“It is good to see you again, my friend,” said Mohammed Al Nagib as the rear door opened and the tall man from the Jaguar settled down. They were nestled in the plush leather seats of a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud. A soundproof, tinted-glass barrier separated them from the chauffeur.
“You flatter yourself, Mr. Nagib. I am neither your friend, nor am I pleased to see you. The less we meet, the better, as far as I am concerned.” His guest was elegantly dressed in a black business suit. “Let’s make this quick. What problem is so great that we couldn’t talk on secure phone lines?”
“Actually, there is no problem, Mr. Fisher. On the contrary, everything is on schedule and running according to plan.”
“So why the urgent meeting?”
“There is an old passage from the Koran: ‘ Trust in God, but tie your camel.’ I just wanted to look you in the eyes and hear firsthand that you are still in position to get the information we need. Telephones are wonderful inventions, but nothing beats a direct, face-to-face conversation.” The Egyptian smiled.
“I am not amused, nor do I have all day.” William Fisher, director of Middle Eastern intelligence at the National Security Agency, glared in the gloomy interior.
“Of course,” Nagib sighed. “The fact is we’ve spent years carefully developing our contacts. I must be certain that you’ll be able to deliver us the right information before anyone else knows about it. We must know the President’s decision before it is made public. The future depends on it.”
“President Pierce has called a special meeting for today.” William Fisher was a member of the President’s Special Task Force on Terrorism and the Middle East, along with Senator Mason Stevens, the director of the CIA, secretary of state, national security advisor, secretary of defense, and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “He needs to decide on an official course of action in response to the suicide bombing attack and he’s running out of time. And the Israelis keep pressuring everyone for more arms, more money and more support against the Arabs. Senator Stevens seems to be firmly on their side. In every meeting he pushes forward their security issues.” Fisher looked around at the parked cars and the occasional hurrying traveler.
“But it won’t be much longer. Soon I should know what course of action the United States will pursue. As soon as I find out, you’ll know,” Fisher caught al Nagib’s eye. “Just remember our agreement-I’m counting on you to eliminate the Israeli bastard who led the raid that killed my wife. Now, unless you have any more stray camels that need tying, I must get to my office.”
“I do so look forward to hearing from you at your earliest convenience.” Nagib murmered. William Fisher slammed the door and returned to his Jaguar.
The tinted barrier slowly descended and the liveried driver turned around. Demetrie Antonopolis took off his chauffeur hat, his long ponytail tumbling out. “I don’t trust him.”
“Neither do I, Demetrie.” Nagib lit a Cuban cigar, his first of many for the day. “But I still feel sorry for him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a shallow man who acts only out of revenge. Because of his hatred and bitterness he is harmless. When this affair is over he will slink away into the darkness with his fat Swiss bank account.”
“So why feel sorry for him?”
“Because he will never find the peace he desperately seeks. Revenge never brings peace. There’s an ancient proverb: When a man goes for revenge, he must first dig two graves. Remember Demetrie the truly dangerous men are those who act with forethought and meticulous planning, driven by a vision and burning desire. Those who dream of a new future and are committed to pursue that vision are the ones to fear. Men like Fisher are simply pawns in a global chess game, and I control their every move.”
The elegant Rolls Royce exited the BWI parking garage. A non-descript grey vehicle positioned itself a safe distance behind.
Washington, D.C.
“Our practice has certainly picked up since you became personal physician to the President,” Dr. Margaret Khalid said. She was the only other physician in Dr. Noubar Melikian’s small medical practice. “Guess everyone is hoping they will hear the latest gossip about the President-or else they want bragging rights.” She studied the appointments listed on her computer screen.
“The good news is most of President Pierce’s medical issues are handled at Walter Reed Military Hospital. We’re just around for general checkups and the occasional bad fish dinner.” Dr. Melikian sat at his desk reviewing the same screen. “Remember to keep your evenings free whenever I’m invited to political or social dinners. You may have to stand in for me in case the President has a medical emergency.”
“So much for my personal life,” groaned the black-haired fifty-four-year-old. “It’s hard enough getting a date with a decent man in this town without having to spend most of my evenings sitting by the telephone waiting for the President to have indigestion or choke on a pretzel.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie.” Dr. Melikian smiled, looking over at his associate. “I know it’s been hard starting over. In any other country in the world you’d be a senior medical officer and probably have a large staff of your own. That’s why I took you into my practice. You’re one of the most experienced GPs I’ve ever met. It was difficult for me as well coming from Switzerland and settling into the medical profession in the United States. My only advantage is I came here in my late twenties so I’ve had longer to get established. And I guess I got a few breaks along the way as well. I still thank my lucky stars that my father’s employer took such an interest in me and supported my education and career.”
Noubar Melikian walked over to where his associate was standing, a pile of patient files in her hands. “As far as I’m concerned, you can stand in for me anytime, even with the President. In fact, I’m going to send a letter to the White House making certain that if I’m not available, you’re my stand-in, no questions asked.”
“So I still have to sit by the telephone, only this time it’s official,” she grinned. “Why don’t you find me a husband instead? Preferably one with tons of money in the bank so I never have to work again.” They both laughed. “In the meantime I guess we’d better get our schedules coordinated and attack another busy day.”
Life had been doubly hectic for Dr. Melikian following his appointment as personal physician to the President of the United States; with security checks, briefings on protocol, training on how to respond to the press, and additional training to cover possible biological or chemical attacks. To make matters worse he was now at the top of every Washington socialite’s list for dinner parties and social functions. Not that it wasn’t exciting or flattering. But at his age he wouldn’t have minded a few quiet evenings reading.
“Who will you be rubbing shoulders with this month?” Maggie asked.
After a few strokes on the keyboard, Dr. Melikian’s HP printer creaked to life. “Here it is, the complete social life of the personal physician to the President of the United States.” He frowned and handed her a two-page printout. She scanned the pages with exaggerated awe.
“Enough of this foolishness. We’ve got patients to look after-and another Secret Service security check of our offices.” Noubar Melikian stood up and walked out of the office.
The Oval Office
“Welcome, Mason.” President Pierce waved him to join the others around the antique coffee table in front of the fireplace. “Coffee? There’s sugar over there.”
“Of course, Mr. President. Everyone knows the best coffee in Washington is served in the Oval Office. But it always comes with a high price tag.” Muffled chuckling broke out among the small group, all members of the President’s Special Task Force on Terrorism and the Middle East.
“I think you can afford it,” Pierce responded. As chairman of the powerful Senate Select Committee on Intelligence and one of the longest-serving US senators, Mason T. Stevens had assembled a massive war chest, which he spent freely during his re-election bids every six years. For a hefty campaign donation businesses with ties to Virginia could get Senator Stevens’ solid backing for their interests. And his backing meant big bucks in government contracts.
“My family send their condolences, Senator,” the President remarked, turning serious.
