Barbara stared soothingly at Robert. Thorne sat down next to Fiona.
“What’s going on?” Fiona asked.
Barbara moved closer to Robert, her eyes never leaving his. “My son has a few things he needs to share with you. Tell her, son, it’s all right. I understand, but she needs to know.”
“Know what?” said Fiona, looking at Thorne, then up at Robert.
Robert knelt down in front of her, the mound in his throat the size of a grapefruit. He told her the story. Her eyes widened in disbelief. She looked from Barbara to Thorne, as though waiting for the punch line.
“It’s all true, honey,” said Thorne. Barbara nodded her concurrence.
Fiona put her head in her hands. “My God,” she exclaimed. “My God!”
28
“Mr. Rothschild, your ten o’clock appointment just pulled into the parking garage.”
“Send him right in when he gets upstairs.”
“Yes sir.”
Seventy-two hours from his sobering meeting at the Saudi Embassy, Edward sat dreading the arrival of Suraya, without the evidence, and no closer to a solution. He thumped his desk in staccato then swiveled around facing the window. A clear view of early morning Washington filled the wide panels of plate-glass like his own personal picture postcard.
What Mr. Veil? What were you looking for at Parklawn? It’s the evidence. It has to be.
He felt the eyes of his father and grandfather on the nape of his neck, staring over his shoulder from the painting behind him. Don’t fail us!
Protect the name! Protect the legacy! Kill them all!
“Mr. Rothschild, Mr. Khomeini has arrived.” Suraya swung the door open and rolled his considerable girth through the door. Edward arranged an extra-wide leather chair for the Iranian, a detail not unnoticed by Suraya, effusive in his appreciation. Pleasantries aside, the Iranian turned serious, carefully measuring his words as though other ears might be listening. Edward assured him they could talk freely.
“I hope you have good news for us, Mr. Rothschild,” said Suraya.
“My partners and I are ready to move in your favor.”
“Thank you, Suraya. Everything is in order. I’d like you and the others to hold off just a little longer. Everything will be over in a couple of days, then we can move forward without interruption.” Suraya stared Edward down with cold black eyes. “That’s unfortunate,” he said. “Our people are in place and soon they’ll be ready to go. We need your little situation to cease now, not a few days from now.”
“Listen,” Edward said, his teeth clenched, nostrils flaring. “I too have much riding on this. But there are a few loose ends I must clean up before any action is taken.”
“And what do these loose ends entail?” Edward ran his long pianist fingers across his chin. “As you can imagine, it’s very sensitive or I would’ve taken care of the issue long ago.”
“One wonders,” answered Suraya. “Maybe age has cost you your nerve.”
Edward smiled. “I can assure you and your friends my resolve is the least of your worries.”
“Nevertheless, time is not on our side, is it?” asked Suraya. “We’ve been moving along pretty much as planned, but in sensitive situations it doesn’t take much to catapult things in the wrong direction. So I hope you understand our need to intervene.”
“I understand better than you the importance of resolving this matter.
As you probably already know, there’s a Supreme Court confirmation hearing going on for Judge Fiona Patrick.”
“Yes, I’ve met her at receptions on several occasions. So?”
“The hearing figures into my plans. I need you to pull back your men until after the hearing. If the situation isn’t concluded by then, do what you will.”
Suraya rose and walked over to the painting of Edward’s father and grandfather. “They were involved too, no?” he sneered.
Edward’s nostrils flared. “Suraya, I’m afraid if you and your partners insist on going forward with your plans, I’ll have to withdraw my support, and, as painful as it would be, call off our deal. If there’s so much as a hint of your involvement, especially since nine-eleven, it won’t matter what you’re offering.”
Suraya, breathing hard, eyes red, leaned forward on the desk. “Our people will proceed immediately,” he said, measuring his tone through gritted teeth. “They will handle things expeditiously, including the White House, if it comes to that. They have instructions to carry on as they wish, so they can strike at any moment. Even we will not know when or where. So whatever you have to do Mr. Rothschild, you’d better hurry.”
Wet concrete filled Edward’s chest. Suraya walked to the door. “It’s a mistake Suraya.”
“No, Mr. Rothschild, it’s war,” said Suraya, a jihad storm in his eyes.
“And don’t think for one second our offer places your value above our cause. Our purpose is a holy one and Allah directs our steps. Get in our way and we’ll be happy to add the name Rothschild to the list.” Suraya stomped out of the office. Edward slammed his fist down breaking his phone into several pieces. The threat didn’t bother him, not having the evidence did. He paced the room. The cemetery. Why were you there, Mr. Veil?
He removed a back-up secure cell phone from a wall safe and dialed.
“Hello Vernon. It’s too late to let nature take its course. We’ll have to do without the evidence. Inform Simon and Marilyn, continue to track Veil, and all of you meet me here the morning of Judge Patrick’s confirmation hearing. He didn’t wait for a comment.
Edward sat back down and stared out at the city, the painting of his father and grandfather reflecting in the window. Don’t fail us! Protect the name! Protect the legacy! Kill them all!
29
A bare bones skeleton crew of reporters hovered outside Fiona’s front gate. A platoon of agents patrolled the area, their presence not nearly as ominous.
Robert sulked along the garden, hands in pockets. The bright splashes of floral color, red roses, yellow daffodils, lavender and creamy paper-whites, did little to improve his mood. He told Fiona everything.
Charlie, Edward, the evidence. Everything. The news brought her to a near breakdown, and she didn’t say a word to him afterwards.
His mother sent him outside, so she could talk to Fiona in private.
Thorne, sensing his desire to be alone, disappeared upstairs with Jessica.
At the end of the garden, Robert sat down on a white stone bench and leaned back against the wall. Guards and agents, some with shotguns, some with dogs, marched back and forth across the expansive, perfectly cut lawn in pairs, and for the first time he admitted to himself he not only cared about what happened to Fiona, he cared for her. She managed to dredge up feelings he kept submerged for a very long time, and he’d see her through the ordeal, or give up his life trying.
Robert left the bench and started back towards the house. We need help. Another pair of eyes. Someone ballsy enough to handle things without folding. He stopped in the middle of the garden, and dialed his cell. He cursed under his breath. Voice mail. “Hello Marilyn, this is Robert. I need your help. Please call me on my cell phone as soon as you get this message. It’s urgent. You have the number.” He hung up and turned. Thorne stood behind him. “What’s up?”
“I just left a message for Marilyn London. I think we should bring her in to help us out.”
“Have you lost your mind? We don’t know that bitch from Adam.” Robert noticed several guards looking in their direction, and moved to a more secluded spot. “We need help on this,” he said in a whisper.
“We’re running out of time. If we don’t catch a break soon, we’re fucked.”
“Look Robert, I know the confirmation hearings are about to start, and Fiona’s in the hot seat, but this is not
