containment, Mr. Kendrick, that's the order from on-high in Langley. As far as anyone here is concerned, we're just government personnel, no Agency, no Bureau, no identifications offered and none asked for. They're all too frightened to look for complications, which is usually the case in these situations. A plane will fly in around three o'clock this morning. The prisoner and his dead friends will be taken back to Virginia. He will be sent to an interrogation clinic, the others to the forensic labs. Manny said—excuse me, Mr. Weingrass said I should make all this clear to you.'
'It's clear.'
'Thank you, sir. Boy, that Manny! Do you know he punched me in the stomach when I told him I was taking over. I mean, he threw a fist into my gut!'
'Standard,' said Kendrick, peering out of the tinted window at the road. They were only ten minutes from the house. From Manny.
They embraced in the doorway, Evan holding the old man far more firmly than the other held him. Then Weingrass gently boxed Kendrick's ears and spoke. 'You never got manners from your parents? Behind you is a lady I want very much to meet.'
'Oh, sorry,' said Evan, backing away. 'Manny, this is Khalehla… Khalehla Rashad.'
Old Weingrass stepped forward, taking Khalehla's hand in his. 'We come from a troubled land, you and I. You are an Arab and I am a Jew, but there are no such distinctions in this house, no preconceptions, and I must tell you that I love you very much for giving such joy to my son.'
'My God, you are a marvel.'
'Yes,' agreed Manny, nodding twice.
'I love you, too, for all that you mean to Evan.' Khalehla placed her arms around the frail eighty-year-old architect, her face pressed against his. 'I feel as if I've known you all my life.'
'I sometimes have that effect on people. Also sometimes the opposite, as if their lives had taken a sudden turn for the worse.'
'Mine hasn't,' said Khalehla, releasing Manny but holding his shoulders. 'I've met the legend and he turns out to be a terrific person,' she added, smiling warmly.
'Don't spread such disinformation, Miss Secret Agent. You'll ruin my reputation… Now to business before I take you in to the others.' Weingrass turned in the hallway and peered around the stone archway. 'Good. The girls are on the veranda giving us a few minutes to ourselves.'
That fellow from the CIA filled us in,' said Kendrick. 'The one who came down to the airport to meet us.'
'Oh, you mean Joe.'
'Joe?'
'They're all “Joe”, “John”, “Jim”—you notice, no “Irvings” or “Miltons”—forget it… Payton told me you know about the Hassans.'
'He knows,' interrupted Khalehla, absently reaching for Evan's hand and gripping it; the gesture was not lost on Manny and it obviously touched him. 'It was horrible—’
'It's all horrible, my lovely child. Animals who kill their own! Kashi and Sabri, they spoke so lovingly of you, Adrienne Khalehla Rashad, and I don't have to tell you what they thought of my son… So we will mourn privately, each to himself and herself, remembering what they meant to us. But that must be later, not now.'
'Manny,' broke in Kendrick. 'I have to make arrangements—’
'I've made them. There'll be a private Islamic service, and their remains will be flown back to Dubai for burial in Ash Sharigah. The coffins will be sealed, of course.'
'Mr. Weingrass—’
'That business should have come first. If you call me “mister”, I won't love you so much.'
'All right… Manny. MJ wasn't clear. MJ—that's Payton.'
'I know, I know,' interrupted Weingrass. 'I told him that if he got the phone fixed we could be more cordial, so I think he had somebody killed and now it's working. We're Emmanuel and Mitchell now, and he calls too much. I'm sorry, you had a question?'
