forward. You must be ready to act within the next seven days. Go to an Internet cafe every morning for the next week. Log into www.beirut69.com and sign on as ‘asset1’. We’ll send you instructions about the exact date.” He sprinted away opening a large gap between them, then took one of the many uphill trails to the main streets lining both sides of the narrow canyon. In less than a minute he had vanished.
Maggie Khalid finished her run, added another tube of black rinse to her hair while showering, cleaned and reinserted her brown-tinted contact lenses, and was back in Dr. Melikian’s office in less than an hour.
Kingston, Rhode Island
“I’m looking for Dr. Karl Mitchell.” A thin, attractive man answered the door of a two-story home on a street next to the University of Rhode Island campus. Matt recognized the man right away, Theodore Janus. But everyone always called him T. J.
“Are you the person who called about Matt Richards, his cousin?”
“Yes, I’m Thomas Black, and this is my wife Veronica. It’s good of Dr. Mitchell to see us on such short notice.”
“I’ll tell Karl you’re here. Come in. You’re in luck. He’s having one of his better days.” T. J. led the way through a living room adorned with white rugs and marble statues. It had the look of a boudoir. Matt glanced at Nicole, raising his eyebrows. They emerged onto a south-facing sun porch where a fragile-looking man with a ponytail was sitting up in a hospital bed, reading Stephen Hawking’s Brief History of Time.
“This is the man who phoned yesterday, Matt’s cousin,” said T. J., arranging a blanket over Karl’s feet. “Keep your feet covered or you’ll get pneumonia again.”
Dr. Mitchell studied his guests over the rims of his bifocals. “I’ve been reading Hawking’s book. Funny thing about time. There are moments when it seems as if the past and the present are the same, only separated by the blink of an eye. Like now, wouldn’t you say, Matt?”
“No, Karl,” T. J. sighed, “he’s Matt’s cousin, not-”
“Karl knows what he’s talking about, T. J.,” Matt said. Still sharp as a tack.
“Who did the work, Matt?”
“Wish I knew. I was kidnapped and the surgery performed against my will.”
“Your face has been on the news. Every hour.”
“Just what I need.” Matt waited as T.J. stepped closer.
“Jesus. How does that feel? Does it hurt?”
Matt smiled. “Actually, it itches more than it hurts.”
“How can I help you, Matt?” Karl Mitchell closed the book and tossed it on the floor.
“I’m in big trouble, Karl. The people who did this to me are now trying to kill me. I escaped from the hospital and for the past several days I’ve been running for my life. And I don’t know why.”
“And you come here?”
“Because I think there’s a link to that night in the monastery, near Basharri.”
“Basharri. That was quite a night.”
“Someone was there, Karl, someone from outside our AUB group. Do you remember who?” Matt moved closer to the elevated hospital bed.
“How much do you know about AIDS, Dr. Richards? Not what it says in the medical books. The real life and death of it? The pain, the hopelessness, the guilt… Herpes is something you live with. AIDs is something you die with. And more often than not something you give to others, even your loved ones.” He reached out for T. J.’s thin hand.
“I just have to look at you, Karl, and then look at T.J. It maybe about suffering and death, but it’s also about love and partnership.”
T.J. looked at Matt. “We had to get out of Beirut. Gays were not very well accepted in the Middle East, even now but especially back in the late 60’s.”
“As I look back over my life I realize I was terminally irresponsible,” the scientist went on, his mind drifting a little. “At least you have a chance to make up for your mistakes. I don’t have the time or energy to even try. I’ll die soon knowing I could have prevented this and didn’t. Brains I had, but wisdom?” He coughed again. This time bright red blood drizzled from the corner of his mouth.
“The fact is, Dr. Mitchell, none of us has much time,” Nicole said. “This goes as high up as the President of the United States.”
“Ah, yes. The suicide bomber. Bedouina.”
“So it was her?”
“Of course. So she didn’t die in the explosion? And Maha?”
“I wish I knew.”
Karl Mitchell looked over at Nicole. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally found someone who loves you, Matt. As I grow older I realize what a true blessing love is. Let’s see…Basharri.” He closed his eyes. “Everyone was stoned when T. J. and I arrived, but it didn’t take us long to get into the groove. Demetrie certainly had the best hash.”
“Why did you show up in the first place?” Matt pressed. “It seemed to me like a spontaneous decision for us to stop in Basharri that night and visit the monastery.”
“We were invited by Demetrie,” T. J. said. “He’d met a man who was trying to organize a group to help the Palestinians. It sounded interesting so we drove up that afternoon and arrived a little after you guys. The others drifted in later.”
“What others?” asked Matt looking from T. J. to Karl.
“An Egyptian businessman, Mohammed al Nagib. And another Arab wrapped in a red keffiyeh who didn’t speak and barely showed his face. I’ve forgotten his name.”
“Yassar?” Matt said.
“That may have been it. Anyway, Nagib spoke that evening about a special organization he was helping. Its mission was to take a stand for the Palestinians and their right of statehood. As I recall the more influential and wealthy Arab countries were not very supportive of the Palestinian cause, still aren’t. But the Israelis were growing in strength and presented a threat to the traditional way of life in the Middle East. He painted a graphic picture of the refugee camps, the suffering of women and children, the torture and humiliation of Palestinian men at the hands of Zionist aggressors. He even read some poems written by refugee children from the Chatilla camp. The longer he went on the more interested everyone seemed-unless I’m mistaking being stoned for interested.”
Matt glanced at Nicole. “What happened after that?”
“I don’t know if anyone ever joined his fledgling organization. I never saw him again and no one in the group ever spoke about it to me…”
T. J. signaled that Karl was growing sleepy. It was time to leave.
“Just one more question, Karl,” Matt said. “Has anyone else from the old AUB days been in touch with you recently?”
Karl Mitchell lay still. Matt glanced back at Nicole. As the silence lengthened they moved out of the sunroom toward the front door.
Matt gave T. J. a hug then reached out for the door. Karl’s reedy voice echoed into the hallway. “Just one person… Todd Cummings. He called, yesterday, and wanted to know what I remembered about that night in Basharri. He also asked if I’d spoken to William Fisher recently. Will was at the monastery that night as well. In fact it was Will who organized the entire meeting, not Demetrie.” Dr. Mitchell paused, trying to rally his limited strength. “Be careful, Matt. You deserve a second chance to make things right.”
CNN Headline News
The CNN anchorman, seated in front of a large bank of monitors, spoke quickly. “Sometime within the next week President Roswell Pierce will be making a major policy speech. According to a recent announcement from the White House press secretary President Pierce has been working on a US response to the escalating violence in the
