A Picture of Guilt

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

“Make way…make way! Everybody back! Let’s get this sucker out of here.”

  A knot of men emerged from the substation. In the middle of the group were several men in hazmat suits carrying a steel suitcase on what appeared to be a flat wooden board. They were moving very slowly toward one of the vans; other men surrounded them. I caught a glimpse of Clarence in the group, his mask on. He gave me a thumbs up.

  Once the suitcase was in the van and the van had taken off, the men in hazmat suits tore off their masks. Others high-fived each other and laughed. A few wiped tears from their eyes. I looked for LeJeune, but I didn’t see him.

  I whipped around. I’d confront Abdul myself, although what I would say or do when I found him, I had no idea. I raced back to the van, cold, bone-weary, but resolute.

  But when I got there, Abdul had disappeared. His car was gone. The only hint it had been there at all was a set of tire tracks in the snow that were fast filling in.

  I checked the clock. One forty-one. More men poured out from the substation.

  It was over. With nary more than a whimper.

  Chapter Forty-six

  I never found LeJeune, and Clarence followed the van with the bomb. Someone else gave me a ride to my car.

  When I got home, I took a shower and brewed coffee, then called Dad. Rachel and he were fine; she was still sleeping. I told him I’d pick them up around noon; he should pack an overnight bag so he could spend the weekend with me.

  The snow tapered off, and a weak slash of sunlight inched across the kitchen counter, coming to rest on the wall. I prowled around the house, restless and unfocused, too exhausted to sleep. On the surface my world seemed normal and stitched up, but underneath was a crack, a fissure so deep I wasn’t sure it would ever mend. I knew I would never look at the world in quite the same way again.

  The doorbell chimed around ten. LeJeune. He’d put on a clean shirt, but he needed a shave, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. He kissed me. “What smells so good?”

  I’d tried to pretend everything was okay, heating up the oven, putting in the pie, starting to sauté celery and onions. “Pecan pie. For tomorrow. I’ll get you some coffee.”

  While I poured, he wandered around the kitchen. I wondered if he was feeling the same way as I. I got out sugar and milk.

  He leaned against the counter. “We picked up Hanjour and Reedy.”

  I spun around. “Both of them?”

  “Customs nabbed Reedy trying to hop a flight to Frankfurt. She told us where to find Hanjour. We found him and one of his pals inside a White Hen in Orland Park. Stocking up on donuts and soda.”

  “Doughnuts? He was buying doughnuts?”

  “His pal went for a knife, but we disarmed him. Hanjour just threw up his hands.” He stirred his coffee. “Guess we won’t need that sequel after all.”

  “It’s really over?”

  He hesitated, as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself. “We’ve already cased their apartment, and we’re going through their e-mail. They were trying to get as far away as possible before it blew.”

  “They didn’t want to die for the cause?”

  “When you’ve been living stateside for a while, I guess martyrdom loses its appeal.”

  “And yet they wanted to destroy it.”

  “Ellie, no one ever said these guys had a tight grip on reality.”

  I refilled my coffee, then tore open a package of sweetener and dumped it in. “You know, I can’t help thinking if I’d found the antenna the first time I met Reedy, none of this would have happened.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, chér. In a way Reedy may have saved your life.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “When you first met her, you had no reason to link any of the events to Arab terrorists. You thought it was a Mafia scam.”

  “So?”

  “As long as you were running around looking for wise guys, she was able to rein in Hanjour. Convince him to go after the tapes instead of you. Persuade him she’d handle you.”

  I thought about it. He was right. The last time I’d seen the SUV—until a few days ago—was the day LeJeune and Coates came to the house. I met Dale Reedy the next day.

  “She never had any intention of producing a video, did she? She brought me in just to find out about the tape. To play me and see how much I knew.”

  He nodded.

  “Why did things change?”

  “There’s no guarantee of unanimity when you’re dealing with terrorists. There probably was a disagreement over how to deal with you from the beginning. At least that’s what she’s saying.”

  “Reedy’s talking?”

  “Louder and quicker than a scalded cat. She’s not stupid.” He took a sip of coffee. “She did lay down one condition, though.”

  “What?”

  “That MI5 or Scotland Yard pick up her kids and make sure they’re safe.”

  “Did they?”

  “She talked to them on the phone a few hours ago.”

  I tapped my spoon on the table. “What did she tell you?”

  “The bomb was originally supposed to be detonated around the time of September eleventh, but in all the confusion, the final order never came down. Then, afterwards—”

  “It was supposed to be part of September eleventh?”

  “Apparently. You know how splintered and isolated these cells are.” He stared into his coffee cup. “At any rate, with all the attention on security and Arab terrorists, Samir’s plans fell into disarray, and he had to abort. Months later, when things calmed down, Reedy got the word to put it back together. That’s when they planted the second one.”

  My stomach twisted. “Got the word? Oh my God—I never got the chance to tell you, Nick. Abdul was there. At the substation. The one I think is in charge.”

  “Ellie…” He paused. “Abdul’s a Saudi intelligence agent. We’ve been working with him since May. He’s been tracking Islamic terrorists for years. He’s the one who tipped us to the threat in the first place. Something happening with water. This summer. In the Midwest.”

  “Abdul’s an agent?” I stared. “But he never…”

  “He couldn’t blow his cover.” He grinned. “Of course, you managed to do that for him.”

  I wrapped my hands around my mug. “But I met him at the Greenbrier. What was he doing there?”

  “He was trying to run down a training camp in rural West Virginia. A place where Arab terrorists reportedly train next to white separatists.”

  “No.”

  He shrugged. “When you’re overthrowing a government, the enemy of my enemy…”

  “So that’s how he knew the countryside so well.”

  LeJeune looked puzzled.

  “You remember. When he told us about the coal mines—” I stopped. I was confusing LeJeune with David. I bit my lip. I remembered the sheet of paper with Abdul’s number at the Four Seasons. “If he was tracking Dale Reedy, why was he calling her at Great Lakes Oil?”

  “He was trying to confirm her identity. She’d changed her name, remember? He was sure he would know her voice.”

  “So the plant acquisition was a pretext.”

  “You got it.”

  I sat back in my chair. “So if Abdul wasn’t in charge, who gave Reedy the order to put it back together?”

  “Aziz. Her husband.”

  “Why did they need two bombs?”

  “To make sure the radiation covered the entire Loop.”

  “My god!”

  “For insurance purposes too. In case the first one didn’t work. Remember, it had been underwater for months.”

  “But they were still getting a radio signal.”

  He looked grim. “Maybe after they saw the devastation in New York, they decided to up the ante.”

  “So Samir got a job at PE and cased it on the side.”

  LeJeune nodded. “Terrorist or not, he needed to make a living. And what better place to rip off supplies?”

  I shivered
. “Do you think they were planting the crib bomb the night Mary Jo and Rhonda were at Calumet Park?”

  “Hard to say. They might have been doing a test run. Or a safety check afterwards. But whatever it was, Samir panicked when he saw the two women.”

  “And killed Mary Jo.”

  He nodded again.

  “After which he thought everything was under control—until I testified.”

  “That’s why he showed up at the trial. He had to find out how significant that RF damage was. And whether you knew where it came from.”

  “Which is where he saw Rhonda Disapio. And realized she’d been the one with Mary Jo at the park.”

  “You got it. She’d always been a loose end.”

  “How did he kill her—tamper with her brakes or something?”

  “Yeah. Reedy wasn’t happy after that. She realized he was a loose cannon. That’s when she came down on him. Told him to go after the tapes, not people.”

  “The fire at the studio.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Brashares.”

  “Like the cops say, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” LeJeune drained his coffee. “They thought they’d patched up all the leaks. Until you screwed things up again.”

  “Because I saw Reedy’s antenna.”

  “You also had the last copy of the tape.” He looked over. “You were in their sights from the beginning, chér.”

  We were quiet for a moment.

  “Do you think she was sending me a message when she canceled the video?”

  “A message?” He laughed. “Not hardly, chér. She was busy saving her own skin.”

  “She didn’t have to e-mail me. She could have just disappeared.”

  “You sound like you’re defending her.”

  I shook my head. “Just trying to understand.”

  “Don’t waste your time.” He ran a hand over his face. “You want more coffee?”

  “Sure.” I handed him my cup.

  “Black, right?”

  How many times had we drunk coffee together? I pointed to the blue packet of sweetener on the table. He looked embarrassed.

  I waited until he sat down again. “What else did Reedy say?”

  LeJeune leaned back in the chair. “Well, for one thing, she said it was payback for the Gulf War.”

  “Huh?”

  “When we bombed Iraq the first time, we took out their water treatment plants. With no running water, people hauled buckets in from the Tigris, but it was filled with sewage. Thousands of people died. Typhoid, dysentery, cholera. Even polio. And because of the sanctions, they couldn’t import any chlorine.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  He made a noise that was almost a snort. “It makes a convenient excuse. But enough.” He raised my hands to his lips. “We’ll talk more later. Right now, you and I have some unfinished business.” He smiled.

  I pulled my hand away.

  His smile faded.

  “You know,” I said slowly, “it’s strange what happens when you think you’re going to die. A certain clarity emerges.” I tucked my hand under my leg. “Tell me something, Nick. The speech about your father losing his leg. And the bit about Huey Long. Was that part of the script?”

  He tipped his head to the side. “What are—”

  “Don’t.” I got up and went to the stove. “Don’t.”

  He stood up and straddled a chair. “It wasn’t just the job, Ellie. It—it never was. I realized it when I got back from London. I want you. We could mean something to each other.”

  “But…” I hesitated. “…I don’t want you.”

  He just looked at me.

  “As long as we were working toward the same goal, it was easy to act as if. To pretend. But that changed when you agreed to use me as bait.”

  “You made that decision.”

  “You gave me no choice.”

  “I never wanted that to happen. I fought it. I nearly lost my job over it.”

  I bent my head, unsure if it was the truth but not wanting to find out. “It wasn’t that it didn’t have to be done. It did. But you were the one who talked me into it.” I laced my fingers together. “Did you ever read All the King’s Men?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’ll bet you have. Remember how Willy Stark started out as a reformer? Burning with the desire to do good? Along the way, though, he learned how to manipulate people. String them along.”

  He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “Eventually, of course, it corrupted him.” I paused. “The thing is, even so, even with his lust for power, Willy Stark accomplished great things.”

  He looked up.

  “You did, too, Nick. Most people would have given up. But you didn’t. And if I ever get in trouble again, there’s no one I’d want on my side more than you.” I stood up. “But now, I think you’d better leave. And…don’t come back.”

  He ducked his head as if I’d lobbed him a stinging criticism. I turned away and pretended to fuss with the stove. After a moment his steps clicked across the floor and retreated down the hall. The front door opened and closed.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  “I was wrong.”

  Dad and I were in the family room, watching flames from the fireplace dance, pop, and float up the chimney. One or two sparks landed on the floor and winked out. Strains of rock music drifted down the stairs from Rachel’s room.

  “What do you mean?” I picked up my glass of wine, which lay next to a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

  “I thought you were on another one of your crusades,” he said, balancing a cup of tea in his hand. “You know, trying to fit round pegs into square holes. I was wrong.”

  “I don’t blame you.” I twirled my wine, watching the firelight flicker and glint through the glass. “Who would have believed it?”

  “I should have trusted you. You’re my daughter.”

  “You know something?” I leaned over and squeezed the hand not holding the teacup. “It takes a mensch to admit he was wrong—especially to his child.”

  He squeezed back. “So tell me. These—these…” He couldn’t seem to bring himself to say the word bombs. “They were planted before September eleventh?”

  “One was. The other one was added afterward.”

  My father’s brow furrowed. “Are there any more, you think? That haven’t been discovered?”

  “God forbid.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess praying is about all we can do.” He gazed at me with worried eyes. “So why haven’t I seen anything about it on the news?”

  “LeJeune said they’re keeping a lid on until the government decides how to respond.”

  “Good luck.”

  “They could have a shot. The action out at the crib was miles away from anything, and the weather last night was terrible. There weren’t a lot of people around.”

  He sniffed. “That woman—the British one they picked up—she’s talking?”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “How did they identify her?”

  “Abdul told them about her.”

  He set down his teacup. “Abdul?”

  “The man we met at the Greenbrier.”

  “The one who’s working with David?”

  “The same.” In fact, he’d dropped by the house that afternoon to apologize and ask my forgiveness. We’d had a long talk. “He’s a member of the Saudi intelligence force, Dad. He’s been tracking terrorists for years. The oil sheik role was his cover.”

  “Does David know?”

  “Abdul says he explained it to him the other day. He said David wasn’t happy about it. But he understands.”

  Dad bit into a cookie. I flashed back to Abdul’s table manners. The match on the silk tablecloth. The caviar on the toast point. Not very royal. It should have been a tip-off.

  “Reedy did make a huge blunder, though.”

  Dad stopped chewing.

  “The antenna. Granted, I didn’t notice until it w
as almost too late, but if I hadn’t been so unobservant, I might have figured it out sooner. I don’t know why she didn’t try to disguise it.”

  “Probably the Empire mentality. You know how arrogant they get.”

  I remembered the photo of her two boys. “I don’t know. I wonder whether, maybe in some subconscious way, she wanted me to figure it out.”

  Dad cocked his head. “What?”

  “She has two boys. The Bureau thinks her husband was holding them over her head. Maybe this was her only way to get them out of his clutches.”

  “Have they caught him?”

  “Aziz? Not yet. But he’s not in a position to make many demands.”

  Dad frowned. “I’m an old man. What do I know?”

  That was his way of telling me I was making assumptions again. Maybe I was, but I couldn’t help thinking that men just don’t get it. The extent to which a mother will go to protect her young. It’s hardwired into our psyches. I started to reach for a cookie but stopped. Did that mean there was some unanimity between Dale Reedy and me? A subtle but mutually understood accord? I shifted uneasily.

  “How’s Sylvia?”

  “You’ll see for yourself, tomorrow.”

  “Dad, are you sure you’re ready to handle this?”

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Listen, Ellie. She’s great company, she plays a mean hand of gin, and I like holding her hand almost as much as yours. What more do I need?”

  “If you’re happy…”

  “I’m happy.” He covered my hand with his. “What about you?”

  “I’m tired. I could sleep for days. But I keep thinking how much I have to be thankful for.”

  He patted my hand. I curled a leg underneath myself. “There’s just one thing. I think Rachel’s been calling David with updates about me all fall. The little dybbuk’s been spying on me.”

  Dad withdrew his hand.

  “She and I are going to have one of those boundary discussions after Thanksgiving.”

  He toyed with his spoon. “ I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re blaming the wrong person.”

  “You?”

  “Ellie, we’re his only family. You may not want to be in touch, but I do. It’s the right thing to do.”

  I scowled, but I wasn’t totally surprised. As a young man, my father had fallen in love with David’s mother. It hadn’t worked out, but it had forged a connection between our families. Indeed, when David and I got together, in part because of the discovery about our parents, my father was convinced it was bashert.