by Tom Corbett
“Wow,” Pamela murmured.
“Yes,” Jules added, “Beverly is a hero in my book, very brave. I have been doing investigative reporting for some time now. You might well imagine that I have made enemies and been threatened. Let me tell you, the only man that truly frightens me is Charles Crawford Senior. His eyes are penetrating and utterly cold. I have looked into the eyes of several known sociopaths, like network brass. He has those eyes, but worse.”
Kat picked up the conversation. “In my mind, Chris and I are likely the real targets of Father’s wrath or that of his associates. The stakes are high and who knows what they are capable of. Of course, if he stumbles on to Bev’s role, she would be high on his hit list. The rest of you are likely too small to get their attention but I want you to be fully apprised of the risks. If you wish to seek safer employment, I would fully understand. Now is a good time to make that decision. Or think about it for a few days and let me know.”
She paused while the others looked at one another. April spoke up: “My family faced down the North Koreans. I am with you.”
Joseph added: “And I the faced down the Polish communists.”
“I have been a dedicated socialist all my life,” Atle affirmed. “You know risks come with fighting for the things in which you believe.”
Then Pamela chimed up: “Hell, I was a hillbilly who confronted the snobs at Harvard. That is more frightening than anything you guys faced.”
“Yes,” Chris exclaimed, “the bravest of them all, other than me who has had to put up with my evil sisters all of my tragic life.”
“Now you can just bite me.” Kat smiled, looking at him. “My God, we just have to come up with new material when we insult one another. Seriously, though, I want to thank you all. One final point before I hand this over to my brother: what is said among us, who attends our private meetings, and the nature of our work remains secret. You cannot talk about it with any outsider, not a soul. We have a cover story for you to tell others, it is in the material we will be handing out shortly. Basically, you are working for a small consulting company doing marketing research to sell feminine hygiene products.”
“What?” Atle seemed a bit shocked.
“Just my sister’s awful humor,” Chris noted. “Unfortunately, it’s all she picked up from me. In fact, though, you will be posing as marketing consultants doing research on a variety of household products. I think we even have some spiels you can use if anyone gets nosey.”
Jules laughed softly. “Yes, Chris’s sense of humor, which only makes himself laugh, he picked up originally from me.” Jules and Chris looked at each other. The chemistry between them was not to be ignored.
“If I picked it up from you, no one would laugh at me, with me, whatever.” Chris realized he had lost his joke and turned professional. “Seriously, we are the core group. In the packets I am about to distribute, Kat and I have developed a basic plan. All of you have been collecting information in one way or another for a year or more, except for Atle and Pamela who are new to the team. As you can imagine there is a greater sense of urgency now. The national elections are just months away. It will be Trump, heaven forbid, versus Clinton. The basics are well known to all. Both candidates have high negatives. The Republican base is highly energized but, of course, it is not enough to elect a loser like Donald even with the voter suppression and the other antidemocratic tactics of the GOP. Their agenda primarily serves the interests of the economic elite, so they must convince millions of ordinary folks to vote against their own self-interests. Right now, that seems unlikely except for the suspicious cyber-stuff going on.”
“Okay,” Atle said. “I am newest on the American scene, but I can say with certainty that Europe is utterly amazed that Trump got this far. No way he will be elected. In fact, my people see a rollback of existing Republican power coming.”
Chris spoke as if he was introducing Atle for the first time. “I stole Atle from Karen, who runs the international service organization I founded. He comes from the rarified world of a Scandinavian country where people are educated and sane. America will be a rude awakening for him. When April and Josef get finished bringing you up to date, I am confident my favorite socialist here will be swimming desperately back across the Atlantic to Norway. As they will inform you, a good thirty-five percent of the population, maybe more, want an authoritarian leader. Add your random full-blown racists and nativists and greedy one-percenters or elite pretenders and you are well over forty percent. Let’s go beyond all the known tools they will use to nudge the support for Trump even higher. It is the evidence of direct foreign meddling that worries us. Sure, you got the money coming in from Russia through front organizations like the NRA. And we know that Russian oligarchs have been bailing out Trump, that utter disaster of a business man, for years. Think about what has been going on in Russia. I recently read a paper by Alexander Buzgalin, a modern Marxist professor at Moscow State University. You probably have heard of him, Josef?”
“I have, in fact. A thoughtful man, if a bit left-wing.”
Chris continued. “In any case, he stresses that Putin has about a seventy-percent approval rating in Russia, if not more. That level of favorability persists despite great economic inequality. Why? Because he brought stability to the chaos that reigned after the fall of communism and the rise of the robber barons. For some reason, people will put up with a lot of crap if someone comes along and tells them they will take care of things, put the house in order so to speak. In fact, that is what made the Taliban popular in Afghanistan, at least in the beginning. They eventually moved into the power vacuum and initially dampened the chaos that existed after the Russians were driven out. People wanted order and lost their freedom. This is a classic Faustian choice for sure, less chaos at the price of little personal control over things. Russians wanted the same thing after the wild days of Yeltsin. Americans, I mean working-class and much of middle-class America, are scared. They are struggling and still going under, but they cannot figure out whom to blame. Well, Trump is going to come along and tell them. It is those damn immigrants and effete liberals and selfish blacks on welfare. Get tough, clean up the neighborhood, lash out at those foreigners who don’t play fair and all will be well again. We look at that buffoon and see a conman. A lot of typical Americans look at his pitch and see a savior. Hell, the religious right even buys into the absurd notion that he is a Christian.” Chris paused to let that sink in. “What worries Kat and I, and I assume Bev and Jules, is the sophisticated cyber crap going on. It seems very sophisticated, highly targeted, and designed to foster division and hostility within the electorate. The liberal and left are vulnerable. Why? They think the election is theirs, that Trump is the weak card. These hackers and outside forces will come in and exploit that sense of self-satisfaction, that feeling that we have the luxury to debate which wing of the party best represents the country. In the meantime, the mainstream Democratic Party plays it safe. Vote for us because we are not bat-shit crazy. Totally logical but woefully insufficient.”
“I remain skeptical.” Atle tried holding his ground. “Even Americans are not that stupid.”
“I appreciate that. But here is my take. The Republicans have already gone through their party purge. It took several decades, but the emergence of the well-funded Tea Party was the final nail in the coffin for the old guard. They may be a bunch of vile sons-of-bitches, but they are focused and dedicated on keeping power at all costs. The Dems are yet struggling with their identity. Are they a centrist party that can hold on to the middle class and wealthy donors or are they a party of the common man? Is a populist or a centrist message the key to a resurgence? They have not figured that out yet. With Hillary, as I mentioned, they are likely to run a campaign that is merely anti-Trump, based on the plausible, yet flawed, notion that no sane person would vote for this maniac. You would think it would work but I am not sure. It worked for Johnson in 1964, don’t vote for that nutcase, Goldwater, because he will blow up the world. That pi
tch doesn’t work anymore, Americans now like nutcases. Somehow, when Trump says something stupid and mean, he comes across as genuine and not programmed. Hillary is safe and well scripted and thus seems to be a phony politician. Around this table we know that running a government is hard work that requires great skill. Out in the heartland, that reality is lost. The same people who would not let an incompetent doctor treat an ingrown toenail would willingly turn our country over to a total clown. Besides, the right has spent a quarter-century demonizing the Clintons. All those racists out there are spitting mad that Obama had a scandal-free eight years in power. Can you just imagine how that violated their world view? This cyber campaign does not have to shift millions of voters, just thousands in a few key states. Josef and April know that better than I. They also know that mysterious Russian sites, using fake identities, are lasering in on specific populations in the given areas to rile up the right and sow discord among liberals and the left. Then there is the usual hacking and using outlets like WikiLeaks to foment suspicion of Hillary. Call me a pessimist but I am predicting a Trump victory right now.”
There was a long silence, and then Kat spoke up. “When I lobbied my brother to join me, I wanted his big picture vision of things. He does see what others do not and not just when he is experiencing acid flashbacks from his high-school days spent in Madison. I hope that we can weather the storm in this coming election, find out what is going on sub-rosa, and then come up with a longer-range plan to take this country back. Then I would let my brother go back to his real life. Of course, if he is right about a Trump win, then…”
“Amar will never let him stay long, of that I am sure.” It was Jules, who looked directly at her former lover. Chris met her eyes and quickly looked away.
Kat wanted to retake control of the conversation. “Well, we all have a sense of the stakes. Let us focus on what we will do over the coming months. And remember, we are not alone. Through me and Chris and Jules, we have connections to many others concerned about the future of both our country and the world. I want to start by making sure we know our respective roles and how we will work together over these coming critical months.”
As the dialogue became work-related and specific, Chris kept looking over at Jules. He could not get her last comment out of his head.
That evening, they were all gathered in the lakeside house eating and socializing. Amar had returned from a day at the university hospital where she was beginning her medical duties. Azita and Deena had returned from their tour of the campus. The conversation had turned to socializing and bonding, everyone sharing bits of their lives.
At some point, Amar noticed that Azita was missing. Already, she knew where her adopted daughter was likely to be. She slipped out of the house unnoticed and made her way down the lawn to the boat dock. In the gathering darkness, she could see an outline seated on a bench.
“Still counting those stars up there?” Amar asked as she slid next to her.
Azita smiled weakly. “It is not Kashmir. Too many nearby lights. I might be able to count all these stars.”
“No other night sky is like Kashmir where you are close to the top of the world, or even the Panjshir Valley for that matter.” They sat in silence for a moment before Amar asked. “What drove you from the festivities up at the house?”
“I might ask the same, what drove you down here?” Azita retorted.
“Clever lass, responding to a question with a question. Another of my husband’s tactics?”
Azita let out a small laugh. “I am finding that having such a smart mother is not a good thing. I could never fool Madeena either. It is such a curse to be burdened with such clever mothers.” Azita realized that deflection would not work. “Okay, I escaped to think about something Deena said earlier, two things really.” Then she stopped.
“Daughter.” Amar swung about to look more directly at her. “Surely you are not ending there?”
Another laugh. “I did not think that would work.” Then, the girl sighed. “She said something about not backing down in the face of fear. I think that her getting shot has made her stronger, possibly stronger and more committed than I. When we were young, she was the silly and frivolous one and I was obsessed with medicine and contributing something to the world. Now…I am not sure. Oh, I remain committed to medicine but with the same old question…how to contribute? Most of all, I cannot stand the thought of her putting herself back in harm’s way. She can contribute from London, can she not? If she is killed, I…I could not stand that. She is all that remains of my blood.”
Amar put her arm around her daughter and pulled her closer. “That, my dear, is the very agony of love. We must let those most precious to you go, so that they may be what was intended for them. To do otherwise would be utterly cruel.”
“You would let me go back into harm’s way?”
“Yes. And die inside while doing it.” Amar said the words but doubted her conviction.
Azita looked hard at her mother but surprised her with where she went next. “You don’t want to be here, do you?”
Amar said nothing for many moments, merely watching the lights of a boat making its way home. “This is very nice and seductive but no, I don’t believe I will be happy here. I am drawn back to a place where I can feel useful. They have plenty of excellent doctors here.”
“What will you do if this - what shall I call it? - project goes on and on?”
Amar sighed. “Well, I don’t have to decide that today, but I think about it a lot. I talk to Karen a lot. They have initiated a program in Syria with what are called the White Helmets. It is a multi-national force of volunteers trying to help those caught up in the devastating civil war there. Her sources tell her that it is a matter of time before Assad destroys the rebels, the slaughter could be terrible. It is horrendous already.”
“And you feel you should be there?”
Amar nodded her head. “Of course. That is my life. But now, with Chris and the children…”
“You do love Chris, don’t you?” From Azita’s inflection, this came out more as an affirmation than a question.
“Desperately,” Amar managed.
“Then you will work it out, the two of you. Your love will overcome everything else.”
“My word,” Amar said and chuckled, “this from the girl who dismissed all boys as smelly and obnoxious. The older I get, the more I have come around to your point of view. Oh, not that they are smelly or obnoxious, at least not all of them. But they can be a lot of trouble.”
“That is so true.” Azita exhaled.
“Hmmm, you mentioned Deena saying two things on which you have been dwelling. Boys must be the other. Ahmad?”
Azita nodded. “She told me to make love to him, to Ahmad. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you that.”
Amar kissed the top of her head. “I will share another agony of being a parent. You want to know everything about your child while trying to respect their privacy. I had guessed that nothing had happened and, quite frankly, I was rather shocked by that.”
“Why?”
“Because you obviously love him.” She said the words in such a matter-of-fact manner.
“I think I have been an idiot.” Azita said the words so softly that Amar could barely recognize them. “I have kept him at arm’s length because…”
“Why?” Amar pressed.
“I assumed I would fail him, that he could never accept me for who I am.”
“Sometimes, my dear, we women are too clever by half. We think way too hard on things. I know what I am going to say next is not what a mother is supposed to say to her daughter. But here it is: if you get the chance, you tear that boy’s clothes off and ravage his body.”
Azita laughed aloud. “Some motherly advice. I cannot imagine Madeena telling me that.”
“Well, kiddo,” Amar said and smiled, “I was the best offer you were going to get as a substitute mother.”
“I think you did okay, better than okay.” Azita rested her head on
Amar’s shoulder.
The two women sat quietly looking up at the stars while listening to the water slap against the dock. Neither said another word for a long time. The Amar spoke. “Not as many stars, but still mesmerizing. You know, the closest cluster of stars is Alpha Centauri. And yet, it takes over four years for the light to reach us even traveling 186,000 miles per second. All we see up there is history. My brother also told me that one night as we shared the Kashmir heavens.”
Azita looked away from the sky and toward her mother. “Do you know what is sad?”
“No.”
“That you have been married to Chris for so long that your head is almost as filled with as much useless stuff as his is.”
“Is that right?” Amar hugged her daughter a bit closer. “And I bet you haven’t learned how to swim yet. Look how close the water is to us.”
“Ah, wait, what I really meant to say is that you are so smart, and I love you very much and every word you utter is brilliant.”
“Good girl,” Amar said and smiled, “I am gratified to see that all that education has not been wasted.”
The two enjoyed their solitude together. They could hear the conversation and laughter coming from the house behind them. This, however, was where they wanted to be.
CHAPTER 11
THE EMAILS
Karen Fisher sat back in her easy chair that had been provided as a matter of course by one of Kabul’s finer hotels that catered to Westerners. It was situated in the embassy section of the city, not far from Wazir Akbar Khan Park where she and her colleagues had strolled while discussing their busy day of meetings. As dusk arrived, they decided to return to the hotel for dinner, lamenting the fact that they could not simply walk to the Hairy Hare for laughs and drinks. As they entered the lobby, Karen squinted at the faux luxury with distaste. She always bridled at staying in first-class accommodation. It went against her working-class roots. However, the safety of her staff was of paramount importance. Afghanistan was still at war, though at a rather low boiling point. Still, even in the big cities, bombs went off and anyone who looked like an infidel was considered a prime target. She never fully let her guard down.
