John Childress - The Beirut Conspiracy

“And I am also an Armenian, born and raised in Palestine. And to me that is very important. None of us can deny, nor should we, our heritage. It is the DNA of our past, present and future. Like many of your ancestors, mine suffered greatly. Between 1915 and 1923, over 1.5 million Armenians perished at the hands of the Ottoman Empire, nearly three-quarters of the population of my tiny country. And this horrible eradication of a nation was barely noticed. In fact, Adolph Hitler used the Armenian genocide in persuading his followers that a Jewish holocaust would be tolerated by the West. ‘Who, after all, speaks today of the annihilation of the Armenians?’ he said.”

Matt listened to the murmurs of acknowledgement and understanding. “Pretty effective public speaker for a doctor.” Kelly glared at him again. He looked down as Kelly turned back to listen. Matt slowly edged around the table, nodded at the marine, and stepped out onto a terrace. The fresh air revived him a little. The doctor’s speech could still be heard.

“Because of what is now called the first genocide of the modern age, Armenians all over the world are committed to opposing racism, bigotry and prejudice, wherever they exist. And like my Jewish brothers, who also know the horrors of genocide, our suffering has made us stubbornly passionate about freedom, liberty, and the personal responsibility that goes with these precious gifts.” There were open expressions of agreement from the large Jewish population of doctors and other professionals in the crowded room.

“And I am also a Christian. Most people don’t realize that in 314 A.D. Armenia became the first country in the world to declare itself a Christian nation. Everywhere Armenians fled during centuries of persecution, they took the Christian faith with them. Even today there are pockets of Armenian Christians in Syria, Jordan, Iran, Iraq, Jerusalem, Lebanon, and the United States, where we have established over one hundred Maronite Christian churches.

“And most proudly, I am an American. I became a U.S. citizen two years after moving to Washington from Switzerland, where I studied medicine. It was one of the proudest days of my life, as I stood among other immigrants from all corners of the globe reciting the oath of citizenship and pledging allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. My wife and children are natural-born Americans. And I would venture to say that I am a pretty typical American. I have three cars, two dogs and a mortgage. Too big a mortgage for my liking.” The crowd laughed its approval.

Matt walked back into the room. The voice was vaguely familiar. It bothered him, like the buzz of a mosquito, distant then near, loud then faint. Kelly took his arm again, this time tenderly.

“But there is no denying that I am also a man of the Middle East. I was born in what was then known as the state of Palestine. I grew up with Muslims, Christians, and Jews as my playmates. We stole candy and smoked our first cigarettes together. I hated the taste.” He made a face which drew forth chuckles. “A good thing, too, because nowadays in America it’s practically a crime to even think about smoking.” The doctors in the room roared with laughter.

“Seriously, being from the Middle East gives me a unique vantage point in Washington, because I understand many of the feelings of the Arab world concerning today’s precarious global and political situation. Only the insane want war and killing. Yet somehow a small but active minority of terrorists have continued to drive a wedge deeper and deeper between the peace-loving peoples of the Middle East and the West. It is time this wedge was torn out and replaced with strong sutures sewn by skillful and dedicated hands.”

“I’ve dedicated my life to two things: healing the sick and working towards a peaceful solution in the Middle East. I will continue to carry out these two commitments in my new post as personal physician to the President of the United States. Thank you for your encouragement and support.”

Amid generous applause, a loud female voice caught the attention of the speaker. “Dr. Melikian? That was a tremendous and, I must say, moving speech. Can I ask just one or two questions?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t expect a question and answer session and I’m not very experienced in these matters,” he said. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”

“Delacluse. Nicole Delacluse of the International Herald Tribune, although I’m not here in an official capacity tonight,” she was quick to add. “This is an important appointment by the President, and as you’ve said, there are skeptics. Is it true, Dr. Melikian, that you received several death threats after it was announced that you were one of those being considered for this position?”

“The truth is yes, but I’m not at liberty to say much about it other than that I’m not too concerned. It seems rock stars and TV news commentators are in much more danger from deranged individuals than I am.”

“And is it true you’ve hired a security service to protect yourself and your family?” she said quickly, catching him slightly off guard.

“That’s not quite accurate, Ms. Delacluse. The Secret Service, in recognition of the recent tragedy, has provided my family with a certain measure of security. That is what the President wanted, so of course I agreed. Now, since this is a reception and not a press conference, thank goodness, I’ll turn my attention to the guests here this evening. But when I do have my first official press conference, I hope all the journalists are as professional as you.” It was a polite but firm dismissal, after which Dr. Melikian shook hands with Dr. Martin Thomas and stepped down.

At the edge of the makeshift podium, Senator Stevens discreetly pulled over two men in dark suits for an animated conversation. They kept glancing in Matt’s direction. The guests descended upon the buffet table and Matt was slowly pushed aside by the crowd. Presently the men nodded to Stevens and moved off, whereupon the portly senator stepped down and began working the crowd.

“Miss Stevens? Dr. Richards? The Senator would like a few private words with you both. Please follow me.” A non-descript man in a non-descript grey suit stood in front of them. They nodded, sharing quizzical glances. Matt and Kelly followed him down the hallway, through an open door and into a dimly lit study. Persian carpets and red velvet curtains added to the richness of antique oak furniture. Ornate wall sconces offered hazy shadows. The walls were lined with books, diplomas and photos of Dr. Thomas with numerous dignitaries. Matt surmised this was Dr. Thomas’s personal office. He wondered how many hours he spent here. The place was certainly conducive to relaxation and reflection. And it reeked of power.

The door closed solidly behind then. A gravelly voice from the far corner of the room boomed out. Senator Mason T. Stevens, his face red, fists shaking, stepped out of the shadows towards the center of the room. He pressed a button on a side table and the lights came up to full strength. Both Matt and Kelly squinted.

“So,” Stevens said, “you’re not only a cradle robber and a disgrace to the medical profession, Dr. Richards, you’re a god-damned drunk as well.” Shaking, he moved forward until he pressed up against Matt, backing him into the large desk.

“Daddy, stop it. What’s gotten into you? Can’t we talk about this some other time? Please, Daddy?”

“You shut up.” The Senator’s slurred words tumbled out, but his eyes kept boring into Matt. “I’ll deal with you later, young lady. You’ve had too damn much freedom at that sissy girl’s school and now you’ve gone way overboard. I’ve heard all about your drinking, the drugs, and now your affair with this loser. I’ve a mind to yank you out of that school for your own good.” Kelly’s tears caught the light. She collapsed onto the sofa.