Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

"Don't think so."

I read, '"The wife of Libyan leader Moammar Gadhafi, who said her adopted daughter, Hana, eighteen months old, had been killed in the raid, spoke to reporters for the first time since the attack. Seated in front of her bomb-blasted home in Gadhafi's Tripoli headquarters complex, a crutch in her hand, her tone was sharp and defiant. Safia Gadhafi said she would forever consider the United States her enemy, "unless they give Reagan the death sentence."

Kate commented, "It's rare for a woman in a fundamentalist Muslim country to make a public appearance."

"Well, if your house is blown up, you have to go out in public."

"I never thought of that. You're so clever."

"Thanks." I looked back at the article and read aloud, " 'She said, "If I ever find the U.S. pilot who dropped the bombs on my house, I will kill him myself."'" I said to Kate, "So, there you have it. These people don't hide anything. The problem is, we take it as rhetoric, but they mean it literally, as Colonel Hambrecht and General Waycliff discovered."

She nodded.

I added, "I can't believe the hotshots in Washington didn't know this was coming, or didn't know it had arrived."

She didn't reply.

I continued reading, " 'As for her husband, he is no terrorist, she explained, because if he were, "I would not have children with him."'" I commented, "Terrorists can make good fathers. That's a sexist statement."

Kate replied, "Can you just read the fucking article without stupid comments?"

"Yes, ma'am." I read, " 'Libyan officials said two of Gadhafi's sons were injured in the bombing, one of whom is still in the hospital. Safia Gadhafi stated, "Some of my children are injured, some are scared. Maybe they have psychological damage."'"

Kate said, "Maybe some other children also had psychological damage."

"No maybes about it. I think we have a handle on how little Asad Khalil got fucked up in the head."

"I think so."

We both sat there, digesting yesterday's news. It's always good to know why-now we knew why. We also knew who, what, where, and when-Asad Khalil, assassination mission, in America, now. However, we didn't know precisely where he was, and where he would strike next. But we were close, and for the first time, I felt confident that we had the son-of-a-bitch. I said to Kate, "If he hasn't flown out of the country, he's ours."

She didn't comment on this optimistic remark, and given the history of Asad Khalil, I had a few doubts myself. I thought again about Mrs. Gadhafi's remarks, and about the supposed relations between the Gadhafis and the Khalils, which may have been closer than Mrs. Gadhafi knew. I thought, too, about the theory that Moammar had Captain Khalil killed in Paris long ago, and that Asad obviously didn't know or suspect this. I wondered, too, if little Asad knew that Uncle Moammar was sneaking out of his tent at night and tiptoeing across the sand to Mommy's tent. I had a college prof once who said that a lot of major world historical events have been influenced by sex, marital and illicit. I know this is true regarding my own history-so why not the history of the world?

I tried to imagine this Libyan elite, and they probably didn't differ much from other small autocracies where court intrigue, palace rumors, and power plays were the daily order of business.

I asked Kate, "Do you think Asad Khalil had family members killed in that attack?"

She replied, "If our information about the Khalil family relationship with the Gadhafis is correct, then we can assume the Khalils were in that compound-Al Azziziyah, where, according to Mrs. Hambrecht, four American aircraft dropped bombs. Khalil has killed, apparently, two men who bombed Al Azziziyah. He may have done that to avenge the Gadhafis, but, yes, I think he and his family were there, and I think he may have suffered a personal loss."

"That's what I think." I tried to picture this guy, Asad Khalil, being blown out of his bed at some early morning hour, being scared shitless as the world around him was reduced to rubble. He must have seen lots of dead bodies and pieces of bodies. I made the assumption that he'd lost family members, and I tried to imagine his state of mind-fright, shock, maybe survivor's guilt, then in the end, anger. Finally, at some point, he decided to get even. And he was in a good position to do that, being a victim as well as being part of the inner circle. Libyan Intelligence must have jumped on this kid like he was a new prophet. And Khalil himself… he's been carrying a grudge all his life, and since Saturday, he's been living his dream. His dream, our nightmare.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Khalil. How he got from there to here. He's been fantasizing about coming to America all his life, and we didn't know it, though we should have. And he's not here to start a new life, or to drive a taxi, or to escape persecution or economic misery. He is not who Emma Lazarus had in mind." "Indeed not."

"And there are more of him out there." "Indeed there are."

So, we remained at our posts, as we were told to do, but I'm not good at sitting and reading and answering dumb phone calls. I wanted to call Beth, but the situation across my desk had changed, so I e-mailed Ms. Penrose the following: Can't talk now-Big break in case-May be out of town this p.m.-Thanks for big wet kiss.

I hesitated at my keyboard. So, in conclusion… No, that wasn't good. Finally, I typed, Need to talk to you-Will call soon.

I hesitated again, then sent the message. "Need to talk," of course, says it all if you've been there. Lovers' shorthand, as per my wife. John, we need to talk, i.e., fuck you. Kate asked, "Who are you e-mailing?" "Beth Penrose." Silence, then, "I hope you didn't use e-mail to tell her…"

"Uh… no…" "That's really cold." "How about a fax?"

"You have to tell her in person."

"In person? I don't even have the time to talk to me in person."

"Well… a phone call will do. I'll leave."

"No. I'll handle it later."

"Unless you don't want to. I understand."

I felt a headache coming on.

"Really. I understand if you've had second thoughts."

Why did I not believe this?

"What happened last night does not obligate you in any way. We're both adults. So, we'll just cool it awhile, and take it slow. Step at a time-"

"Are you out of clichés yet?"

"Go to hell." She stood and walked away.

I would have jumped up and followed her, but I think we'd already attracted some attention from our co-workers, so I just smiled and whistled "God Bless America " while members of the ATTF Anti-Sex League e-mailed Big Brother about a possible Sexcrime in progress.

Which reminded me that I needed clean undershorts. There was a men's shop close by, and I'd planned a quick stop there later. I was going to let Kate help me pick out a shirt and tie.

Anyway, back to the most wanted terrorist in America. I accessed my e-mail and saw a message from the Counterterrorism section in D.C. marked URGENT. The distribution was limited to only those in the Incident Command Center. I read from the screen: Air Force informs us it may be difficult to ID pilots who flew Al Azziziyah mission. Records exist for full squadrons and larger units, but smaller sub-units need further research.

I thought about this. It had the ring of truth, but I was so paranoid by now, I wouldn't believe an exit sign.

I read the remainder of the communique: We have passed on to Air Force substance of Rose Hambrecht's telephone interview with New York agents, i.e., four aircraft, F-llls, on Al Azziziyah mission, eight airmen. General Waycliff murder, etc., see prior comm. on this. A.F. personnel and historian office are researching names, as per above para. Mrs. Hambrecht has been phone-contacted, but will not divulge names via. phone. A general officer with escort has been dispatched from Wright-Patterson AFB, Dayton, Ohio, to Hambrecht home, Ann Arbor. Mrs. Hambrecht says she will divulge names to them, in person, with proper ID and waivers, etc. Will advise. I printed out the e-mail, circled URGENT in red, and threw it on Kate's desk.