Greg Bear - Quantico

‘I am an American citizen soon to finish twenty weeks of training at the FBI Academy,’ Fouad said.

‘Tell me about your grandfather.’

‘Perhaps you know of him.’

‘Give me your perspective.’

‘He left Iran in 1949. He had been an operative in the American OSS during World War Two, but after the deposing of Mossadegh, he quit and returned to Beirut. He was killed there in 1953. My father was ten years old at the time.’

‘Did the CIA assassinate your grandfather?’

‘I believe-I have been told they did.’

‘So he rusticated. He deserted.’

Fouad shrugged. ‘I do not know details.’

‘But you are still willing to serve the United States.’

‘Yes. Of course. I am an American citizen.’

‘Naturalized, shortly after your birth.’

‘Yes. My father also worked for the CIA, in the nineteen seventies. He retired in 2003 and he and my stepmother now live in North Carolina, with a second home in Colorado.’

‘Tell me about your travels, as a boy.’

‘My father served in Lahore and in Riyadh. He was in Kuwait during the invasion, and that was where I was born. My mother nearly died giving me birth, because Iraqi troops had stripped the hospital of necessary equipment. My father shot three Iraqi soldiers who were looting and raping nurses. He hid us in the basement of a mansion belonging to a Kuwaiti businessman. He came back for us after the Americans pushed Saddam’s forces out of Kuwait. My mother died when I was ten. My father remarried in 1998, to a Filipino Muslim servant. Thereafter, until his retirement, he worked in Cairo, Jordan, and in Gaza. I was with him in Cairo until I was sent to my aunts and uncles in California. He returned there after his retirement, missing one arm and one eye.’

‘That’s quite a story.’

Fouad tipped his head to one side. ‘It is mostly my father’s story.’

‘I hear you have a gift for languages.’

‘I grew up speaking English and Cairo Arabic, and later I acquired Tagalog. I also picked up Pashtun, Farsi, and Aramaic from servants and teachers. Later, I studied international relations and languages at Georgetown University. I speak five Modern Southern Arab dialects.’

‘You don’t happen to have a degree in accounting, do you?’ Dillinger was grinning. The expression did not suit him.

‘No. Military science. I had hoped for a time to join the army, Special Forces.’

‘Excellent. Do you know who requested this interview?’

‘No,’ Fouad said.

‘Your father’s former boss. He was an officer as well, but he now works for us. He has immense respect for your father.’

‘My father would be very glad to hear that,’ Fouad said.

‘Good. Do you know what BuDark hopes to accomplish?’

Fouad leaned forward. ‘Am I allowed to guess?’

‘Be my guest.’

‘You wish to find common ground with the parties and groups now invading Saudi Arabia, out of Sudan, Yemen and Iraq. They are likely to be victorious. It is possible, though I do not know this, that the United States is supplying aid and arms to some of these factions, in order to maintain future supplies of oil. You wish to have those who speak the language infiltrate and relay information.’

‘Astute analysis,’ Agent Dillinger said. ‘That’s not what we’re up to.’

Fouad leaned back. ‘No?’

Dillinger shook his head and drew his lips down at the corners. ‘We put out nasty little fires that show signs of spreading. All sorts of fires. We need special people in the Middle East, flexible people trained in law enforcement-military training is helpful, too-and of course with exceptional language skills. If there’s a fire…you’ll be in the thick of it. Have you ever been on Hajj?’

‘You know I have not.’

‘Perhaps you’ll get your chance,’ Dillinger said. ‘You will not graduate tomorrow. You will vanish and even your stepmother and brothers will not know where you have gone.’

‘I see,’ Fouad said. ‘And my father?’

Dillinger shook his head.

‘The Academy?’

Dillinger smiled. ‘Be ready to pack your things and leave immediately. I have your creds.’

‘I am accepted?’

Dillinger nodded. ‘This will be your probationary assignment. Lucky boy.’ He removed a small folding vinyl case from the desk drawer and passed it to Fouad.

Fouad opened the case.

‘Welcome to BuDark, Special Agent Al-Husam.’

Fouad weighed the case in his hands. He looked up at Dillinger. ‘Am I other than FBI?’

‘You’re definitely Feeb-Eye. BuDark is interdepartmental. We all play ball for the time being.’ He stood. ‘You’ll join a select team with a tight focus. Stay flexible. You’ll get jerked around at first; prove your value and go with the flow. You’ll likely travel to a few southwestern Asia hellholes in the company of some reasonably excellent folks. Me, I’m stuck here. I envy you.’ Dillinger waved his hand imperiously and the door opened. ‘Mr. Swenson will take you across the river. Good luck.’

Temecula, California

Sam stood in the large kitchen unwrapping a tray of frozen lasagne. He turned on the light over the sink. The rest of the kitchen was dark. Tommy’s mood swings had been exaggerated by the extreme pace they had set. Sam had been anticipating problems, especially if something went wrong.

Lots of things had gone wrong. And Tommy had been taking them all with relative calm. The episode in the car had passed comparatively quickly.

Sam heard a whisper of sound behind him and froze for a moment, holding his breath.

This is it.

Tommy cleared his throat.

‘I can recover a third more product now, maybe half. I might be able to work double for the next few weeks and get enough product made to do almost everything we planned. That’s what I’m “ thinking ”, Sam.’

‘Tell me more, Tommy,’ Sam said.

The man-boy stepped to the center of the kitchen. Sam turned. Tommy’s long fingers seemed to move on their own. They made wild shadows on the kitchen walls as they bent and stretched, as if trying to conduct part of the conversation in sign language. ‘I think we can do without the extra printers, if the ones we have don’t break down. I have plenty of cartridges, enough to last. That’s what I “ think” .’

‘Show me, Tommy.’

‘Not necessary,’ Tommy said, rocking from one foot to another. ‘It’s under control. I’m just saying, we’ll have enough product, but I don’t know where we’ll get it packed for, you know, delivery.’

‘We’ll think of something,’ Sam said. ‘Want to grab a bite to eat?’

Tommy chuckled. He reached out and grabbed something from the air, then stuffed it into his mouth. ‘There,’ he said.

‘Real food,’ Sam persisted.

‘All right,’ Tommy said. ‘If you “ think ” I’m hungry.’

‘I think we’re both hungry,’ Sam said. ‘Lasagne would be good.’

‘Lasagne is good,’ Tommy said. ‘I’ll do some work, then we’ll eat. You can wait here.’

‘Let’s eat first,’ Sam said. ‘We’ll think better.’

‘You’re right. I’ve been following your diet plan. I’ve been pretty bright lately,’ Tommy said. ‘That’s why I’m not so upset about the printers. I “ think ” I have a way to double the output.’ He marked more quotations in the air and grinned toothily.

‘Great. This will take about twenty minutes. Why not set the table?’

‘I will.’

‘Did you wash your hands?’

Tommy grinned and went to the sink. ‘Not a problem, Sam,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I’ve been very careful.’

‘Yeah, but you still pick your nose. I’ve seen you.’