from the President. After all these tests are often a little finicky. It may just be a false alarm. But it’s better to be on the safe side. Thank you, he’ll be there at 7:15 this evening. In the Oval Office? Fine. And thank you, Miriam. Sorry to trouble you with this but it is important.”
Dr. Khalid leaned back in her swivel chair. She closed her eyes. It was a few moments before the trembling subsided. In the beginning she could not sleep, always frightened. The daily rituals had been the worst. Putting in the brown contact lenses, making sure her dyed hair was just right. And always the fears. A brown contact lens dropping out, a haunting green eye looking around in horror at who might be looking. Wondering what else she was hiding.
But the biggest fear of all was being watched, being suspected. Like that man with Dr. Melikian at the clinic. And it was him again at the cyberSTOP cafe. But it couldn’t be. The first man was well dressed, a professional. The second almost a derelict. Stubble on his face. The stress was unnerving her. Even the increased dosage of Valium didn’t help. But the end was near. It would all be over soon. She would martyr herself. Maha, not Margaret, would once again gain respect in the eyes of her family. United after all these years with her loving father. Her courage and dedication returned.
Now it’s time for Dr. Melikian to have a lunch that doesn’t agree with him. She reached for her medical bag and pulled out the small bottle. A couple of drops in a coffee mug and within an hour or two the recipient would have all the symptoms of a full-blown case of food poisoning. Vomiting. Diarrhea. Cold shivers. Two days in bed, guaranteed.
“You did eat lunch today, didn’t you?” Dr. Khalid said as she entered the large office carrying two cups of fresh brewed coffee. It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Their usual time to review the day and talk over any pressing issues.
Dr. Melikian smiled. “Yes, Mother.” He looked up from his pile of papers. “I took a walk down by the river and had a quick bite at the Memorial, my favorite delicatessen. Their roast beef sandwiches are marvelous. And the pickles are enormous. That’s the one thing that always amazes me about America. The portions are so huge. It’s a contest to see who can choke the most customers.”
“Here’s your coffee. I used the Starbucks’ special blend that you like. As close as we can get to real Arabic coffee without going to a restaurant.” She smiled, setting the mug with the Presidential seal on his desk. For the next twenty minutes they discussed their cases and made plans for the rest of the week. “Don’t forget, Doctor, you have the state dinner at the White House for the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia this evening. Eight o’clock sharp.”
“I did forget. I was actually thinking about an early evening in bed with a bowl of popcorn and a good book.”
“I wish I could go to the White House and hobnob with the Saudis,” she said. “Maybe I’d find a wealthy man there to take me away from all of this.” She waved her arms about. “I’ll come back and check in on you about six o’clock, just to make certain you haven’t slipped out the back door with a suitcase full of popcorn.” She walked down the hall to her office, setting the timer on her Nike running watch.
At four o’clock the intercom rang. “Maggie, can you go to Dr. Melikian’s office right away? He just buzzed me and said he’s not feeling well. Maybe you should check on him. And you might need to take his patients.”
“I’ll be right there, Irene.” She fed the last of her papers into the shredder, tied up the black plastic bag and placed it in the special incineration can. It would be reduced to ashes at the end of the day.
The sound of retching and the sour smell of vomit came from the doctor’s private bathroom. She found him on all fours, head over the toilet bowl.
“I knocked, but you didn’t answer, so I… Are you all right?”
“I’d be better off dead.” He slowly stood up and wiped his mouth with a towel. “After what I’ve just been through I have a lot more empathy for our patients.”
“Sit down and I’ll take your temperature. You look awful, a U.S. Army green color.” Dr. Khalid smiled, trying to inject some humor. “One hundred and three. Between that and the shivering and vomiting, I’d say you’ve either got a bout of the flu or a classic case of food poisoning. What was that you ate for lunch?”
“Roast beef and too much of it. Doesn’t taste nearly so good on the way back up.” He managed a wry smile before urgently returning to the toilet bowl.
Back in his chair Dr. Melikian put his head on his desk, trying to slow down the spinning. “Have Irene reschedule as many patients as possible. You’ll have to handle any others. It shouldn’t be too heavy a load since I was scheduled to go to that White House dinner.”
“I’ll have Irene call your wife. You can’t drive in this condition. If it’s food poisoning it will work itself out of your system in about twenty-four hours. But you must rest.”
“Very well, Dr. Frankenstein. For my sins I will go home and rest. And for your sins you will go to the White House in my place.”
“Oh no. They’ll probably sit me somewhere close to either the President or the crown prince. I’ll have to stay awake and look interested.”
“I’ll call Miriam right now and arrange it,” he said about to reach for the phone. Instead, he grabbed his stomach and ran for the toilet.
“Alright, I’ll go. And don’t worry. I’ll arrange everything with the President’s office. But first I’ll have Irene call your wife.”
Within half an hour Dr. Melikian was lying in the back of a taxi on his way home. Dr. Margaret Khalid struggled with his caseload, fighting down her fears, smiling through her brown eyes at patients and thinking about killing the President.
At 6:15 pm Maggie freed herself from the office and went home to change. She checked her black medical bag. The appointment with the President was scheduled for 7:15 pm in the Oval Office. The Oval Office, seat of aggression and oppression. She had been there only once but knew the layout perfectly. This night she would be so far from the sun drenched city of Beirut where once young students had passionately discussed politics and freedom. This night she would make history for their cause.
Irene Leonard stayed late at Dr Melikian’s office frantically trying to rearrange his schedule for the next several days. When the phone rang she cursed under her breath. “No, I’m sorry, Dr. Melikian has left for the day. And he won’t be in tomorrow or the next day, he’s taken ill. Oh, yes, I remember you, Dr. Summers… Dr. Khalid? No, I’m sorry you just missed her. She’s standing in for Dr. Melikian at a function at the White House this evening. Yes, I’ll tell him you called. Good night, Dr. Summers.”
Matt’s hand trembled as he put down the payphone situated inside the neighborhood convenience store. Dear God. It’s happening? Who could he call? Who would believe him?
Matt approached the elderly Asian proprietor behind the counter. “Can you change this $5 bill for coins for the pay phone?” Noticing a bandage on the man’s forearm he forced a smile. “I’m a doctor. Are you okay?”
Was Maha already at the White House? Was she talking to President Pierce at this very moment? How would she do it? A poisoned tongue depressor? An injection? The Asian proprietor broke through his fears.
“It’s a deep scratch from my cat and it’s not healing very well.” He moved the bandage a little to expose a red and swollen gash.
“You’ve got an infection. If you have some iodine or betadine, swab it twice a day for several days and let the air get to it. Cuts heal better with fresh air.” His smile was brittle. “Oh and could I have some change for the pay phone?”
Matt looked at the television above the cash register. The 6:30 evening news. A picture of the White House appeared behind a fast-talking female correspondent. “Tonight,” she announced, “President Pierce and the secretary of state are hosting the crown prince of Saudi Arabia at an official state dinner here at the White House. This visit certainly comes at an auspicious time as the President is in what appears to be the final stages of preparing his response to the nation and the world on the approach the United States will take toward the escalation of terror on American soil. We still don’t have a date for the President’s speech but the White House press corps says we can expect it to come sometime within the week.”
Matt thumbed a coin at the slot. It dropped to the floor. Coins rattled in his hand. He fed the rest into the payphone. The White House correspondent droned on but Matt was playing his own scenario. They kill the
