John Childress - The Beirut Conspiracy

“Good morning. My name is Dr. William Summers. I’d like to speak with Dr. Melikian. Yes…Tell him I’m a close friend of Dr. Wilson Richards…Richards, yes, the heart surgeon.” Matt looked up as people hurried for their trains. “I’ve just returned from Brazil and have an important message for Dr. Melikian from Dr. Richards. I’ve only got a few hours in town but I’ll only take a few moments of his time. Dr. Richards really wanted me to deliver the message, in person.” Matt waited as he was placed on hold by the receptionist. He scanned the crowds. Just people going about their private lives. Matt envied them.

“Thank you. Tell Dr. Melikian I’ll be over within the hour.”

His next call was to the American Airlines reservation desk. In a few minutes he had a booking under the name of Brian Scott, the name on the passport he’d pocketed back at Eli’s. At least they had the same face. The flight for Nassau left at noon from Dulles Airport. Plenty of time.

For the past several days Matthew Richards had been pondering the situation he found himself in. Presumed dead, wearing the face of an international contract killer, wanted by the police and who knows else, it was only a matter of time before a sniper or a police officer put a bullet through his head. When Nicole found the bank book and the key it struck him as a golden opportunity to go into hiding before he was killed. All he had to do was catch a plane to Nassau, use the passport that matched the name on the bank book, transfer the money, fly to Argentina and buy a small ranch. Maybe in Tierra del Fuego, far enough away where nobody would care who he was. After all, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid fled to Argentina and lived quite happily for several years. Until they got restless and returned to the business of robbing banks and trains. Now that Nicole was dead his noble thoughts of saving the President and preventing world war three were a cruel joke.

Matt walked over to a corner kiosk and ordered a hot coffee and an almond croissant. Sacraments for sound decision making.

The White House Situation Room

“They’re coming around, sir,” said one of the Secret Service agents. The President strode through the door of the basement bunker. The Director of the CIA, Dr. Terry Finch, stood up.

“Any sign of the other one?” President Pierce walked over to a sofa where Elijah and Nicole were sprawled. A female agent handed him a cup of coffee.

“Not yet Mr. President, but it shouldn’t be long now. And these two should be able to give us some idea where he might be hiding. Tajikian will tell us what we need to know.” Finch cleared his throat. “He was a loyal employee of the Agency for quite a few years.”

“Could you be any more naive?” President Pierce asked acidly. He took another long sip from his coffee mug.

Elijah Tajikian sat up, moved his head from side to side and slowly looked around. He glanced over at his daughter, also slowly coming out of her drug-induced stupor. “I always wondered what the aftertaste was from those knock-out pellets. Now I know. Like a mouthful of horse shit.” He noticed the President of the United States towering over him. “Slumming, Mr. President?”

Karl van Ness whispered in President Pierce’s ear.

“The rest of you are excused.” No one in the room mistook the President’s remark as a suggestion. “Dr. Finch! One of the marine guards will escort you to a waiting room upstairs. I’ll need to speak with you as soon as I’m finished here. And no telephone calls. Period.”

Once the CIA director and the rest of the entourage had left the room, Ross Pierce pulled up a chair and sat down facing the sofa. Elijah and Nicole were now fully conscious.

“How are you, Ms. Delacluse?”

She stared blankly at the President, her eyes still drooping.

“She’ll be okay in a few minutes, Mr. President,” Elijah said. “Right now she thinks she’s hallucinating.”

“Nicole?”

“I’m here. Just give me a minute. Two and two keeps coming up thirteen.”

Pierce smiled at the former CIA case officer. “Karl says you were a good agent. And so does Finch.”

“With all due respect, Mr. President. Finch is an analyst and a bona fide asshole. He couldn’t care less if men and women of courage put their lives on the line every day for the safety and security of this great country. All he cares about is balancing his budget and getting more appropriations from Congress for research and technology. Electronic espionage, what a crock-”

“Thank you, Mr. Tajikian. You’re apparently coming around faster than your daughter.” The President focused on Nicole. “With us now, Ms. Delacluse?”

“Yes, Mr. President. As a reporter I’m used to the unexpected. But I’m not prepared for this. What happened?”

“Well, first of all, let me apologize for kidnapping you and your father. It’s not how we normally do things, entering private homes under force and…” He cast about for words. “Look. I need your help. America needs your help. Shit, the entire goddamned world needs your help.”

Nicole looked at her father.

“What can we do?” Elijah said.

“I want you to tell me in as much detail as you can what the hell is going on. I had a visit recently from a Mr. Todd Cummings. I think you know him, Ms. Delacluse? He convinced me that I’m in grave danger and a Middle East war could break out soon. We don’t have much time and I’m prepared to move quickly if I need to.”

“What about my daughter’s safety?”

“As far as I can tell neither of you have done anything wrong though your daughter is wanted for questioning in the death of Dr. Martin Thomas. I’ll see to it that she’s exonerated if you give me the information I need,” the President said. “If she’s innocent, of course.” Pierce smiled. “No pressure. Now why don’t you let your daughter start at the beginning and tell me everything that might be important. I’m having this conversation recorded, we might need it. Right now I’m most interested in what you know, Ms. Delacluse. Tell me about Dr. Matthew Richards and this deep cover terrorist cell. And where the heck is he, anyway?”

“You mean he wasn’t captured too?”

“If he was I wouldn’t have bothered with you, now would I?”

Elijah interrupted. “He must have escaped out the bathroom window. He was headed that way before your goons broke down our door.”

“I apologize for the theatrics,” Pierce said. “Everything will be repaired. It was the only way I could get you here without anyone knowing. Especially those who might be involved. Now that’s the last apology you’re going to get from me. Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, or am I going to have to do this the hard way?”

Eli motioned for his daughter to sit down. He had been in similar situations in his career and it was best to acknowledge reality. “OK, let’s get down to business.” Elijah looked up at van Ness.

“I assume you two know each other,” said President Pierce. “Now, if you two don’t mind, I would very much like to hear what is going on in my country.”

For the next forty-five minutes Eli and Nicole told President Pierce, Karl van Ness, and the invisible tape machine everything they knew about Matt Richards. They documented what had transpired and how it might be connected to the fate of the Middle East.

President Roswell Clayton Pierce stared into the sudden quiet. “I could use a drink.”

“If you’ve got any scotch, Mr. President, make mine a triple,” Elijah said

Van Ness spoke quietly into the telephone.

“You say Dr. Matt Richards had a face transplant, against his will, and now has the identity of an international contract assassin?”