including Varak. 'At least not for a few years, if then. Once the blackout's lifted there'll be a lot of hot blood running in the Baaka Valley.'
'I assume you're talking about the congressman?'
'Yes. The terrorists were caught, in a manner of speaking… There was a third and final attack several hours ago. It took place in Mesa Verde and was every bit as devastating as Fairfax.'
'Several hours …? Was Kendrick there?'
'Yes.'
'And?'
'He's alive, I'm told by seconds. But like Virginia, many of our personnel were killed.'
'I'm sorry… Weingrass was severely hurt, I gather. That's whom you were referring to when you mentioned an old man, wasn't it?'
'Yes. They're flying him to a hospital in Denver. Evan's with him.'
'The terrorists, please,' said Varak, his eyes boring into hers.
'All together there were nine of them. Eight are dead; one survived, the youngest.'
'And when the blackout's lifted, as you say, there will be hot blood in the Baaka. It's why Kendrick can't go back to that part of the world.'
'He wouldn't live forty-eight hours. There's no way to protect him from the crazies.'
'There is here and none better than the government's Secret Service. In these matters nothing is perfect, there is only the best.'
'I know.' Khalehla drank from her glass of wine.
'You understand what I'm saying, don't you, Miss Rashad?'
'I think so.'
'Let events run their natural course. There's a legitimate political action committee dedicated to supporting Congressman Kendrick for higher office. Let them work unencumbered and let the country respond—one way or the other. And if we're both right about the Vanvlanderens and the Grinells and the people they represent, let Evan Kendrick make up his own mind. Because even if we expose them and stop them, there are hundreds more who will take their places… A force is needed, a voice is needed.'
Khalehla raised her eyes from the wine. She nodded twice.
The Icarus Agenda
Chapter 36
Kendrick walked along Denver's Seventeenth Street towards the Brown Palace Hotel barely aware of the light snow that was floating down from the night sky. He had told the cabdriver to let him off several blocks away; he wanted to walk; he had to clear his mind.
The doctors at the Denver General had patched Manny up, relieving Evan by explaining that the wounds, although messy, consisted mainly of embedded fragments of glass and metal. The loss of blood was considerable for a man of his age but not critical; it would be replaced. The bewilderment started when Kendrick took one of the doctors aside and told him about Weingrass's concern that the cancer had returned. Within twenty minutes all of Manny's tests had been electronically transmitted from Washington, and the chief oncologist had spoken to the DC surgeon who had operated on the old architect. Then about two hours into his four-hour stay at the hospital, a technician had arrived from some laboratory or other and conferred quietly with another doctor. There had been a mild flurry of activity and Evan was asked to leave the room while various samples were taken from Manny's body. An hour after that the chief of pathology, a thin man with inquisitive eyes, approached Kendrick in the waiting room.
'Congressman, has Mr. Weingrass been out of the country recently?'
'Not within the past year, no.'
