muted slap the next photograph appeared on the screen. Kendrick and the Rotunda steps disappeared, replaced by an overview of hysterical crowds racing down a narrow street flanked by buildings of obviously Islamic character, past shops with signs in Arabic above them.
'Oman,' said Eric Sundstrom, glancing at Winters. 'A year ago.' The historian-spokesman nodded.
The slides followed quickly, one after the other, depicting scenes of chaos and carnage. There were bullet-ridden corpses and shell-pocked walls, torn down embassy gates and rows of kneeling terrified hostages behind a rooftop screen of latticework; there were close-ups of shrieking young people brandishing weapons, their mouths gaping in triumph, their zealous eyes wild. Suddenly the rushing slides stopped and the attention of Inver Brass was abruptly riveted on a slide that seemed to have little relevance. It showed a tall, dark-skinned man in long white robes, his head covered by a ghotra, his face in profile, walking out of a hotel; then the screen was split, a second photograph showing the same man rushing across an Arab bazaar in front of a fountain. The photographs remained on the screen; the bewildered silence was broken by Milos Varak.
'That man is Evan Kendrick,' he said simply.
Bewilderment gave way to astonishment. Except for Samuel Winters, the others leaned forward, beyond the glare of the brass lamps, to study the magnified figure on the screen. Varak continued. 'These photographs were taken by a case officer of the CIA with a Four-Zero clearance whose assignment was to keep Kendrick under surveillance wherever possible. She did a remarkable job.'
'She?' Margaret Lowell arched her brows in approval.
'A Middle East specialist. Her father's Egyptian, herm other an American from California. She speaks Arabic fluently and is used extensively by the Agency in crisis situations over there.'
'Over there?' whispered Mandel, stunned. 'What was he doing over there?'
'Just a minute,' said Logan, his dark eyes boring into Varak's. 'Stop me if I'm wrong, young man, but if I remember correctly, there was an article in the Washington Post last year suggesting that an unknown American had interceded in Masqat at the time. A number of people thought that it might have been the Texan Ross Perot, but the story never appeared again. It was dropped.'
'You're not wrong, sir. The American was Evan Kendrick and with pressure from the White House the story was killed.'
'Why? He could have made enormous political mileage out of it—if indeed his contribution led to the settlement.'
'His contribution was the settlement.'
'Then I certainly don't understand,' remarked Logan quietly as he looked at Samuel Winters.
'No one does,' said the historian. 'There's no explanation, just a buried file in the archives that Milos managed to obtain. Apart from that document, there's nothing anywhere to indicate a connection between Kendrick and the events in Masqat.'
'There's even a memo to the Secretary of State disavowing any such connection,' interrupted Varak. 'It does not reflect well on the congressman. In essence, it suggests that he was a self-serving opportunist, a politician who wished to further himself by way of the hostage crisis because he had worked in the Arab Emirates and especially Oman, and was trying to insert himself for publicity purposes. The recommendation was not to touch him for the safety of the hostages.'
'But they obviously did touch him!' exclaimed Sundstrom. 'Touch him and use him! He couldn't have got in there if they hadn't; all commercial flights were suspended. Good Lord, he must have been flown over under cover.'
'And just as obviously he's no self-serving opportunist,' added Margaret Lowell. 'We see him here in front of our eyes and Milos tells us he was instrumental in bringing the crisis to an end, yet he's never uttered a word about his involvement. We'd all know about it if he had.'
'And there's no explanation?' asked Gideon Logan, addressing Varak.
'None acceptable, sir, and I've gone to the source.'
'The White House?' said Mandel.
'No, the man who had to be aware of his recruitment, the one who ran the nerve centre here in Washington. His name is Frank Swann.'
