it cost him his pride to do that.”
“Can you find him?”
“That I don’t know. We didn’t part under the best of circumstances the other day. And he’s wanted by the D.C. Metro police in connection with the death of Dr. Martin Thomas so he’s probably gone into hiding. Although if I know Matt he’ll try to get to the bottom of this himself. He was with a woman, Nicole Delacluse of the International Herald Tribune. We could start there.”
“I’ll see what the spooks can find out. Now there must be more. What about this mole in my council?”