“Alex will be at the State Department until late.” There was a fractional hesitation. “Does the offer hold if it’s only me?”
Just as he had noticed her hesitation, she noticed his, even though he tried to recover quickly. “Of course,” he said. “What time?”
She reached up and rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, I feel like I’ve been in a gym all day. I’d like to shower and rest for a bit. How about eight-thirty?”
“Eight-thirty is fine. I’ll knock for you.”
The phone rang in Quinn Gerritt’s suite in the Marriott Hotel, and Jessica swept across the room in her satin evening gown to pick it up. “Yes?”
She listened a moment, then called into the bedroom, where Quinn was putting on a black tie and tails. “Quinn, a Mr. Derek Parkins is downstairs.”
He came out, putting on his coat. “Tell him to come up.”
She frowned but spoke quickly into the phone. When she hung up, he pulled her into his arms.
“You look lovely, Jessie. As usual.” He kissed her lightly, so as not to smear her lipstick, then pulled two tickets from inside his jacket. They were for box seats at the Kennedy Center where Aida was playing. He handed her one of them. “Give me five minutes. Then go. I’ll catch a cab.”
There was a momentary flash of annoyance, then resignation. “Try to hurry, Quinn.”
“I didn’t think he was coming until we got back.” He turned to check his bow tie in the mirror. “But this is important. I’ll catch up.”
She gave him a quick wave and swept out the door.
Jackie opened the door to her room a few inches, then leaned against it, looking up at Marc. “Thanks for the company. It was a delightful dinner. The thought of eating alone was pretty depressing.”
“Thank you. It’s easy to be gallant when Alex is picking up the tab.”
“Would you like to come in for a few minutes? I think I could find a Seven-up or something equally daring.”
He laughed, seeing through her fear of rebuff, then took a deep breath. “Jackie,” he started, then stopped and took another breath.
“Don’t tell me,” she said lightly, trying to keep the hurt out of her eyes. “You want to go to your own room and get smashed on caffeine-free Coke, right? Or,” she rushed on, before he could respond, “are you going to be what Alex calls your brutally honest self?”
He put a finger to her lips and shushed her gently. “Just listen, will you?”
Now it was she who took the deep breath, her eyes not meeting his. “I’m listening.”
“Jackie, until this year I hadn’t gone out but once or twice in the two years since my wife died. I don’t think that was caused by any deep and sustained mourning. Within a few months I had come to accept the fact that Lynette was gone. But I was satisfied being alone, just me and the boys.”
Finally she looked up, watching him closely as he sought the right words. “Remember that night when you and Alex found Valerie and me in the parking lot? That was my first date with her. I felt like a sixteen-year-old teenager again—awkward, stumbling over my words, feeling like a fool. And then ironically, on that same night I met you for the first time.”
Her face softened, and she smiled up at him. “I remember. You and that ridiculous little VW.”
“You got out of that Mercedes convertible, and I just stared. You were so striking. So lovely.”
Her lips parted softly, and her eyes were suddenly moist as she sensed what was coming.
“And that night on the beach.” He shook his head. “I came so close to taking you in my arms and kissing you.”
“I wanted you to,” she said in a half whisper.
“I know. And I wanted to. But I guess, even then, somehow I knew that as much as I admired you and was attracted to you, we are two different kinds of people. You’re a class act all the way. Me, I’m just a farm boy from Willard who strayed into the big city.”
“I have no complaints.”
He shook his head slowly. “That doesn’t change what is.”
“And Valerie is part of what is.” It wasn’t a question.
“Well, I thought she was. I’m having trouble convincing her.”
Jackie’s chin came up. “Then tell her to get out of the way.”
“I can’t.”
She looked away. He took her chin and brought her gently back to face him. “But it’s important to me that you understand this. My turning from you makes you no less charming, no less beautiful, no less a remarkable woman in my eyes, Jacqueline Ashby.”
The tears welled up and trickled down her cheeks. He brushed at them with the back of one finger. “I mean that.”
She suddenly reached up, brought his head down, and gently kissed him. He could feel her lips quivering, and then she pulled away and buried her face against his chest. “I’m sorry, Marc. I’ll go watch “M. A.S.H.” reruns and be all right in an hour or so.”
Marc nodded, stroking her hair, not knowing what to say.
“Well, well!”
The insolent sneer in the voice spun both Marc and Jackie around with a jerk. Derek Parkin was standing unsteadily in the hallway of the hotel, leering at them. “Isn’t this a cozy little scene?”
Jackie touched Marc’s cheek quickly and opened the door. “Good-bye, Marc,” she whispered and slipped inside.
Marc turned and pushed past Derek without speaking.
“Valerie would love to know how you spend your time while you’re on the road.”
Marc fished for his room key without turning around. “Derek, why don’t you just go to bed?”
“So the fair-haired boy does have some flaws, after all.” He shook his head, clucking his tongue. “And all this time, Alex thought his little goody-goody was above reproach.”
“Good-night, Derek.”
“Well, you’re not the only game in town anymore, buddy!” he shouted as Marc stepped inside and shut the door. “You and Alex will find out that I have a contribution to make too.”
It was nearly seven-thirty the next morning when Alex stopped by at the breakfast booth. Marc looked up and started to slide over, but he shook his head quickly. “No, I’m on my way to the State Department.” He looked at the breakfast menu longingly, then pulled away. “Jackie and I are going to hit it again this morning. But hopefully, by noon, we’ll have some word.”
“Good. I’m ready.”
At that moment, Jackie entered the hotel coffee shop, spied them, and came over. “Good morning, Alex.” She looked at Marc quickly, gave him a fleeting, wistful smile. “Good morning, Marc.”
“Good morning, Jackie.”
“Hi, Jackie,” Alex said. “I was just going to ask Marc what’s on his agenda today.”
Marc lifted his shoulders and let them drop again. “I feel like a knickknack in a bathroom. I may add to the decor, but I’m not terribly useful.”
“You just hang on until tonight. Then you’ll earn every penny I’m paying you.”
“Well, anyway, I thought I’d go down to the kennel and check on the dog again, then—”
“No need to—I presented it to the prince last night.”
“You did?”
“Yes.” He clapped Marc on the shoulder. “You earned your money right there. Russ Whitaker, the Undersecretary of State, called afterward and just went on and on.” His voice dropped to mimic that of Whitaker’s: “‘A purebred Saluki hound? The famed hunting dog of the Bedouin princes? It was perfect, Alex, just perfect. How did you ever think of that?’ I modestly admitted that we had given it quite a bit of thought.”
“I’m glad.”
Alex looked at his watch. “Well, Jackie, we’ve got to get out of here. I’ll bring the car up and meet you out front.”
“Okay.” She watched him go, then slipped in across from Marc. “I wanted to apologize for being such a boob last night.”
He reached across quickly and took her hand. “Look. You and I have to work together for some time to come. We have two choices.
We can go around feeling awkward and averting our faces every time we meet, or we can take it as it is, and be friends and associates—a thing that I would like very much.”
She squeezed his hand back. “I would like that too.”
“Good.”
She rose. “I’ll try and call around noon.”
“Okay, I’ll be in my room.”
As she started away, he called after her, “By the way, Derek called and apologized this morning.”
“I know. He called me too. I think he felt pretty foolish.”
Marc shook his head. “I don’t know about him.”
Jackie went stern. “Look. You and he have to work together for some time to come. You have two choices. You can go around averting your faces, or I can talk Alex into firing him.”
Marc laughed. “Now that’s a tough choice.”
She sobered again, and this time it wasn’t feigned. “Thanks, Marc.” She waved and was gone before he could respond.
Marc picked up the menu and began to study it again. A few moments later, he realized someone had come up to him again. He looked up, then smiled in surprise. It was Yaacov Shoshani, the man he had met in the museum.
“No!” Shoshani said, pointing at him. “You are in this hotel?”
“That’s right.”
“And still waiting?”
Marc laughed. “Yes, still waiting.”
“I too.”
“Have you had breakfast yet?”
“No, I was just coming down.”
“Then join me. I haven’t ordered yet.”
Shoshani removed his hat, and slid in the opposite side of the booth. “I would be delighted.”
Marc leaned over, picked up his watch from where it lay on the lamp table, looked at it, then turned to Yaacov. “I’m expecting a call anytime. Would you mind if we just ordered lunch from room service?”
Yaacov looked at his own watch. “Oi vavoi! I have kept you here talking for two-and-a-half hours. You must have other things to do.”
“No, no. Really. I just have to be in the room around noon. I’d like to continue our talk, unless you have something you must do.”
Yaacov shook his craggy head quickly. “No. And this has been very enjoyable. You make a persuasive advocate for the Arab cause.”
“And you make a very persuasive advocate for the Jewish cause.”
“Ah,” he said with a slow smile. “But I am Jewish, and you are not Arab.”
“I used to teach a class at Claremont on the Arab-Jewish political situation. I would take the first half of one period and present all the arguments for the Arab side. Before I was through, the students would be so angry at the Israelis for all the injustices they have done to the Palestinians and other Arabs. Then I would take the second half of the class and present all the arguments for the Jewish side. By the time I was done, all of the students would be saying, ‘No wonder the Israelis do what they do. It is only right. What’s the matter with those Arabs, anyway?’”
Yaacov nodded sadly. “That is what makes the whole situation in the Middle East so difficult. Until the hearts of the people—my people as well as the Arab peoples—are changed, there will be no solutions, no lasting peace.”
Marc nodded, then got up and found the room service menu. “Well, what would you like for lunch?”
They spent the next half an hour waiting for and then consuming the food. The conversation stayed light—Marc’s early life, Yaacov’s pilgrimage to Israel in the early thirties, and half a dozen other topics. As they were finishing, Jackie called to report that the meeting with the Saudis had been set for four o’clock that afternoon.
As they finished their meal and turned to two heaping dishes of strawberry shortcake, Yaacov leaned back. “You seem to be a man who thinks deeply about things, so let me pose for you an interesting question. I too teach at a university—the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. I give this problem to my students in philosophy.”
“Okay.”
“In World War II, the British, through an incredible intelligence feat, cracked the codes of the German High Command.”
“Yes, I remember. They called the whole project ‘Ultra’ or something like that, as I recall.”
“Yes. Very good. So you are familiar with that part of the story. Well, one day the British decoded a transmission intended for the Luftwaffe. They learned that a massive bomber raid had been planned against the city of Coventry, England, on a certain night in the near future. Now Churchill and his military staff were faced with an interesting dilemma. They could warn Coventry and save thousands of lives. But if they did, it could easily tip off—is that how you say it? Tip off?”
“Yes. It would tip off the Germans.”
“Exactly. If the Germans suspected that the British had cracked their codes, they would change them. The information the Allies were gaining through Ultra was saving thousands of lives.”
He leaned forward, bringing his hands together. “What should you do? Warn Coventry and jeopardize thousands of lives? Or not warn Coventry and jeopardize thousands of lives?”
“Well, I remember what they did do.”
“Yes. They chose to protect the secret, and many, many innocent people in Coventry were killed. But I ask you. If it had been up to you, what would you have done?”
Marc grinned. “Do I get some time to think about it?”
Yaacov laughed merrily and pulled the shortcake in front of him. “Only as long as it takes for you to consume this delicious monument to the passions of the flesh.”
Marc chuckled, pulled over his own plate, and started to eat, lapsing into deep thought.
Finally, he pushed his plate away. “Okay, I think I am ready.”
Yaacov scraped up the last wisp of the whipped cream, licked it off the spoon, and then rubbed his hands in delight. “Then proceed. What would you have done?”
“I would have warned Coventry.”
“Why?”
“Because it was the greatest known good. The other choice was based on conjecture and hope. They believed that if they protected the secret, they could save a greater numbers of lives. But that was guesswork. What if the Germans, shortly after they bombed Coventry, learned that their codes had been compromised, and changed them anyway? Then the people of Coventry would have died for nothing.”
“But they didn’t. Ultra saved many other lives.”
“Oh, no,” Marc protested. “You’re using the vantage point of hindsight now. We know what eventually happened, but the people making the choice could only choose on the basis of what they knew or could project. And I say the known value of the human lives in Coventry should have become the overriding factor in their decision. They knew for sure they could save those lives.”
The dark brown eyes in the old leathered face were sparkling with enjoyment. “But when you cannot know the future, you must go on probabilities. If there was a good probability that a greater number of lives could be saved by keeping the secret, that is the way you would have to go.”
Marc just shook his head. “No, there is another dimension.”
“What other dimension? When you are dealing with the future, what other dimension is there but to balance all the known facts and decide as best you can?”
Marc hedged, suddenly a bit embarrassed.
“Yes? What is this other dimension of which you speak?”
Marc took a deep breath. “Faith.”
“Explain!” It was a curt command, but not harsh or critical. Yaacov was watching this young professor with increasing interest.
“It’s hard to explain.” Marc began tentatively, still formulating the thoughts in his own mind. “If one believes there is a supreme being who concerns himself deeply with the affairs of men, and if he also believes that that being gives men laws and principles that they can use to govern their lives, then those principles become the basis for action. They override desire or wants…or probabilities.”
“Do you know how the leaders of the Britis
h military would have responded to such counsel?”
“Yes. They’d laugh me right out of their map room. They would say I was being ridiculous.”
“But you don’t think you are being ridiculous?”
“Sure, I do. As ridiculous as marching a horde of Israelites into the Red Sea with the Egyptian army at their backs. The British generals would have laughed Moses right out of their map rooms. I mean the probabilities for success there were absolutely zilch.”
Yaacov clapped his hands. “Excellent analogy! Zilch. It is a good word. Go on.”
“Same principle applies. You use the laws and principles given to make your decisions. You don’t trust solely in your own abilities.”
The older man was staring down at his hands now, and Marc sensed a sudden sadness in him. He paused, but when Shoshani did not look up, he finished his line of reasoning. “The British sacrificed the lives of the people of Coventry to save Ultra. But what if they had warned the people, yet the Germans still did not suspect what was wrong. The Ultra secret would have been saved anyway.”
Finally, Yaacov looked up, nodding very slowly.
“You want to talk about probabilities. Consider that one, that all those people were sacrificed for nothing.”
“Exactly,” Yaacov said in a voice so low that Marc had to lean forward to hear him. “And so few of my students could ever see that. So very few.” There was a long pause. “Including my own son.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Alex and Derek were about eighth or ninth back in the line of people coming off the United Airlines flight from Dulles International. Valerie spotted them at the same time Ardith did. “There they are,” Ardith said. She waved, and they both started forward, but Valerie suddenly stopped. Two or three paces behind Alex, she saw Jackie, with Marc at her elbow. He was carrying her overnight case along with his own clothing bag and briefcase.
Valerie looked away quickly, the stab of disappointment like a physical blow. So much for the schoolgirl flutter and quickening pulse, she thought bitterly.
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