John Childress - The Beirut Conspiracy

“Take it easy, both of you,” the FBI Director said.

“We were only trying to help the United States track down a deep cover terrorist cell. Israel was actually trying to protect your country.” Barak replied. “Maybe we did go a little overboard in our efforts but we were trying to save our two great nations from the fanatical and perverted terrorists who threaten world peace.”

William Fisher’s words were cold in the silence. “Is that what you were thinking when you shot my wife at point blank range in the Chatilla refugee camp in 1982?” Director Duncan stepped behind Fisher. “You called her a whore of the Palestinians then killed her in cold blood and never even flinched. One day when you’re least expecting it, General, I will shoot you in the face.” Howard Duncan put his hands on Fisher’s shaking shoulders. “What is it you say? An eye for an eye?”

“I am not on trial here,” Barak said evenly. “Military actions of the State of Israel are none of your business. Now what do you want from me?”

“Information, Mr. Ambassador,” President Pierce said as he walked across the room and stood directly in front of the Israeli ambassador. “I want to know about your unofficial meetings and dealings with the international arms dealer Mohammed al Nagib. Mr. Fisher here has given us his version now I want your side of the story. You are aware, aren’t you, Mr. Ambassador, that Mohammed al Nagib recruited, organized and personally ran the same deep cover terrorist cell you say you were trying to locate?”

Ibrahim Barak looked ill. “Oh, God.”

“Looks like you’ve been set up and double crossed, Ibrahim.”

Dr. Melikian’s Office

“Hello? This is Dr. Margaret Khalid calling on behalf of Dr. Melikian, the President’s physician. May I speak to Miriam, President Pierce’s personal secretary? It’s very important. Dr. Melikian needs to see him right away. Yes of course, I’ll wait.” Glancing up from her desk to make certain her office door was locked, Maggie Khalid took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

“Hello Miriam, this is Dr. Margaret Khalid calling from Dr. Melikian’s office. The doctor has found something that concerns him in the President’s last blood test. An abnormal high prostate specific antigen count.” She heard a gasp on the other end of the line. “Yes, well, since the doctor is attending the White House dinner this evening for the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia he wondered if he could come a few minutes early and take another blood sample from the President. After all these tests are often a little finicky. It may just be a false alarm. But it’s better to be on the safe side. Thank you, he’ll be there at 7:15 this evening. In the Oval Office? Fine. And thank you, Miriam. Sorry to trouble you with this but it is important.”

Dr. Khalid leaned back in her swivel chair. She closed her eyes. It was a few moments before the trembling subsided. In the beginning she could not sleep, always frightened. The daily rituals had been the worst. Putting in the brown contact lenses, making sure her dyed hair was just right. And always the fears. A brown contact lens dropping out, a haunting green eye looking around in horror at who might be looking. Wondering what else she was hiding.

But the biggest fear of all was being watched, being suspected. Like that man with Dr. Melikian at the clinic. And it was him again at the cyberSTOP cafe. But it couldn’t be. The first man was well dressed, a professional. The second almost a derelict. Stubble on his face. The stress was unnerving her. Even the increased dosage of Valium didn’t help. But the end was near. It would all be over soon. She would martyr herself. Maha, not Margaret, would once again gain respect in the eyes of her family. United after all these years with her loving father. Her courage and dedication returned.

Now it’s time for Dr. Melikian to have a lunch that doesn’t agree with him. She reached for her medical bag and pulled out the small bottle. A couple of drops in a coffee mug and within an hour or two the recipient would have all the symptoms of a full-blown case of food poisoning. Vomiting. Diarrhea. Cold shivers. Two days in bed, guaranteed.

“You did eat lunch today, didn’t you?” Dr. Khalid said as she entered the large office carrying two cups of fresh brewed coffee. It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Their usual time to review the day and talk over any pressing issues.

Dr. Melikian smiled. “Yes, Mother.” He looked up from his pile of papers. “I took a walk down by the river and had a quick bite at the Memorial, my favorite delicatessen. Their roast beef sandwiches are marvelous. And the pickles are enormous. That’s the one thing that always amazes me about America. The portions are so huge. It’s a contest to see who can choke the most customers.”

“Here’s your coffee. I used the Starbucks’ special blend that you like. As close as we can get to real Arabic coffee without going to a restaurant.” She smiled, setting the mug with the Presidential seal on his desk. For the next twenty minutes they discussed their cases and made plans for the rest of the week. “Don’t forget, Doctor, you have the state dinner at the White House for the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia this evening. Eight o’clock sharp.”

“I did forget. I was actually thinking about an early evening in bed with a bowl of popcorn and a good book.”

“I wish I could go to the White House and hobnob with the Saudis,” she said. “Maybe I’d find a wealthy man there to take me away from all of this.” She waved her arms about. “I’ll come back and check in on you about six o’clock, just to make certain you haven’t slipped out the back door with a suitcase full of popcorn.” She walked down the hall to her office, setting the timer on her Nike running watch.

At four o’clock the intercom rang. “Maggie, can you go to Dr. Melikian’s office right away? He just buzzed me and said he’s not feeling well. Maybe you should check on him. And you might need to take his patients.”

“I’ll be right there, Irene.” She fed the last of her papers into the shredder, tied up the black plastic bag and placed it in the special incineration can. It would be reduced to ashes at the end of the day.

The sound of retching and the sour smell of vomit came from the doctor’s private bathroom. She found him on all fours, head over the toilet bowl.

“I knocked, but you didn’t answer, so I… Are you all right?”

“I’d be better off dead.” He slowly stood up and wiped his mouth with a towel. “After what I’ve just been through I have a lot more empathy for our patients.”

“Sit down and I’ll take your temperature. You look awful, a U.S. Army green color.” Dr. Khalid smiled, trying to inject some humor. “One hundred and three. Between that and the shivering and vomiting, I’d say you’ve either got a bout of the flu or a classic case of food poisoning. What was that you ate for lunch?”

“Roast beef and too much of it. Doesn’t taste nearly so good on the way back up.” He managed a wry smile before urgently returning to the toilet bowl.

Back in his chair Dr. Melikian put his head on his desk, trying to slow down the spinning. “Have Irene reschedule as many patients as possible. You’ll have to handle any others. It shouldn’t be too heavy a load since I was scheduled to go to that White House dinner.”

“I’ll have Irene call your wife. You can’t drive in this condition. If it’s food poisoning it will work itself out of your system in about twenty-four hours. But you must rest.”

“Very well, Dr. Frankenstein. For my sins I will go home and rest. And for your sins you will go to the White House in my place.”