by Haydn Jones
Vicki listened, smiling broadly. "Yeah, that would be nice. Come here and kiss me you handsome beast."
"How can I refuse an offer like that?" Rob duly obliged.
Washington DC (Three days later)
Rob and Vicki had enjoyed the lunch with his boss, Conrad, and it was great to catch up with the goings on of his old department and colleagues. It was over a year ago when Conrad offered McPherson the chance to go to Houston and a lot had happened in that time. Some of the experiences had been truly wonderful, some had been truly frightening.
"He really is a nice guy, isn't he?" Vicki said, looking out of the taxi window at the Smithsonian Institute.
"He certainly is, darling, and he knows a good restaurant too."
"Yeah, the meal was excellent. I enjoyed the fish very much."
"Look, that's my apartment over there." McPherson said pointing to a large Parisian Style stone building.
"Can you pull over there please, by the hydrant?" The taxi driver duly obliged.
Minutes later McPherson opened the door to his apartment and gestured Vicki to go in. The room smelt of fresh flowers and polish. Most of the furniture was covered in dust sheets and on the small Georgian entrance table was a bowl of fresh fruit and a welcome note from the housemaid. Maria you are wonderful.
Vicki walked tentatively into the sunlit room and looked around. " It's a lovely apartment."
"It's okay isn't it? We'll take some of the small stuff with us and the rest we'll leave for the movers to box up for storage."
"Doesn't it make you feel sad to come back here? It must hold so many memories?" Vicki asked nervously.
“No... sad isn't the right word. I was happy here, I won't deny it but I don't miss it at all now darling. I've moved on. I've got a beautiful wife and a wonderful son, that's far more important." McPherson gently stroked Vicki's cheek with his finger. "The place is full of memories, luckily most of them are good ones." He then remembered the day when he walked into the bedroom and Amanda sat up in bed; told him she was leaving him for another man and he visibly shuddered. Unaware, Vicki strolled around the living room looking at the various photographs hanging on the walls and feeling comfortable with the situation. It was obvious who Amanda was and how beautiful she looked, but she didn't feel threatened by her at all. Very photogenic, she thought.
One picture attracted Vick's attention. It was Rob and another man and the setting appeared to be Cambridge.
"This is a nice photo of you. Was it taken when you were at Cambridge?"
“Yes, it was."
"Who's the other guy with the scare across his eye?"
"That's a guy called, Habib. He was a brilliant young scientist."
"Was?" enquired Vicki, with a frown.
Rob joined her next to the photograph of Habib and himself stood with their arms around each other’s shoulders and smiling broadly. The young undergraduates were posing outside the splendid late Gothic chapel of King's College Cambridge. The scene was illuminated by a soft winter sun that cast long shadows.
Rob pointed to his friend in the picture. "He was the son of a very wealthy Afghan business man. On a visit to his homeland the inevitable happened and he was kidnapped. A huge ransom was paid for his release but he was never seen alive again. His decapitated body turned up some months later and he was I believe, buried in Kabul. He was a great guy and a close friend. I wanted to go to his funeral but 'Uncle Sam' had other ideas for me at the time."
"How awful. What a terrible waste of life.” Vicki said, sadly.
"It was a terrible waste, because he was a genuinely brilliant scientist."
"It looks beautiful in the snow, Rob; like a picture postcard."
“Yes — now can we please do what we came here to do?"
“Sorry, darling, what can I do to help?" Vicki asked with enthusiasm.
Thirty-Four
The Ellington Building two days later.
It was eleven o'clock in the morning and the control room was a frenzy of excitement as more signals were being picked up and recorded. This particular transmission was longer than any of the others and after seven minutes it was still transmitting.
"As soon as we have the full transmission, let’s get to work on it guys." McPherson said, excitedly.
Everyone was standing and looking at the large screen displays as statistical information about the transmission started to flash up. Vicki was busy repositioning the satellites for the military and reprogramming the signal routing when by mistake a top secret bulletin flashed up on her monitor. She stared at the screen in disbelief as an image of Rob's university friend appeared to stare back at her. Quickly she changed the screen image. Unnoticed in the noise and excitement she purposefully walked out of the room and headed for her office, deep in thought. When Vicki arrived she closed the door behind her and switched on her monitor. A few key taps later and she was looking at Habib's image again. Opening a desk draw she pulled out the photo of Rob and his friend Habib taken from Rob's apartment in Washington, a photo she really liked. Carefully she compared the facial scars on both images. Vicki remembered Rob's words. His decapitated body turned up some months later and he was, I believe, buried in Kabul.
"This guy was not buried in Kabul." Vicki said out loud. "This guy is very much alive."
Rob was staring at his monitor when Vicki walked back into the control room. Grabbing a chair next to him she sat down.
“Rob...Rob."
“Sorry, darling, what did you say?"
“Rob, I need to speak to you."
"Not now please, we're very busy and right in the middle of a transmission. Can't it wait?"
Vicki looked around the room. “No, this can't wait, Rob."
"What is it, that's so important?"
"Not here...... In my office, NOW.”
McPherson stared in silent disbelief at the image on the screen.
"It's him all right, it's Habib...What the fuck is going on Vicki?"
"I don't know, Rob, but we need to let Hunter in on this one." Vicki said sternly.
McPherson picked up the phone and pressed a fast dial button.
“Hunter, it's Rob here, Vicki and I need to see you now, it's very important… Okay, we'll come straight over. Let's go, he'll see us now.”
Two minute later Linda Washington was showing them into Hunter’s office.
“Thanks, Linda. Can you sort out some coffee for us please?"
"Sure thing, sir.”
“Okay, guys, sit down please and let's talk. Don't tell me you two want out just as things are getting exciting?" Hunter sounded anxious.
"Don't worry, Colin, it's nothing like that."
"Then what is it, guys?" Hunter asked, enthusiastically.
McPherson looked across at Vicki in silence, for a brief moment, and she nodded.
"When I was at Cambridge University, I befriended a young enthusiastic student from Afghanistan by the name of Habib."
Hunter's face donned a bemused frown.
“Please, hear me out." McPherson continued. "Habib was a brilliant scientist specializing in human biology. After obtaining his doctorate he worked for the British Government at Aldermaston where, I believe, he specialized in the development of extreme toxins and nerve gas for chemical warfare." Vicki and Hunter were absorbing every word McPherson uttered. "He was supposedly kidnapped and beheaded in Afghanistan some eight years or so ago."
“Rob, I don't understand, what has this got to do with our project?"
“Nothing." McPherson answered bluntly.
"Then why are we talking about someone who's dead?"
Rob again looked at Vicki. "Because he's not dead, and the CIA have flagged him up as an active terrorist answering to the name of Ahmed Shah. Can we use your monitor please?" McPherson asked.
"Feel free." Hunter gestured to the screen.
Vicki walked over to his keyboard and typed in some information. "This is information I accidentally received during the satellite changeover. The tra
nsmission wasn't meant for my eyes and it is top-secret.” Vicki admitted. "But I believe it's critical that you see it sir."
"Go ahead." Hunter was intrigued and leaned forward toward the monitor expectantly.
On the screen Vicki manipulated two photos of Habib side by side, one was from the Cambridge photo, both had exploded views of the scar across the subjects right eye.
Hunter carefully scrutinized the images in front of him for a few moments, thoughtfully rubbing his chin with his index finger and thumb. "Houston, we have a problem,” he finally commented, picking up the phone.
Thirty-Five
Pyongyang, North Korean Capital
Ahmed Shah and Ramazan-Ali stood outside the 43 story twin towered Koryo Hotel, looking at the thirty-foot wide jade dragon's mouth that led into the expansive marble-like hotel lobby. Next to them stood a uniformed, armed guard who spoke broken English. He and others had been their constant chaperones since they exited the Air Koryo flight from Bangkok at Sunan International Airport some two hours before. The hotel boasted five hundred rooms. Most of the year only fifty or so rooms would be taken, mainly by international arms dealers. There were bars, a swimming pool, restaurants and a casino in the basement for guests and party members only. One of the rooms was permanently taken by an American citizen.
They were instructed to stay in the hotel overnight and be ready to be picked up at eight o'clock in the morning by an official, for a meeting at a nearby government building that the guard had pointed out only moments ago. Ahmed Shah looked around at the spacious empty plaza. The evening sun was shining and warm on their backs and the willow trees all around wavered gently in the breeze, softening the hard sterile feel of the city. Where is everyone? The guard gestured with his arm and the two new arrivals walked through the dragon's mouth into the hotel.
"Luggage already in rooms please." The guard informed them, looking back at them as he walked away.
Shah didn't like the feel of the place but then that didn't matter. They would be gone tomorrow, a lot richer after the North Koreans had bought their wares.
Shah looked at Raman-Ali. "Breakfast at six forty-five, because we have a lot to talk about."
He nodded his approval. His facial expression showed no emotion but he looked uncomfortable.
The morning came quickly and Shah had already showered and dressed by six o'clock. He was wearing a black suite, white shirt and blue tie, not his normal attire but something appropriate under the circumstances. He felt on edge and lit a cigarette to calm himself. Looking out of the hotel window he could see the Taedong River that flowed through the capital city. The sun was up and the sky was a cloudless azure blue. A nice day to do business.
Opening his laptop he started up the slideshow presentation and mentally rehearsed his pitch for each of the slides. He knew that any more than ten slides would be risky if some of the military audience didn't speak English. Four of the images showed American nuclear warheads being transported and positioned on Israeli soil by US troops. One slide showed a supposedly official military document with approved US target coordinates for the nuclear warheads as Pyongyang and three other suspected nuclear testing and manufacturing sites, two in the North and one four-hundred-miles south of the capital. Shah would only have one shot at this and it needed to sound convincing. Nobody pays a million dollars without a very good reason.
Thirty-Six
The White House, Washington DC
Joseph Turay was fifty-one-years-old and the Secretary-General of the United Nations. As a child he had experienced real poverty and, as a child, he nearly died of starvation. But those memories were fading with everyday that passed. His African homeland of Ethiopia, known now as the Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia, was somewhere he had not visited in over two years. His homeland had no appeal anymore. It was so far removed from the lifestyle he now relished, yet he was clever, manipulative, assertive and confident, very confident. He is one of the Oromo people and lived with his three sisters and three brothers south east of Addis Ababa in the region known as Oromia. The name Oromo means 'The Powerful’. Whatever the President wanted him to agree to, was not going to be easy, if he didn't see a good reason for it. The chair creaked under his large mass as he fidgeted impatiently in his expensive Italian suit. He was not used to being kept waiting.
Double doors opened.
“Joseph.”
"Mr. President.” Turay forced his large frame into a standing position and held out his big hand.
"Good to see you again. You look well. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." Both men shook hands enthusiastically "Please come in, I've arranged for your favorite tea."
Joseph Turay adored Earl Grey and shortbread cookies, and their imminent arrival brought a wide smile to his face exposing an array of gleaming white teeth, exaggerated by his ebony skin.
"Please sit down, tea won't be long." The President pointed to two leather chesterfields separated by a low table in front of an open fireplace that housed a black wrought iron log cradle made up with apple wood logs which gave off a sweet scent not unfamiliar to Turay.
"Thank you. You know, when I was a boy in Africa, time went sooooo slow. Now, life is just like a runner-wayyyy trainnnn."
As Joseph Turay sat down the tea and cookies arrived on a tray carried by a maid. As she placed the tray on the table in front of him the subtle smell of bergamot oil filled his nostrils.
"Thank you, Alison...I now exactly what you mean Joseph. There's not enough hours in the day anymore.” The suit, the watch, the shoes. The Patek must be worth ten primary schools. This man likes the good-life that's for sure. Use it to your advantage. "How's my favorite city, Joseph?"
"New York...She's doing jus fine, tank you."
"That's good...Okay my friend, let's get down to business. You are, I know, fully aware of the situation and it appears to be worsening by the minute."
"Dis morning, North Korea publicly accused da US of planning a nuclear strike from sites in Israel."
“Yes, I know, Joseph — I can only assume they want to attack us, because that is a complete fabrication."
"You are telling me dat... it is not true?"
"Joseph, you have my word. My problem is convincing the military that we should not preempt an attack by North Korea, and that my friend, is getting harder to do by the day. We are watching them via satellite and the activity is disturbing. They are moving hardware and rockets into areas we consider to be their nuclear facilities. We cannot allow their propaganda machine to put the blame on us when it's them that are the aggressors."
The Secretary-General sipped his tea and looked deep into the President’s eyes. "Are you asking de United Nations to back a preemptive strike by da United States on North Korea?"
"If it gets to that point, yes."
"Der is no way dat will happen."
"What if we can prove an attack is imminent?"
"How would you do dat, Mr. President?"
The President paused and breathed in..."More tea, Joseph?...You are, I know, aware that if we cannot get the UN's backing on this and we know that a nuclear strike is imminent we will go it alone."
"I hope dat day never comes."
“Joseph, so do I, but we cannot bury our heads in the sand. We are dealing with a county that has turned its back on the world. Most of its people are starving and completely brainwashed. It is a dangerous, paranoid regime that we are dealing with here". The President leaned forward to make the point even more poignant. "Only yesterday we found out that there is cooperation between North Korea and a terrorist group operating out of Pakistan. Who knows what they're planning?"
"You can never be certain, can you? Nothing in dis world is certain, except death of course. If you preempt dem with a nuclear strike of your own it could be da end of all of us. As da President of da United States are you prepared to take dat risk?"
"Every US President, since the introduction of weapons of mass destruction has had to accept that the situation could ar
ise and therefore by accepting the presidency we carry that burden every day. We hope to God that it will never happen."
"By using Israel as your base you have already alienated Russia, China and every Muslim country in da world." Joseph Turay sipped his tea and waited for the reaction.
"By that statement I can only assume Joseph, that you don't believe a word I've said." The President's tone had hardened. "If we are to go it alone we will need considerable funds. It will be necessary for me to advise the Secretary of the Treasury to pull back on any foreign aid to Africa." The President sipped his tea and waited for Turay's reaction.
Turay wrestled with the words for a while. "Dat would not be good for millions of people. People dat don't have enough food or clean water to live on; even today."
"Joseph, off the record... you know and I know that Africa is poor because the people who run Africa want it that way."
Turay lowered his head to avoid eye contact. "They are power mad despots with private bank accounts that are bursting at the seams with foreign aid money that was meant for their people — People, who are unfortunately, a secondary consideration to their leaders’ egos. Corrupt leaders, you and I despise."
Turay looked up and made eye contact again.
"Let me ask you something, Mister Secretary-General. What can the US do for Joseph Turay, that will guarantee us the support of the United Nations?"
“Dat, Mr. President, is a very different question." Turay said, smiling broadly.
"I believe the Security Council meeting in New York is planned for tomorrow. Is that right, Joseph?"
"Yes, dat is correct. In de morning, at nine o'clock."
