Oetari paged through his iPad. He found a picture and waved Gann over, “Is this him in the airplane holding the rifle?”
“Yes sir.”
“He is over zealous,” Oetari frowned, making a note on his desk. “Director Gann this isn’t a James Bond movie,” the president said impatiently, “Perhaps this agent should be assigned something more benign. He’s sitting in the airplane’s cockpit, does that mean he’s a pilot?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well then assign the case of the missing Malaysian jet to him. There’s nothing to it. Maybe, it will keep your agent from murdering anymore innocent civilians.”
Gann steamed, but all he could do was accept the assignment. “Yes sir, but I haven’t finished briefing you on the importance of the missing aircraft.”
“I’m sure your agent will uncover the nefarious plot behind the crash. Goodness knows aviation accidents don’t happen without some kind of terrorist plot behind them! Brief me when you’ve figured that out.” He stood up. “That will be all, ladies and gentleman,” Oetari said. As they began to file out, he looked at Waters. “Except for you Freddy.”
Gann and MacCloud exchanged suspicious glances but they had no choice but to leave.
The cabinet members cleared the Oval Office. Oetari got up and went over to the window, looking out as he often did over the well-manicured lawn. He said simply, “You need to fly to Ankara and pay my respects to President Ataturk. I need to make sure our NATO ally understands how seriously we take the murder of his nephew.”
Freddy Waters walked over to the president’s desk. While the president’s back was turned he took out his iPhone and snapped a picture of the screen. It was a photo of a group of men gathered in front of an OV-10 Bronco. In the cockpit was a man holding a sniper rifle. The names of the men were printed beneath their photos.
“I will be sure to express my sincere condolences to President Ataturk, Mr. President.”
“Your meeting with the President of Iran appeared to go well,” he ventured. “Aliaabaadi is willing to consign half his enriched Uranium to a United Nations storage facility in Abu Dhabi — correct?”
“He understands the gravity of the situation and is willing to provide the Uranium as collateral for their peaceful intentions.”
“He seems rather quick to give up half his proposed arsenal,” Oetari mused. “I didn’t expect that.” He thought for a moment, then glanced at Waters, who had already finished his espionage and put away his camera, just as the president expected. Oetari frowned. “What do you think he’s up to?”
“I think he’s sincere Mr. President,” he replied. When Oetari’s expression turned incredulous, Freddy added, “Oh, I’m sure the Iranians mean to finish their nuclear research and as President Aliaabaadi put it, “Join the club.” That’s fine. They need that capability to counterbalance Israel.”
“That’s obvious,” the president replied tersely. He looked outside again. Aloud, he summarized his view of the Middle East — his sincere view — one he simply could not articulate publicly. “When the Iranians, the Turks, Pakistani’s, Egyptians and Saudis clean out the scum like ISIS and Al Qaeda and form their Caliphate we will finally have stability in the region. Whether Israel is still there remains to be seen. Considering their nuclear arsenal I don’t think they’re going anywhere.
“Still, the Muslims will then have a stable civilization. This terrorism that pervades Islam will disappear once they have something to counterbalance the West. Aliaabaadi and Hayayi in Iran are the key players. That means they can either build this Caliphate or destroy it. I’m nervous about Aliaabaadi. He’s ruthless. I can’t be certain he’s being straight with us about this Uranium business.”
“What could he possibly do with three tons of the stuff when it’s not ready to be put in a bomb?” Waters noted. “The Uranium is worth nothing as a bomb now; it is worth more as collateral to him because it gives him time to jockey for position. He’s got to get all these nations in line and the Islamists are not helping.”
“The Islamists are an aberration,” Oetari said firmly. “They will fade away and be forgotten.” He turned back to Waters and nodded. “For the time being we must placate the Islamist factions. President Ataturk needs our help. You’d better go now; the situation in Turkey is nearing crisis mode,” Oetari told Waters. “Have a good trip Freddy.
CHAPTER 13: Georgetown
Slade loved the opera almost as much as Helen did. It gave them a chance to dress to the nines, have a fancy dinner and listen to music — it was a date night — they looked forward to it.
Tonight it was Don Giovanni. As the last haunting lines of Mozart’s damnation faded to applause, Slade and Helen joined in the ovation and took their time exiting the opera house. As usual it had been a pleasant, relaxing night; they both looked forward to the next night out — another three months away.
“Thank you for taking me Jeremiah,” Helen told him, latching onto his arm. “It’s very sweet of you.”
“It’s all about my ego dear,” he replied. “I love to be seen with the most beautiful woman in the theater on my arm.”
“We make a good looking couple,” she smiled.
“My sister told us that twenty-something years ago after we went skinny dipping,” he teased.
She colored, slapping his arm playfully. Then she sighed.
“What is it?”
They were stepping into the elevator with a lot of people. Everyone else was talking about the opera. Helen waited, hugging his arm closer.
A couple twenty years their senior looked at them and smiled. They must have assumed Slade and Helen were married; they both wore rings. The lady ventured, “Out for an evening without the kids?”
“Yes,” Helen smiled.
“How many dear?”
“Six.”
“Six, oh my you do need a break,” she laughed. “I was done after four!”
The elevator door opened. She touched Helen’s arm as they exited first, “You’re such a sweet couple. Maybe we’ll see you at the next opera. Good night!”
Helen and Slade walked to the Jaguar in slow measured steps. She finally answered his question. “We’re not a couple Jeremiah.”
“That bothers you?”
“It should bother you,” she said.
“Why?” he replied.
“Because you’re still young,” she said. “My life is my children. You still have the possibility of marriage and your own family.”
“So what are you and the kids?”
“I’m your cousin and they are my children,” she said heavily. “We can’t change that fact as much as I want to.”
“You’re determined to ruin our evening,” he told her stoically, opening the car door for her. She got in, and Slade went around to the other side. After he was in, closing the Jag’s door with a satisfactory thump, he put his hand on her knee. She covered his hand with her own.
“Helen, my dear, you are as loving to me as any wife. The kids treat me as their father. For God’s sake the youngest three don’t even remember any other father. What more could I want?”
He started the car and pulled into line to exit the parking garage. She patted his hand, but said, “You are a man who has always followed the rules, except when it came to me.”
“I did what was right. That was more important.”
“You did the chivalrous thing and rescued the damsel in distress and all of her baggage,” she admitted.
“I hope you don’t consider the kids baggage; I certainly don’t,” he said seriously.
“Of course not, and I love you for how you treat the kids. I just wonder, I’m concerned that it’s not enough for you. Jeremiah, you deserve a woman you can call your wife.”