The second door opened and a wash of refrigerated air filled the chamber. “Ready?” Amirah asked.
“Say, Khalid why don’t you go into the office and watch some videos. Give us a couple of hours.”
“Happy to, sir.”
They stepped out of the airlock and into the bunker that was as different from the camp outside as a diamond was from a lump of coal. There was a big central room packed with state-of-the-art research equipment and intelligence-processing hardware including satellite downlinks, high-speed Internet cable hard lines, plasma display screens on nearly every surface, and a dozen computer terminals. Surrounding the central lab were glassed offices, the supercooled chamber for the bank of Blue Gene/L supercomputers, and the five clean rooms with their isolated air and biohazard control systems. Down one corridor was the staff wing, with bedrooms for the eighty technicians and the twenty support staff.
The setup had cost a fortune. Fifty-eight million pounds, all routed through convoluted banking threads that would require an army of forensic accountants to follow. Nothing could be tied directly to him or to Gen2000. It was Gault’s belief that this was not only the most sophisticated private research facility in the world, but also the most productive and diverse. Genetics, pharmacology, molecular biology, bacteriology, virology, parasitology, pathology, and over a dozen other related sciences merged into one compact but incredibly productive factory floor that had paid for itself four times over with patents filed under the names of over seventy doctors who were on his payroll through one university or another, not the least of which was the first reliable drug for treating the rare blood cancers, new-onset sarcoidosis, and asbestos-related diseases that have cropped up in survivors of the World Trade Center collapse. The irony of that made Gault want to laugh out loud considering he’d advised bin Laden about the likely and potentially useful postcol-lapse health hazards before the Al Qaeda operatives had even enrolled in flight school.
Amirah led the way past the rows of technicians, still playing her role as the dutiful wife of the great leader even though these people were hers, every last one of them. Only Abdul, her husband’s lieutenant, and a small squad of his personal guard were currently beyond her control, and they were outside. And even that sense of loyalty would change in time. Everything was going to change.
She led Gault into the conference room, then closed the door and engaged the lock, an action that turned on a red security light outside. The room had no windows. Just a big table and a lot of chairs.
Amirah turned away from the door, tore away her chadri, and attacked Gault.
She was fast, savage, hungry.
She pushed him back, forcing him down on the table, tearing at his clothes, biting at each bit of exposed flesh; and he grabbed her and clawed her skirts up over her legs. He knew that she would be naked underneath. They had planned this moment, needed it. He was as ready as she was and as he used his heels to slide farther onto the table she climbed over him, swung a leg across his hips, and as he pulled her toward him she thrust down onto him. It was hot and hard, painful and sloppy, but it was so intense. Their bodies ground into one another. Love was lost in the avalanche of need, buried beneath the immediacy of their hungers.
El Mujahid was sometimes as brutal and intense, but he was always quick, and Amirah could endure and outlast any man. Almost any man. With Gault it was different. Instead of a gallop to the precipice and then that quick plunge into unsatisfactory disappointment, they raced on and on, their bodies running with sweat, their hearts hammering like primitive drums, their breath burning into each other’s mouths.
When they came, they both screamed. The conference room was soundproof. He’d made sure of that.
Chapter Fourteen
Baltimore, Maryland / Saturday, June 27; 7:46 P.M.
I DROPPED RUDY at his office. As he got out of the car he said, “Joe I know how obsessive you can get about things.”
“Me? Really.”
“I’m serious. Church is on some creepy level of government and he told you to leave it alone. I think you should take him at his word.”
“Yeah, let me get right on that.”
“What’s your alternative? Poke at it with a stick until all the hornets come out of the nest? Think about it Church didn’t approach you through channels, that means he wants this kept off the record. That frightens me, cowboy, and it should frighten you.”
“I’m too wired to be scared. God I think I need to get totally shitfaced tonight.”
He closed the door and leaned in through the window. “Listen to me, Joe go easy on the booze. No screwing around. You’ve experienced two major traumas in only a few days. No matter how much of a macho facade you put on I know that killing those men at the warehouse had to do you some damage.”
“They dealt the play.”
“Like that matters? Just because they were doing something immoral doesn’t take away your emotional connection to it. This isn’t to say that you were in any way wrong. God knows I hope I would have the physical and moral courage to do what you did in there. You’re a white hat, Joe, but that comes with a price tag. You have a heart and a mind and pretty soon you’re going to have to open up those doors and take a close look at what kind of damage is there as a result of this.”
I said nothing.
“I’m saying this as your friend as well as your therapist.”
I still said nothing.
“Don’t think I’m kidding, Joe. This isn’t something you can shrug off. You’re required to have sessions with me about this, and you can’t go back on the job until I file my report. As of yet I don’t have anything to file. You’ve blown off two scheduled sessions so far. You need to talk about it.”
I stared out the window for a minute. “Okay.”
In a softer tone he added, “Look, cowboy, I know how tough you are but believe me when I tell you that nobody is that tough. A complete separation from your feelings is not proof of manly strength it’s a big glaring neon warning sign. I know you think you called me today to ask my opinion as a pal and as a medical doctor, but I have to believe that you’re reaching out for support for what you’ve been through. As far as this thing with Javad and Mr. Church goes well, if you were capable of simply shrugging that off with no traumatic effects then I would either be afraid of you or afraid for you.”
“I’m feeling it,” I assured him.
Rudy studied my face. “I have a two o’clock open on Tuesday.”
I sighed. “Yeah, okay. Tuesday at two.”
He nodded, pleased. “Bring Starbucks.”
“Sure, what do you want?”
“My usual. Iced half-caf ristretto quad grande two pump raspberry two percent no whip light ice with caramel drizzle three-and-a-half-pump white mocha.”
“Is any of that actually coffee?”
“More or less.”
“And you think I’m damaged.”
He stepped back and I drove off. I could see in the rearview that he watched me all the way out of the parking lot.
Chapter Fifteen
Baltimore, Maryland / Saturday, June 27; 7:53 P.M.
I HEADED HOME and as soon as I was in the door I went straight to the bathroom, stripped and stuffed everything, even my boxers, into the trash and then stood under the hottest spray I could stand and tried to boil the day off my skin.
My cat, Cobbler-a marmalade and white tabby-hopped up on the toilet tank and watched me with his big yellow eyes.
