John Childress - The Beirut Conspiracy

Matt never showed the letter to his father. He was certain it would have sparked an ugly shouting match and he didn’t have the courage, nor the confidence, to speak his mind. But Sam’s death crystallized a growing uncertainty about his own path in life. A bitter divorce, then the ensuing loneliness. He sought sanctuary in a bottle of Single Malt. It was social at first. Then the despair took his legs out from under him. He quickly slid into insecurity, then depression. And the pain of the past descended. Why didn’t he have the courage as Sam? He wanted to be strong like Sam, but he couldn’t. His career took a careening bobsled ride downhill. After two botched operations in a row, his partners in their successful Chicago medical practice gently but firmly eased him out.

When he was on his fourth drink-or was it his fifth?-two arms encircled his chest. “There you are, I missed you.” Kelly whispered in his ear, then flicked her tongue in and out quickly. Matt jerked his head away, now fully back in the present.

“Are you behaving yourself?” Kelly went on. “I’ve just had the most interesting conversation with a gentleman from the U.S. Foreign Service. He said I would be the perfect candidate for an embassy job somewhere in the world. He even gave me his card.” She held up the small white business card with the seal of the United States of America embossed on it.

Matt put down his empty glass. “You know what I wish?”

“What?” Her bulging breasts pressed into his back.

“I wish you would stay at this age, just as you are, forever.”

“But I want to grow older. Get a job. Make a difference. I’ve got to prove myself.” She moved around to face him. Her face showed both defiance and hurt.

“What you don’t appreciate, at your tender age, is that only pain, suffering and betrayal lie ahead. In a few years, out there,” he jerked his thumb to indicate the crowd in the room, “you’ll become like all the rest of us. Cynical, distrustful, resentful. My father had a saying for it. Ridden hard and put away wet.”

“Oh Christ. You’re drunk.” Kelly looked around nervously. No one was paying attention. She looked over at the entrance to the ballroom.

“Come on, we have to hurry, they’re going to introduce the guest of honor.” She pulled on his arm and led him into the grand salon. He concentrated on walking.

“Holy shit. It’s big enough to be a hotel conference center.” Matt found a spot near the buffet table along a far wall. From here they had a clear view of a lectern set up in front of the large bay window overlooking the back lawn. He gulped down a caviar canape. His fingers smelled of fish. The rest of the guests noisily filed in. The room buzzed with expectation. Someone dropped a glass. Secret Service agents turned with a start, scanning the crowd. The marines, stationed next to all the doors and windows, stiffened.

A hush descended over the crowd as Dr. Thomas stepped up to the lectern, which was emblazoned with the seal of the President of the United States. “Ladies and Gentlemen. I am very pleased you were able to accept my personal invitation this evening to what I believe to be a very special event.” He paused as more people entered the already crowded room.

“As you know, many of us here this evening knew Dr. Andrew Norman personally, and our heartfelt prayers and wishes go out to his family. He was a unique individual, an outstanding physician, and a long-time friend of President Pierce and the first family.

“Dr. Norman carried out his duties as personal physician to the President of the United States with the utmost discretion and professionalism. Yet, in a twisted and savage act of terrorism his life, along with the lives of dozens of other fine men and women of the United States, was destroyed. But no act of terrorism, even this one on American soil, can stop the quest for freedom that all civilized individuals crave. The freedom to choose their own career, their own religion, to have access to education for their children, to receive adequate health care, to live in a secure home safe from outside threats and usurpers-to choose their own lifestyle. These are just some of the freedoms that make all of us here tonight dedicated to the noble American vision of democracy and world peace.”

Matt looked around. The elderly crowd stood respectfully. Claustrophobia closed in on him again. He pulled at his bow tie. His breath was turning stale from the oily caviar and the scotch. He gulped down a half empty glass of punch. The former owner had worn bright maroon lipstick.

Dr. Thomas lowered his voice. “Without this precious freedom, a young African-American boy, the fifth son of a poor but proud steel worker from Pittsburgh, could never have realized his dream of becoming a Ph. D. and a professor of genetics. Whatever my race, religion or economic background, this great country afforded me that opportunity. And we must continue to protect these freedoms.” The assembled crowd clapped loudly. The sound assaulted Matt’s senses.

“So this evening, I’m pleased to host this reception for the new personal physician to the President of the United States, Dr. Noubar Melikian. As you all know, this is a somewhat controversial appointment by the President. But it’s one which I believe displays President Pierce’s true greatness and courage.

“Some of my less visionary colleagues, and several loud voices in Washington and the press, say that appointing someone from the Middle East to such a sensitive position, especially in the wake of recent events, is political grandstanding. But to my mind, such an appointment rises above politics and petty prejudices. In fact, if we really want peace in all corners of the world, then the United States must take the lead in showing the decent people of the Middle East and the rest of the world that it is not them we are fighting against, but the terrorists, whoever they are and wherever they come from.” Again a loud burst of applause.

Matt uttered a loud groan. Kelly grabbed his arm tightly and glared.

“Dr. Melikian, who has practiced for the past twenty-five years in the Washington metro area, is eminently qualified for this position. He is a highly respected physician and a recognized specialist in skin cancer, a longstanding member of the AMA, an outstanding humanitarian and a vociferous advocate of a peaceful solution to the problems in the Middle East. Without further ado, it is my great honor to present Dr. Noubar Melikian.”

Dr. Thomas stood aside as the robust white-haired doctor stepped up onto the podium. As the African-American and the Palestinian-American shook hands and then kissed on the cheek, Middle Eastern style, the room roared its approval.

Matt moved with a start. Kelly whispered. “What’s wrong? You’re not about to throw up again, are you?”

“I’m Okay. I just thought I recognized that man for a moment. But I guess not, or maybe I saw him at a medical convention some years ago.” Kelly listened to the lie.

Dr. Melikian faced the crowd, his eyes twinkling as he held out his hand urging them to stop the applause. The warm welcome subsided. Dr. Melikian took a small sip of water. Then he looked up, excitement burning in his eyes.

“It is a very great honor to be here this evening. But I must first thank our host, Dr. Martin Thomas, a colleague and friend, for supporting my appointment to this post. In fact, it was Dr. Thomas and several of his esteemed colleagues, along with my good friend Senator Mason Stevens, who initially urged me to consider this appointment. At first, I must admit I was skeptical. But their arguments eventually convinced me to take them seriously.

“Who would have ever thought that an Armenian boy who grew up in the nation of Palestine would ever be able to serve the world in such a meaningful manner? I thoroughly enjoy being a physician, but like all of you, I am also many other things-a husband, the father of three wonderful children, but not yet a grandfather, thank goodness.” The crowd laughed. “I am a dedicated and hardworking physician. Too hard working says my wife.” A few snickers of understanding and acknowledgment bubbled forth from the crowd, heavily populated with doctors and their spouses.