Ludlum, Robert: The Icarus Agenda

'Let's have both.'

'He said his business concerned the problem you're involved with—'

'Nobody knows what I'm—forget it. What else?'

'I wrote it down phonetically. He asked me to say the following: “Ma efham zain.” Does that make any sense to you, Frank?'

Stunned, Deputy Director Swann again shook his head, trying to clear his mind further, but needing no further clearance for the visitor five floors above. The unknown congressman had just implied in Arabic that he might be of help. 'Get a guard and send him down here,' Swann said.

Seven minutes later the door of the office in the underground complex was opened by a marine sergeant. The visitor walked in, nodding to his escort as the guard closed the door.

Swann rose from his desk apprehensively. The 'congressman' hardly lived up to the image of any member of the House of Representatives he had ever seen—at least in Washington. He was dressed in boots, khaki trousers and a summer hunting jacket that had taken too much abuse from the spattering of campfire frying pans. Was he an ill-timed joke?

'Congressman—?' said the deputy director, his voice trailing off for want of a name as he extended his hand.

'Evan Kendrick, Mr. Swann,' replied the visitor, approaching the desk and shaking hands. 'I'm the first term man from Colorado's ninth district.'

'Yes, of course, Colorado's ninth. I'm sorry I didn't—’

'No apologies are necessary, except perhaps from me—for the way I look. There's no reason for you to know who I am—’

'Let me add something here,' interrupted Swann pointedly. 'There's also no reason for you to know who I am, Congressman.'

'I understand that, but it wasn't very difficult. Even newly-arrived representatives have access—at least the secretary I inherited does. I knew where to look over here, I just needed to refine the prospects. Someone in State's Consular Operations—'

'That's not a household name, Mr. Kendrick,' interrupted Swann again, again with emphasis.

'In my house it was once—briefly. Anyway, I wasn't just looking for a Middle East hand, but an expert in Southwest Arab affairs, someone who knew the language and a dozen dialects fluently. The man I wanted would have to be someone like that… You were there, Mr. Swann.'

'You've been busy.'

'So have you,' said the congressman, nodding his head at the door and the huge outer office with the banks of computers. 'I assume you understood my message or else I wouldn't be here.'

'Yes,' agreed the deputy director. 'You said you might be able to help. Is that true?'

'I don't know. I only knew I had to offer.'

'Offer? On what basis?'

'May I sit down?'

'Please. I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just tired.' Kendrick sat down; Swann did the same, looking strangely at the freshman politician. 'Go ahead, Congressman. Time's valuable, every minute, and we've been concerned with this “problem”, as you described it to my secretary, for a few long, hairy weeks. Now I don't know what you've got to say or whether it's relevant or not, but if it is, I'd like to know why it's taken you so long to get here.'

'I hadn't heard anything about the events over in Oman. About what's happened—what's happening.'

'That's damn near impossible to believe. Is the Congressman from Colorado's ninth district spending the House recess at a Benedictine retreat?'

'Not exactly.'

'Or is it possible that a new ambitious congressman who speaks some Arabic,' went on Swann rapidly, quietly, unpleasantly, 'elaborates on a few cloakroom rumours about a certain section over here and decides to insert himself for a little political mileage down the road? It wouldn't be the first time.'

Kendrick sat motionless in the chair, his face without expression, but not his eyes. They were at once observant and angry. 'That's offensive,' he said.

'I'm easily offended under the circumstances. Eleven of our people have been killed, mister, including three women. Two hundred and thirty-six others are waiting to get their heads blown off! And I ask you if you can really help and you tell me you don't know, but you have to offer! To me that has the sound of a hissing snake so I watch my step. You walk in here with a language you probably learned making big bucks with some oil company and figure that entitles you to special consideration—maybe you're a “consultant”; it has a nice ring to it. A freshman pol is suddenly a consultant to the State Department during a national crisis. Whichever way it goes, you win. That'd lift a few hats in Colorado's ninth district, wouldn't it?'

'I imagine it would if anyone knew about it.'

'What?' Once again the deputy director stared at the congressman, not so much in irritation now but because of something else. Did he know him?

'You're under a lot of stress so I won't add to it. But if what you're thinking is a barrier, let's get over it. If you decide I might be of some value to you, the only way I'd agree is with a written guarantee of anonymity, no other way. No one's to know I've been here. I never talked to you or anyone else.'

Nonplussed, Swann leaned back in his chair and brought his hand to his chin. 'I do know you,' he said softly.

'We've never met.'

'Say what you want to say, Congressman. Start somewhere.'

'I'll start eight hours ago,' began Kendrick. 'I've been riding the Colorado white water into Arizona for almost a month—that's the Benedictine retreat you conjured up for the congressional recess. I passed through Lava Falls and reached a base camp. There were people there, of course, and it was the first time I'd heard a radio in nearly four weeks.'

'Four weeks?' repeated Swann. 'You've been out of touch all that time? Do you do this sort of thing often?'

'Pretty much every year,' answered Kendrick. 'It's become kind of a ritual,' he added quietly. 'I go alone; it's not pertinent.'

'Some politician,' said the deputy, absently picking up a pencil. 'You can forget the world, Congressman, but you still have a constituency.'

'No politician,' replied Evan Kendrick, permitting himself a slight smile. 'And my constituency's an accident, believe me. Anyway, I heard the news and moved as fast as I could. I hired a river plane to fly me to Flagstaff and tried to charter a jet to Washington. It was too late at night, too late to clear a flight plan, so I flew on to Phoenix and caught the earliest plane here. Those in-flight phones are a marvel. I'm afraid I monopolized one, talking to a very experienced secretary and a number of other people. I apologize for the way I look; the airline provided a razor but I didn't want to take the time to go home and change clothes. I'm here, Mr. Swann, and you're the man I want to see. I may be of absolutely no help to you, and I'm sure you'll tell me if I'm not. But to repeat, I had to offer.'

While his visitor spoke, the deputy had written the name 'Kendrick' on the pad in front of him. Actually, he had written it several times, underlining the name. Kendrick. Kendrick. Kendrick. 'Offer what?' he asked, frowning and looking up at the odd intruder. ' What, Congressman?'

'Whatever I know about the area and the various factions operating over there. Oman, the Emirates, Bahrain, Qatar—Masqat, Dubai, Abu Dhabi—up to Kuwait and down to Riyadh. I lived in those places. I worked there. I know them very well.'

'You lived—worked—all over the Southwest map?'

'Yes. I spent eighteen months in Masqat alone. Under contract to the family.'

'The sultan?'

'The late sultan; he died two or three years ago, I think. But yes, under contract to him and his ministers. They were a tough group and good. You had to know your business.'

'Then you worked for a company,' said Swann, making a statement, not asking a question.

'Yes.'

'Which one?'