“Probably the same group,” responded Matt. “That’s why I’m here; why I came to you. To find out who among our group might be involved.”
“But that doesn’t explain your face transplant, Matt.”
“I was to be used to track down my old AUB friends. But I escaped from the hospital where I was being held. I’m trying to figure this out but there are a lot of missing pieces.”
Dr. Thomas sat back, lost in thought. “That’s quite a story young man. Why don’t we just call the FBI and let them get to the bottom of this? The deputy commissioner is a good friend of mine.” He walked over to his desk. “And it’s our duty to warn the President if he really is in danger.”
“Dr. Thomas?” Nicole jumped up from the sofa and wedged herself between him and the desk. “Someone’s trying to kill Matt. They’ve made several attempts on his life already and innocent people have been killed. Anyway, the President’s adequately protected, especially following the recent attempt on his life.”
“I don’t believe I got your name, Ms…?”
“Delacluse, Nicole Delacluse of the International Herald Tribune. I’m on a special investigative assignment following the suicide attack on the President. Don’t you think it’s a little too coincidental that Dr. Brian Walker was killed recently? He was one of Matt’s best friends at AUB. And from what’s happened to us in the past few days we know the people trying to kill Matt must have connections high up in our government. Either that or some friendly foreign country, or both. Please-don’t make that call.”
“Kill Matt?”
Matt shook his head sadly. “There have been several attempts on my life. Innocent bystanders have been murdered. These people are ruthless and determined.”
“Alright, it may be too dangerous to involve the authorities at this time. But what on earth can I do?”
“I need your help locating all the junior year abroad students,” Matt replied. “I also recall a graduate student, William Fisher I believe. He was much older than the rest of us but he came over with our group. He gave some terrific lectures about the Middle East. Could he be somehow involved?”
“There’s no way. Will Fisher is one of the top directors at the National Security Agency. In fact he’s on the President’s Special Task Force on Terrorism and the Middle East. He’s a genius at synthesizing information and drawing conclusions. The NSA and the President are fortunate to have him. In fact, maybe he could shed some light on all of this. I can probably get you a meeting with him.”
“Perhpas in a few days. If I’m still alive. Right now I don’t want to send anyone on a wild goose chase.”
“Dr. Thomas,” Nicole said, “I’ve never heard of a face transplant before. That’s super advanced medical technology, isn’t it?”
“It used to be,” Dr. Thomas replied. “However in the last two years the techniques have advanced greatly. The Israelis seem to be the leaders in this procedure at the moment but the Austrians, Swiss and Germans aren’t far behind. Where did you say this clinic was?” he turned to Matt.
“I’m not sure,” Matt lied. “Somewhere outside of Washington. I was so drugged up I doubt if I could ever find it again. Doctor, do you have your old AUB yearbook from 1968-69? Maybe that will jog my memory. And have you kept in touch with any of the students from that period?”
“Not a one. When I came back at the end of that year I was pursuing my genetics research at Yale. Then NIH called a few years later and asked me to join their management team. Since then it’s been a steady round of work and speeches. But retirement is only a year away.” Weariness entered his voice.
“There’s more to this position than just trying to provide for the health of the nation. In fact, too much politics for me.” Dr. Thomas shrugged. “My yearbook should be on the bookshelf, just over
here,” he said, getting up. “Ah yes, there it is. American University of Beirut, 1969.”
For the next twenty minutes, Matt and Martin Thomas pored over the pictures in the yearbook. Nicole took notes in her reporter’s shorthand. The doctor’s memory was better than Matt’s but then he hadn’t worked his way through a tanker load of scotch in the last thirty plus years.
“I’m sorry to break this off, Matthew, but I’ve got a dinner guest due to arrive in a few minutes.” His hand came up and reexamined Matt’s surgery. “Whoever did it, Matt, its very good work.”
“I’m not sure my mother would approve,” Matt said, pulling back.
Dr. Thomas winced. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. Are you sure you don’t want me to make a call and get you both into a safe house or something?”
“No thanks. But I would like your private cell phone number just in case.”
Dr. Thomas plucked a business card from a silver holder on his desk and wrote on the back. “Now I really must see to my guest. He’s too important for me to cancel at the last minute. Probably arrived by now. Please keep in touch. And good luck.”
“You will keep this just between us for the time being, won’t you?” said Matt, reaching for the card.
“Of course.” They shook hands firmly. “Take care Matt, and you too, Ms. Delacluse. Anderson will show you out. Now you really must excuse me.”
The butler appeared. As they were gathering their coats from a closest in the hallway, a small door opened. Senator Mason T. Stevens stepped out, smoothing his tie and adjusting a tight vest.
“Oh, I didn’t know Martin had guests. I was just freshening up. Haven’t we met before? I’m Senator Stevens,” he said, holding out a fleshy hand to Matt. He smiled approvingly at Nicole.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Senator Stevens.” Matt gripped his hand equally hard. “I’m Dr. Hunter and this is my wife, Veronica. We’re NIH researchers in plastic surgery. I never forget a face. A carryover from my profession. We met about three months ago at the reception for Dr. Melikian. Nice meeting you again, Senator.”
As they got into the car and headed down the driveway, Nicole turned and looked at Matt. “If we live through this, Matthew Richards, I’m going to marry you.”
When they were a block away, Nicole touched his arm. “This is a good spot.”
Matt watched her unwrap the small digital recorder and battery operated receiver. “What if it rains?”
“Haven’t a clue. Dad didn’t mention that. Let’s hope the weather stays good. I’ll just be a moment. She stepped out of the car and set the recorder in a dense hedge bordering a large residence.
“How long is it good for?”
“Dad said up to six hours. We should at least be able to hear what the Senator has to say. If they talk in the library, that is.”
An hour later Matt and Nicole walked arm in arm into Eli’s safe house. Matt used one of the fake IDs and a credit card from the collection in his valise to book the early flight out of Washington’s Ronald Reagan National Airport for Pittsburgh. Tomorrow they had an appointment with Todd Cummings.
“This ain’t the Ritz,” said Elijah, “but it does have a small guest room. You guys figure out the arrangements. I’m going to bed. We’ll listen to the recording first thing in the morning.”
“Don’t worry about us, Dad, and by the way…” She opened the paper bag an pulled out the distinctive pinch bottle of Glenrothes Single Malt Scotch. “Sweet dreams.”
Matt and Nicole crawled into the small twin bed and slipped into each other’s arms. They were exhausted but Matt’s mind kept churning. Past and present bombarding him with images. Somewhere in the assault of images, he slept, and dreamed.
Cairo, early December 1968
The soot-covered train from Aswan to Cairo pulled into the station. It was early morning after a nighttime run along the Nile River and the end of the AUB group’s two week educational trip to the monuments and museums of ancient Egypt. In two days they would be on a plane heading back to Beirut.
Most of the seventeen American students hadn’t slept that night. Instead the journey on the train was an excuse for a party, with beer and liquor flowing freely. Twice during the night Dr. Martin Thomas, their chaperone, tried to confine their revelry to one car and stop them roaming through the train howling like banshees. When the train finally did pull into the Cairo station several of the bedrooms stunk of vomit and booze.
Matt and Todd Cummings wearily dumped their luggage onto the bed of their shared hotel room. “What should we do with our last day in Cairo?”
“I’m gonna sleep.” Todd crashed heavily onto the bed. “You do what you want.” Matt bathed and changed
