“Look, Dr. Richards,” Nicole said, examining a torn fingernail. “Sweet Briar College is definitely not the real world. The world is a fucking jungle these days. Teenagers high on crack shooting their friends, corporate greed, political upheaval, state-sponsored terrorism, third-rate countries with nuclear arsenals, and the Middle East pushing everyone towards global war. Terrorists kill innocent people all the time and get away with it. And I’ll tell you this, whoever they are they must have a lot to lose.” Silence filled the interior of the Jeep, broken only by the mushy hum of the tires. Soon they were on US 29, heading north in the direction of Charlottesville.
“If we rent a Hertz car at the airport,” Nicole said, “I can use my corporate card from the newspaper. They won’t mind. Besides, if we live through this, it’ll be one hell of a story and they’ll probably make me managing editor.” She paused. “From Charlottesville we can drive to Washington. I know an ex-CIA guy who will help us. He’s retired. Got eased out about fifteen years ago during another round of budget cuts. Been doing freelance work ever since. And believe it or not, I trust him.”
“Is that an order or a suggestion?” Matt replied. Nicole punched him in the arm and slunk down into the passenger seat, warmed by the blasting heater.
“Nicole?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Look, I…”
“No, I mean it. For being smart on your feet and keeping us alive back there. But mainly for believing me.” He looked ahead as the Jeep sped down the highway.
“I do believe you, Matt. Frankly, I wish I were covering a local garden festival. Definitely safer. But I do want to help.”
“And another thing.”
“What?”
“I need you.”
Nicole smiled. “I don’t know. You escaped from that clinic, stole a car and made it back to Sweet Briar. Looks like you can manage quite well on your own.”
Matt shook his head. “I really do need you.” Don’t think I’ve ever said that to anyone.
The Oval Office
“Come in, Doctor.” President Pierce was seated behind the massive Resolute Desk, made from the tough timber of HMS Resolute and presented to President Rutherford B. Hayes by the Queen of England in 1880. The walls to either side of him were adorned with paintings and photographs by Frederick Remington, Georgia O’Keefe, and Ansel Adams. Ross Pierce was proud of his Southwestern heritage. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, something a little stronger?”
“No thank you, Mr. President.” Dr. Noubar Melikian stepped into the Oval Office for the first time. He was immediately struck by the Presidential seal in the ceiling. Looking down, he noticed a matching seal woven into the large carpet that entirely covered the oval shaped room.
“This isn’t a medical emergency, Doc. I need your advice about something.” President Ross Pierce rose and motioned his guest over to the sofa.
“I hope it’s not politics, Mr. President. What I know in that department wouldn’t fill a #25-gauge needle.”
“When I need political input, Dr. Melikian, I’ve got a dozen spin doctors, analysts, and Ph. Ds waiting by the phone. Most have an axe to grind or an agenda to push, and the rest just want to kiss ass. What I want from you is a reality check. You’re from the Middle East-I want to know how you see the situation there. And I want the naked truth-don’t sugarcoat it just because of my position. I’m a big boy, I can take it, and I always listen carefully to everyone’s point of view before making a decision. So fire away.”
Ross Pierce sat back and studied Dr. Melikian. The briefing file expounded on the doctor’s tireless efforts to find a peaceful solution to the crisis in the Middle East. “Okay, Mr. President, if you really want my opinion, I’ll give it. The situation in the Middle East might be the catalyst that sets off a nuclear holocaust. It could be sparked in the West Bank or Palestine, but I suspect it’s more likely to start in Pakistan or India or some other peripheral country. Tensions are running high. Every country has something to lose, and more to gain with each day that the impasse and bloodshed continues.”
“So if you were the man in charge, what would you do?” Pierce leaned forward, his hands grasping the carved lion heads on the arms of his massive chair.
“It’s not that simple. I only know one small piece of what might be the solution. But since you asked, I’ll give it my best. Besides, I’ve got a funny feeling if anyone can pull off a miracle, it might just be you.”
Ross Pierce didn’t smile. “Get on with it, Dr. Melikian.”
“First, I would officially recognize the state of Palestine. But before making the announcement I would go to every one of the Arab nations involved-Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Iran, Iraq, the entire lot, one by one-and let them know what the United States was about to do. And then I would secure a commitment from each one to do something spectacular to ensure a lasting peace. For example, Syria and Jordan might donate land to give the Palestinians more room to breathe, which would take the land pressure off Israel. Others would deliver Osama bin Laden and his chief lieutenants in Al-Qaeda to the United States for trial. Or better yet, just bring in their dead bodies and save the expense and hassle of trials.”
President Pierce stared. “Shit, Noubar, I said I wanted to hear a different point of view, but I didn’t realize you were going to give me the whole enchilada. Keep going, you’re doing fine.”
“Okay. I’d also go to all the Arab nations with a big shopping list. And I’d remind them that they have all said many times to the world that the only reason they support terrorism is because of the Palestine issue. Recognize Palestine and you’ve taken away their excuse. Then pressure them to support global peace and stop supporting the terrorists. Get a commitment to shut down all terrorist support and funding, inside their own countries and abroad. And make them come to the United Nations, stand before the world, and show what they’ve done to eliminate terrorism.” Dr. Melikian stopped to take a sip from the glass of water on the coffee table.
Ross Pierce waited.
“The truth is, Mr. President, Israel is a pain in the ass. They gobble up billions in U.S. foreign aid money but don’t support the US globally. My father had a saying: ‘Why buy a cow when the milk’s free?’ Israel has yet to shoulder any responsibility for the mess the world is in. All the Israelis have to do is cry and the Americans come running with a bucketful of dollars. Meanwhile, Israel is illegally occupying the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. I’d say it’s time to make Israel a responsible and accountable world citizen and make them stand on their own two feet. If they’re going to have a Jewish state in the middle of an Arab region, they should learn to get along with their neighbors.”
“How would that be accomplished, Dr. Melikian?”
“Cut off all but a reasonable amount of aid to the Israelis, say $200 million a year contingent upon them demonstrating their commitment to peace. And give an equal amount of aid to the surrounding Arab states as well. Besides reducing our national debt by several billion dollars, the taxpayers would love you. Spend some of that money to get the U.S. economy cranked up again.”
Dr. Melikian hesitated. “May I ask you a question, Mr. President?”
“Fire away.”
“Do I still have a job?”
The President laughed. “Well, not having been treated by you, I’m not sure about your medical skills. So your position as my personal physician is still hanging in the balance. But you’ve always got a job as unofficial advisor.” Pierce got up and walked over to the picture window facing the south lawn of the White House. He felt trapped in the nation’s capitol and found himself yearning more and more for the open spaces of New Mexico. But the roses were just beginning to show the first new shoots of the year and he felt a little lighter. “Anything else?”
“One more suggestion.”
President Pierce slowly turned around.
“Why not make Jerusalem an international city? Owned by the world and not any one country? That was the original intent of the 1948 resolution that established Israel in the first place, only no one had the balls to make it
