and replaced with strong sutures sewn by skillful and dedicated hands.”
“I’ve dedicated my life to two things: healing the sick and working towards a peaceful solution in the Middle East. I will continue to carry out these two commitments in my new post as personal physician to the President of the United States. Thank you for your encouragement and support.”
Amid generous applause, a loud female voice caught the attention of the speaker. “Dr. Melikian? That was a tremendous and, I must say, moving speech. Can I ask just one or two questions?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t expect a question and answer session and I’m not very experienced in these matters,” he said. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”
“Delacluse. Nicole Delacluse of the International Herald Tribune, although I’m not here in an official capacity tonight,” she was quick to add. “This is an important appointment by the President, and as you’ve said, there are skeptics. Is it true, Dr. Melikian, that you received several death threats after it was announced that you were one of those being considered for this position?”
“The truth is yes, but I’m not at liberty to say much about it other than that I’m not too concerned. It seems rock stars and TV news commentators are in much more danger from deranged individuals than I am.”
“And is it true you’ve hired a security service to protect yourself and your family?” she said quickly, catching him slightly off guard.
“That’s not quite accurate, Ms. Delacluse. The Secret Service, in recognition of the recent tragedy, has provided my family with a certain measure of security. That is what the President wanted, so of course I agreed. Now, since this is a reception and not a press conference, thank goodness, I’ll turn my attention to the guests here this evening. But when I do have my first official press conference, I hope all the journalists are as professional as you.” It was a polite but firm dismissal, after which Dr. Melikian shook hands with Dr. Martin Thomas and stepped down.
At the edge of the makeshift podium, Senator Stevens discreetly pulled over two men in dark suits for an animated conversation. They kept glancing in Matt’s direction. The guests descended upon the buffet table and Matt was slowly pushed aside by the crowd. Presently the men nodded to Stevens and moved off, whereupon the portly senator stepped down and began working the crowd.
“Miss Stevens? Dr. Richards? The Senator would like a few private words with you both. Please follow me.” A non-descript man in a non-descript grey suit stood in front of them. They nodded, sharing quizzical glances. Matt and Kelly followed him down the hallway, through an open door and into a dimly lit study. Persian carpets and red velvet curtains added to the richness of antique oak furniture. Ornate wall sconces offered hazy shadows. The walls were lined with books, diplomas and photos of Dr. Thomas with numerous dignitaries. Matt surmised this was Dr. Thomas’s personal office. He wondered how many hours he spent here. The place was certainly conducive to relaxation and reflection. And it reeked of power.
The door closed solidly behind then. A gravelly voice from the far corner of the room boomed out. Senator Mason T. Stevens, his face red, fists shaking, stepped out of the shadows towards the center of the room. He pressed a button on a side table and the lights came up to full strength. Both Matt and Kelly squinted.
“So,” Stevens said, “you’re not only a cradle robber and a disgrace to the medical profession, Dr. Richards, you’re a god-damned drunk as well.” Shaking, he moved forward until he pressed up against Matt, backing him into the large desk.
“Daddy, stop it. What’s gotten into you? Can’t we talk about this some other time? Please, Daddy?”
“You shut up.” The Senator’s slurred words tumbled out, but his eyes kept boring into Matt. “I’ll deal with you later, young lady. You’ve had too damn much freedom at that sissy girl’s school and now you’ve gone way overboard. I’ve heard all about your drinking, the drugs, and now your affair with this loser. I’ve a mind to yank you out of that school for your own good.” Kelly’s tears caught the light. She collapsed onto the sofa.
“You fat son-of-a-bitch,” Matt grated. The esteemed senior senator from the great State of Virginia never saw the roundhouse left that broke his nose and knocked out two teeth. The large man slumped to the floor. Matt stood in a half-drunk stupor, hardly registering the pain where his knuckles had collided with the senator’s teeth.
Kelly jumped up. “Daddy? Daddy? Oh God. What have you done? Get away from him.” She pushed at Matt, then knelt on the floor, trying to stem the blood from her father’s nose.
Secret Service agents and marine guards materialized. Matt was gripped firmly from behind.
“Get the hell away from me. This is none of your business,” he shouted. “I’m leaving anyway. You better attend to Mr. Big Mouth. His big nose is bleeding all over the expensive Persian carpet.” When they let go he grabbed Kelly’s hand, and started weaving toward the door. Kelly Stevens hesitated, gazed worriedly at her father on the floor, then helped Matt maneuver down the hall towards the front door. Her father’s verbal onslaught and abuse still rang in her ears. She stopped, turned around, hesitated, then made her decision.
The Porsche was parked under the portico. The parking attendant quickly produced the keys and the two of them helped ease the wobbly Dr. Richards into the passenger seat. The attendant buckled the seatbelt. As the sports car turned left out of the big iron gates, a late model black Pontiac with tinted windows followed a safe distance behind.
“Well, Dr. Richards, you really are something, you know? Not only do you get drunk, but you knock my father unconscious, break his nose and his teeth. Why didn’t you screw an ambassador’s wife? At least then no one would have cared.” Her acidic words fell on deaf ears-Matt Richards was out cold, head slumped against her shoulder.
Turning onto the George Washington Parkway, the Porsche sped west, intending to link up with I-95 and the main road back to central Virginia. The parkway, a major commuter artery into and out of Washington, was nearly deserted at 10:45 P.M. The well-traveled commuter artery was lined on one side by trees and forest, on the other by the Potomac River, at its high watermark from the rain that had descended on the area in recent days.
Kelly shoved him with her shoulder. “Matt, wake up. Someone’s following us, wake up.” After two more pushes she heard a moan, then a familiar, “God damn son-of-a-bitch. What time is it?”
“Thank God you’re awake. A car has been following us ever since we left the reception.”
“So?” he bent his neck from side to side to work out some of the kinks.
“It keeps getting closer.”
Matt looked down and struggled with his seat belt. I hate being confined. It released with a strong click. “Goddamn belt. Now what were you saying?”
The black Pontiac roared up behind the sports car and banged its large steel bumper into the rear of the little sports car. The Porsche lurched. “What’s happening?” Kelly screamed. “I can’t steer. They’re. . they’re trying to force us off the road.”
Adrenalin pulled Matt around. When the second jolt came it was more forceful, more threatening.
“Speed up, Kelly,” he said, gripping the headrest. “Drive as fast as you can.”
She jammed down hard on the accelerator. “Jesus Matt,…”
“Now listen to me,” Matt said slowly. “When I tell you to slow down, do it quickly- very quickly, just short of slamming on the brakes. But don’t slam on the brakes or we’ll skid out of control. Just press down forcefully. At the same time, try to hold us in the center of the road. Do you understand?”
She was gripping the steering wheel, eyes on the road. “But what if they rear-end-”
“Do you understand?”
“Okay. Okay. Just don’t shout.” Her hands shook as she gripped the wheel.
“Do what I say. You have to trust me. Do you understand?”
Kelly nodded. Her face was ghostly white.
Matt looked out the rear window. “Get ready. Alright then, now… slow down.”
She geared down hard and applied the brakes at the same time. The rapid deceleration caught the Pontiac off guard. It swerved, skidded back and forth, then slid off the road. Matt glimpsed the driver, his face contorted, trying to regain control, but it was too late. The car crashed through the guardrail and went rolling down the steep bank. Kelly screamed and floored the car. The black Pontiac plunged into the dark swirling waters of the Potomac.
“Okay, Okay. Let up, let up.” Matt yelled, but her foot stayed hard down.
“I want to go home.” Her upper lip quivered. “First you almost kill my father and now someone’s trying to kill us.” The car tore ahead, weaving back and forth.
Matt reached over. “For God’s sake Kelly, slow down…”
She screamed, her eyes wide. Two large cars blocked the road. Men in dark suites with flashlights frantically
