“The artist?”
“That she is. And if anyone knows what all the old gang is doing, she’s the one. Maybe she can shed some light on who might be involved with the terrorists.”
“What’s she like?”
“Well, it’s been a long time. But she was warm, fun loving, sensitive. She was well liked by everyone at AUB. It’s worth a try.” Matt recalled some of the fun they had that year. A fleeting smile crossed his new face, an odd congruence of past and present.
“And if she’s not home?”
“Damn it, Nicole, work with me, please. I haven’t got much hope left.”
“But we can’t just drive all over the country looking up your old Beirut pals. Someone will recognize us.”
Matt nodded. “You’re right. But we’ve got to talk with her, in person. It’s our only chance. Then we’ll get back to Washington, I promise.” He leaned over and kissed her.
“Hold it there, cowboy. Not while I’m driving. Are you hungry?”
“Now that you mention it, I’m starved. I didn’t eat much back there in the executive dining room. I could murder for a Big Mac right now.”
“Okay. I’ll park at the next services area. But you stay in the car. We stand a better change of not being recognized that way. What do you want on your hamburger?”
An hour later they were headed for Massachusetts. Matt gestured for the cell phone. When he heard her voice his mind relaxed. Her soothing hello spanned decades and continents. He kept the conversation brief, just as they had planned. He was Matt’s cousin who found a few things in his effects with her name on them. They agreed to meet at her home in the morning.
Nicole smiled. “Tomorrow, then?”
Matt nodded. “Best bet is to find an out of the way motel where we can spend the night and make the final drive early in the morning.”
“Okay.” Nicole stared ahead at the turnpike.
Matt looked at her. “What is it?”
“I shouldn’t say anything. Just fatigue I guess.”
“We’re partners, remember? And I do care for you, Nicole.”
“Tell me about her.”
“Who, Anne-Marie?”
“No. Todd Cummings talked about Maha. The redhead. He said you were deeply in love. I need to know, Matt, because I care for you too.” She swallowed hard.
Matt looked away. The tires rattled on the center markers as the car changed lanes. Maha. The name brought back memories both painful and exhilarating. He kept his emotions in check. Nicole deserved that.
“My first real love, the only woman I guess I ever loved. It wasn’t just a heady combination of adolescent love and lust but a deep, powerful, and lasting love-or so I thought. But in the years following her death I often wondered if it was her I loved or just the idealized vision of a woman I could never spend a life with.”
And so Matt began telling Nicole about the first and only love of his life. Had it been reality or just a myth built in the sand of his personal loneliness and despair? “She was Jordanian, a third year pharmacy student at AUB.” He went on and on sparing no details, their first meeting on the plane, the ski weekends, the visits to historic sites, the parties, and even their love-making. He was just about to relate events leading up to the restaurant explosion when he stopped in mid-sentence. That’s it. Something at the back of his mind, clearer now since he hadn’t had a drink in several months began to pull at him.
“I’m sorry,” Nicole said quietly, “I didn’t mean to pry into your personal life. Let’s just drop it.”
“No, it’s fine. Wait a minute.” Matt breathed. “I remember now. After the death of her father, she changed. In my lovesick memory she was always the same loving girl, full of life, optimism and sensuality. But she changed. I can see it clearly now. I guess I didn’t want to admit it to myself earlier. The truth is she gradually became more and more cynical.”
“What do you mean?”
“She started making off-the-cuff comments about life in the Middle East, the Palestinian situation, even our relationship. At one point just before the bomb explosion I remember her saying that her future was already chosen. She seemed sad and far away.” Matt fell silent, his mind racing. Finally he murmured something.
“What’s that?” Nicole said.
“I said maybe it is possible-maybe her death was faked, and Bedouina’s too. Maybe it was all part of a long- term plot. But what could make two young girls turn into cold-blooded murderers? And suicide bombers?”
“You really don’t know much about women, do you?” Nicole said. “All women feel alienated from their true selves by the rules and stereotypes that prevail in male-dominated societies. And the alienation is proportional to the degree of repression. Did you know that even today, in Jordan, there’s a law that allows a father to kill his daughter if she is seen walking in the street with a man not approved by the family? And it really happens. Imagine living with absolutely no rights? Like chattel. And yet they watch television programs from other parts of the world showing women in powerful positions, being able to speak their minds. It’s easy to see why most of the women in the Middle East are unsure of themselves and highly susceptible to male pressure.”
“You’re saying young women can easily become suicide bombers?”
“Yes. And the terrorists take full advantage. It’s not difficult to convince a young girl that by giving her life for a noble cause she can gain the respect and adulation normally only accorded to men. She can finally be on an equal footing and her family will gain a measure of stature because of her sacrifice. And if she’s suffered some trauma already, rape by a relative, the death of a loved one, then that sense of hopelessness might make her even more susceptible.”
“Maha’s father was killed at the airport.” Matt turned to look out the window.
“Okay. Then add to that a little incentive. Terrorists usually promise a sizeable monetary reward to the family and bingo, you’ve got a candidate ready and willing to blow herself to bits for Allah.” Nicole shuddered. “Think how many bright Muslim women have been turned into bomb-carrying zombies by these madmen. Just recently a suicide bombing was carried out by a young Palestinian lawyer. An educated woman with much to contribute.”
“Didn’t the Israelis kill her brother earlier?”
Nicole nodded and kept driving.
“Guess that makes both Bedouina and Maha likely candidates?” said Matt, subdued. The magnitude of their suffering and loneliness etched across his face. God I’m tired.
After a few miles of awkward silence his words were faint and hesitant. “Do you think it’s too late for her? Maha, I mean, if she’s still alive?”
Nicole stared at him incredulously. “After all you’ve been through in your life you still ask about a woman you haven’t seen for over thirty years? You must have loved her deeply, Matt. You may not realize this but it’s every woman’s dream to have a man love her forever. You are a very special man, Matthew Richards. Very special indeed.” She stared into the rearview mirror. No one following.
The St. James Club, London
They were together again for the second time in two months, unprecedented for the four businessmen. Yet these were unprecedented times. A light snowfall deadened the sounds of traffic slowly moving up St. James’ Street. The lights from the men’s clothing stores on Jermyn Street were bright against the falling snow.
“The time is rapidly approaching when our planning will bear fruit,” Mohammed al Nagib said. They were seated at a quiet corner table at one end of the dark mahogany paneled dining room. “But we need to accelerate certain parts of our plans, gentlemen.”
“What do you mean, accelerate?” asked the Brazilian, Jorge Molinas. “This is supposed to be an opportunistic timetable not a forced one. We will only have one chance.”
“As agreed. However new developments have taken place which we need to discuss. I’m certain after all the facts are known we will arrive at the best decision.” Nagib slowly lit a Cuban cigar. The meal had been outstanding, the service impeccable, the wine nectar.
“Waiter?” Nagib beckoned. “Tell the head chef I have a complaint.”
