The president examined the photos. She carefully watched his expression unfold until he shook his head in bewilderment. “And how exactly does this tie in with the abduction of the pope?”
“On the surface, nothing,” she told him. “However, when I went to the Embassy of Israel to see the man responsible for creating the data, he wanted the CD back. I refused. Later that night… a team was sent to retrieve that data and they tried to take me out.”
The president’s face took on what Shari read to be guarded concern. “Take you out?”
“Someone tried to kill me over that information, Mr. President. On paper it looks like nothing, but when somebody comes into my home and tries to kill me for something that appears meaningless, that tells me there’s something damaging in those photos.”
The president continued to examine the pictures. “And what happened to the perpetrator?”
“There were three, sir. However, law enforcement got involved and they exited as quickly as they entered,” she lied. “Just mild damage committed to the home, sir, nothing else.” It was porous at best, but it was the only thing she could come up with.
“I didn’t hear anything about this.”
“It’s minor considering the issue at hand, Mr. President. Again, the matter was taken care of long before it got out of control.”
“Thank God you’re still with us then.” He shuffled from one photo to the next, giving each close scrutiny.
“Mr. President, I’m not sure how they tie in with what’s going on, but I know there’s a connection.”
The president tossed the photos on the desk. “I disagree,” he said. In Shari’s mind a contradiction was as good as an admission of guilt. The president was now trying to downplay the photos. So Kimball was right after all, she considered. The man was trying to find out what she knew.
“Special Agent Cohen, I have to address the world in less than an hour, and you want me to offer those photos of politicians, businessmen and tracts of oil to the world community as evidence of the pope’s well being? Is that what you’re asking me to do?”
“Mr. President, I’m not offering a solution as to what you should present to the world. I’m saying that this is a key to what happened—why it happened.”
“Special Agent, we know why it happened. They’re holding the pope so that certain demands can be met. And these photos have nothing to do with that.”
Vice President Jonas Bohlmer walked quietly to the president’s desk and held his hand out. “Can I look at those, Jim?”
The president nodded and turned his attention back to Shari. “I don’t know if it’s your lack of progress in this situation, Special Agent, but I cannot afford to have my time wasted by someone who’s grasping at straws. What I want to know is if you have anything besides these pictures?”
“I also have a report from CSI stating that the Governor’s mansion was sanitized.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the Soldiers of Islam purposely left no trace evidence, yet they leave behind two members whom they knew were traceable and would tie them in anyway. So if that was the case, why sanitize the area? It’s a contradiction of actions, Mr. President, which tells me the Governor’s mansion was staged to provide us with a red herring, so we won’t look beyond the box.”
“And why the red herring?” asked the vice president.
Shari turned to him. “I don’t know.”
The vice president shook his head in admonishment. “Ms. Cohen, you seem to have more questions than answers. That’s not why you were put into this position.”
“I understand that, Mr. Vice President, but I’m doing the best I can with what I have.”
The vice president turned to the photos, then back to Shari. “Special Agent Cohen, I’m going to be candid with you,” he said. “From the beginning I was against you being a part of this at all. And now you’re proving me right.”
“How so?”
At first the vice president said nothing, his glaring demeanor saying it all. “For the fact, Ms. Cohen, that you are a Jewish counterpart in a situation that can be deadly should the Soldiers of Islam find out that a woman of Jewish faith is manning the helm.”
“Mr. Vice President, with all due respect, I am quite qualified to perform my duties… whether or not I’m Jewish or a woman.”
“You know better than I do, Ms. Cohen, that you’re a lethal combination when dealing with such people. Not only are you failing in your tasks, however, but if these terrorists should ever gain the truth that you’re the one spearheading this charge, then that only compounds the difficulty. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Shari was seething. Her grandmother was right. In some peculiar way, in a land where freedom was paramount, she was still being persecuted on some infinitesimal level, even with impeccable credentials to back her up. And then her grandmother’s voice rang true in her head, a prophetic aphorism she recalled as a child, then later in the Holocaust Museum. Because you’re a Jew you’ll always be persecuted. But never forget who you are and always be proud, because one day you will be reminded of what you are and you’ll need to fight back to survive. Never forget that, my littlest one.
Shari started to rebut. “Mr. Vice President—”
“These photos, Ms. Cohen, with all due respect, are worthless. And I agree with the president that you’re grasping at straws.” He returned the photos to Shari. “We’ve no use for these. Keep them.”
Remaining composed, she took them without hesitation. At least the bait had been laid.
With time the discussion took a new direction: Global hate crimes against those of the Arab population, riots in South American countries, murders within the States. Shari knew her diligence was about to be met with deadly force, regardless that the photos were being cast off as worthless. The president’s tactic of demonstrating indifference was simply a cosmetic cover. She knew this. What they didn’t know was she was thoroughly prepared to take them on.
As Alan Thornton and the vice president prescribed their recommendations for addressing the world, Shari glanced at the photos again, as if finding enlightenment. She nodded, as if perceiving something of importance about them. If somebody in this office was involved with the pope’s abduction, she was sure her actions were under scrutiny.
While the president readied himself to go on air with nothing more than an overview rather than gospel, she sat quietly. She considered she was pretty much invisible to the administration at the moment as the principals discussed the image of the United States in the eyes of the world. The welfare of the pope wasn’t mentioned at all. And this, she told herself, was politics at its worse.
Once in awhile the president asked Shari a question, but only because she was the counterterrorism expert, of which she responded appropriately. She noted the president was creating a mental script of half-truths with her aid, which also made her feel dirty. After all, this is the world of politics in which truths are often woven into fables and fables woven into truths.
As time drew near for the president’s address, Shari appraised the faces around her one last time and spotted nothing.
The only thing she could do now was to wait for someone to kill her.
The dampness of the New England air had seeped into the marrow of the pope’s bones. Wearing only his undergarments, he embraced himself against the chill, and waited for the inhumanities against his bishop to unfold before his eyes.