condition. His SUD score was now consistently between three (
Nick was massaging the muscles at the base of his neck when Lionel Ramsland entered the packed hearing room. He had lost some weight, and almost certainly was wearing expertly applied makeup. But in general, he appeared as cocky and confident as ever. And as Bagdasarian said, he had strong reason to be.
Nick had taken great pleasure in the man’s announcement two months ago that in the interest of not being a distraction to his party, he was stepping down as a vice presidential candidate before being nominated.
Now, as Ramsland approached his seat, his eyes and Nick’s met. For a few frozen seconds, neither of them moved. Then, never releasing his gaze or altering his expression, Ramsland raised his right hand and saluted. Nick, swallowing a jet of bile, shook his head derisively and took his seat between Jillian and Reese, facing the panel, and behind them, the massive marble wall with the seal of the Senate.
Ramsland’s continued testimony was gaveled to order by the chairman, a wizened senator from Missouri named Blackstone. Over the next hour, under oath, the man who might have been a heartbeat from the presidency lied again and again about his relationship with Franz Koller, the electronic device under CIA contract that could stimulate portions of the brain or cause the electrical pathways of the brain to short-circuit and stop functioning altogether, his role as creator and mastermind of the black ops Jericho unit, and his relationship and dealings with Aleem Syed Mohammad. He also swore that he had never had a cell phone conversation with Nick, and that records of the calls made from his personal cell phone showed absolutely no calls made during the time period Nick had stated in his deposition.
Nick’s fists were clenched throughout the barrage of dishonesty. At one point Reese leaned over and whispered, “It’s all just rope, Nicky-boy. Every lie is just more rope.”
“Well, he’s almost finished,” Nick said, “and I don’t see any noose.”
At that moment, as the final senator was finishing his five minutes of largely redundant questions, Reese looked over his shoulder. His expression, which had been getting somewhat gloomy, brightened considerably. Again, he bent over close to Nick.
“Let the games begin,” Reese whispered. “The fat lady has arrived.”
Nick turned around to see CIA chief William Conklin standing by the rear doors between what appeared to be two lawyers. Minutes later, with Ramsland now seated to the side of the room, Conklin, in his midfifties with thick white hair, the body of an obsessive athlete, and heavy bags under his eyes, was called forward, sworn in, and asked by Blackstone to identify himself.
“I notice that you have not been present for the early portion of these hearings,” Blackstone said, clearly prepared for this witness.
“No, I just flew in. The flight was delayed.”
“You were traveling alone?”
“No, I traveled with deputy CIA chief Arthur Senstrom.”
“Lionel Ramsland’s successor to that post.”
“Yes, Senator.”
“And where did you fly in from, Mr. Conklin?”
“From South America, Senator. I cannot disclose the country.”
“The purpose of your trip?”
“We spent two days with the terrorist Aleem Syed Mohammad.”
The hearing room erupted. Everyone, it seemed, was speaking at once. In an instant, Blackstone’s gavel was pounding.
“Nice going,” Nick whispered to Reese.
“Conklin’s scrambling to keep the Agency together. I helped him to see that this was his only chance. I just didn’t know if the trip was going to accomplish what we hoped. Now it appears as if it did. Tell Jillian she can take out that photo of her sister she’s got in her bag.”
Nick did as Reese asked. Jillian set the photo on her lap. It was a five-by-seven black-and-white candid of Belle, in a spring dress, seated with her back against a tree. She was reading a book. Her shoulder-length hair framed a porcelain face that was at once beautiful and transcendently serene.
Nick had seen the photo a number of times before, and knew Jillian had taken it. He reached across and squeezed her right hand with his. A single tear broke free from the corner of her eye, and landed on his wrist.
Gradually, order was restored to the chambers.
“You have come back with evidence pertaining to this case, Mr. Conklin?” Blackstone asked.
“Yes, Senator.”
“Objection,” Ramsland’s lawyer shouted, leaping to his feet. “I demand the right to review this evidence before it is presented.”
“Mr. Dietz, this is a hearing to gain facts. Your client is not on trial here, just under oath. I am going to permit the presentation of any evidence that will help us expeditiously get to the truth. Please proceed, Mr. Conklin.”
The CIA chief set two tape recorders on the table before him and turned the first one on. A man’s deep voice filled the room. He spoke in Arabic.
“Rather than play the full recording, I’m going to read you the translation,” Conklin said, shutting off the tape as he began. “ ‘Voice prints will confirm that I am Aleem Syed Mohammad. You will also find my fingerprints on this and another tape. I am speaking to you from a concealed location in South America. In exchange for my cooperation here, as well as for any further information Mr. Conklin may require, I have been given permission to continue living my life in secrecy.
“ ‘Some years ago, after the death of my oldest son, I grew extremely weary of war and of the jihad. For reasons that will become clear to you, I sought out Mr. Lionel Ramsland of the CIA, and he agreed to meet with me.
“ ‘My capture by U.S. forces was arranged, and I was transferred from the American military to the CIA. Over the next year, my appearance was totally altered by a number of plastic surgical procedures performed by Dr. Paresh Singh. At the same time, two men with bone structures similar to my own were chosen to be made to look exactly as I did before my surgeries. In the meanwhile, medical evidence was created showing that I was dying from a rare cardiac tumor.
“ ‘It is my understanding that my doubles were brainwashed with very sophisticated methods, and taught to speak enough Arabic to converse with people, and in particular with the physicians who would be caring for me.’ ”
Nick glanced behind him to the second row from the back, where Bill Pearl, wearing his trademark black suit and dress shirt, was sitting next to Manny Ferris, who looked remarkably well in a tan sports coat and tie. Thanks to Jillian, Manny had begun a series of plastic surgery procedures designed to reverse the disfiguring that had resulted from his escape from the Singh Center. In addition, a team of therapists from Shelby Stone had been deprogramming him and treating his PTSD. According to Jillian, progress was slow, and there was some doubt among his treaters as to how far back Manny could make it. But no one was inclined to stop trying.
“ ‘After a year,’ ” Conklin continued, “ ‘my perfect double was sent to the operating room at Shelby Stone Memorial Hospital, where he died before the operation could be performed. By that time, I was safely ensconced in the country and the home where I am living now. In exchange for my life, I fed a great deal of legitimate information to Mr. Ramsland regarding various activities of the groups you refer to as terrorist.
“ ‘Mr. Ramsland came to see me every couple of months and pumped me with more questions. After three years, Mr. Ramsland resigned to pursue his political ambitions. His replacement, Mr. Arthur Senstrom, began visiting me. But on the second visit, he made the mistake of telling me that the operation in which I allegedly died had been recorded. I, of course, demanded to view the recording. As you will learn, I had the leverage with Lionel Ramsland to make such a demand.
“ ‘The recording showed me sitting up before my surgery in great distress, screaming in Arabic and in Spanish for a man named Dr. Nick Fury, then collapsing and dying from a device that I am certain was triggered by Lionel Ramsland, who was in the room. Clearly, the others in the operating room that day heard the same thing I did. It was my feeling that so long as they were alive, my safety and security would be in jeopardy. I met with Mr.
