The Beirut Conspiracy

by John R Childress

  Chapter Nine

  Charlottesville Airport

  “Do you have a pen and a piece of paper?” Matt looked at Nicole after parking the car in the long term lot at Charlottesville Airport. “I need to tell Jeremy where his car is.” His new partner dug into her purse. Matt scribbled a short note: “Jerry, Your car is at Charlottesville Airport. Keys inside the left front bumper. Keep mum and I’ll explain some day. Thanks for the wheels and the Scotch, Doc.”

  Thirty minutes later they were on the road in a new Pontiac Firebird, heading north for Washington, D.C.

  In the airport terminal Nicole used a pay phone to call her contact, the former CIA operative. “So what did your friend say?” Matt asked.

  “Well, to tell you the truth, he asked me how I was and why I hadn’t called him for two years,” she said. “And he said Uncle Bob retired last year. Then he wanted to know if I was serious about this guy I was bringing around.”

  “He’s your father?”

  “Yes, he’s my father. You got a problem with that? I told you I trusted him. He’s about the only man I do trust, though my mother certainly doesn’t. They divorced when I was young and she hardly ever let me visit him. Said he was a loner, a womanizer and a drunk. Remind you of anyone?”

  “Don’t provoke me, woman. I’m at the wheel of a dangerous vehicle and I know how to use it.”

  They lapsed into silence.

  “Penny for them,” Nicole said.

  Am I ready to tell her about Maha’s death? “Thinking about the death of my brother. Seems I lost faith in the future when it happened. And right now, everything seems confusing in my mind.”

  “You’re sober, probably for the first time in years.”

  “True.”

  “But?”

  He glanced at her. “I was just wondering if it’s not too late to make something positive of my life.”

  “I have no doubt, Matt.” As she glanced out the window her smile changed to horror.

  “Matt, look out!” Nicole screamed as a big green car roared up alongside and swerved into them, jolting the little Firebird. There was a sickening crunch of metal, and then the attacker veered away.

  “Shit.” he yelled, seeing the Buick with two familiar male occupants. Hairy Ears and Scarface. “They’re going to ram us again.” He jammed his foot on the accelerator. The rented Firebird shot ahead, but quickly reached the engine’s limit.

  “We can’t outrun them,” Nicole yelled. “Matt, what are you doing?”

  “Trying to save our lives,” as he watched the black car loom in the rear view mirror. “Come on, assholes, floor it. You can do it. You can catch us.” Both cars were at nearly 100 miles per hour. The Buick pulled alongside. He could clearly see Scarface sneering from the passenger seat. A shotgun appeared as the window rolled down.

  “Hold on.” Matt swerved at the Buick, which jerked away. Matt jammed down hard on the breaks, struggling to keep the Firebird in a straight line. The Buick shot past, but a second later braked hard. The heavy vehicle skidded on its mushy suspension. Smoking tires slid on the asphalt. Both cars entered the sharp bend at the same time, the Firebird’s traction holding up. The big top-heavy Buick couldn’t gain a secure grip. The car careened off the road, down into the median strip and up into the other lane. Head on traffic hurtled towards them.

  Matt watched as the Buick frantically maneuvered to avoid a head-on collision. It veered off the road, bounced over a concrete shoulder and slammed into an oak tree. There was a loud explosion as the car burst into flames. Matt gunned the Firebird.

  Nicole was shaking and pale. “What’s happening? Why are people trying to kill you? How do they know where to find you?”

  Matt brought the speed down to sixty. His hands shook on the wheel. The rear view mirror was filled with cars stopped on the highway near the burning wreck.

  “They seem to know right where I am. Just who did you really call back there at the airport?”

  “I told you, my father. You don’t think I’m somehow connected with all this? That I’m leading them to you?” She hit him repeatedly on the arm. “Stop this God damned car right now. I want out. You’re not only crazy, you’re paranoid. I’m the only friend you’ve got, asshole. Is this how you drive people away? No wonder you’re a drunk and a loner. Now let me out.” Tears blinded her.

  “Okay, okay. Look, I’m sorry. But I’ve been kidnapped, given a face transplant, seen an innocent young girl slaughtered before my eyes, and nearly run off the road by two goons. Who am I supposed to trust? Every time I look in the mirror I see a stranger staring back at me. I don’t even trust myself.” He looked over at Nicole. She was huddled against the passenger door, bloodshot eyes staring at him. “Screw it,” he said, watching the highway.

  After twenty minutes, Matt tried again. “Look, I’m sorry. You’re right, I don’t have any friends, and from the way things are going, it looks like I’ve got a limited future. Thanks for trying to help me.” Through his new face he managed what he hoped was a sincere smile. “The face may be artificial, but the sincerity isn’t. I mean it. Thank you. And I need you to help me. I’m scared. What do you say?”

  She wiped her nose. “Yeah. Well since I’m in this car and I’m still alive we might as well try and find some solution to this mess. But I swear to God if you ever doubt me again I’ll turn you over to the CIA, Mossad, KGB, MI5 and even Osama bin Laden.”

  “There’s no KGB anymore.”

  “Matt!”

  “Okay. Do you know why someone is trying to kill me and how they’ve been able to find me so easily?” Matt kept the Firebird just below the speed limit. “All I can figure out is they think I know something. And I don’t have any idea what it could be. But I’m going to find out. If they’re going to snuff out my life, then I’m going to know what I’m dying for. It must have something to do with a terrorist cell and the suicide attack on the President.”

  Nicole stared. “What do you know about that attack?”

  “I’ve got no real proof.”

  “Tell me everything. Right now.”

  Matt slipped the car nimbly around an eighteen wheeler. Where to begin. “The woman suicide bomber, the one they keep showing on the news? Well, I know her. More accurately, I knew her, once.” He explained how Bedouina died in the bombing incident at a Beirut restaurant in April 1969, along with his girlfriend and his roommate. “She died. And yet when I saw the newscast I knew who it was. The same woman. But it couldn’t be. Could it?” Matt’s composure crumbled. He blinked back the tears and concentrated on the traffic. “They were incinerated. Samir, Bedouina and Maha. Gone in an instant.”

  Nicole placed her hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know, Matt, but something’s wrong, terribly wrong. It’s like you’re an expendable pawn in a deadly game and its way bigger than both of us.”

  Matt put his hand over hers. God I’m scared. And tired. “I can’t do this, Nicole. I’m not a spook and I’m certainly not a hero-I’m just a washed-out doctor and recovering drunk. Look, when we get to Washington I’ll drop you off at your father’s place and then I’m going to the FBI to turn myself in. I’ll be safe there. I’ll tell them everything. They can play hero and stop these bastards.”

  “No, Matt. If you go to the FBI, the CIA or even the D.C. police, you’ll be dead within hours. Think about it. How do you think these guys operate so freely inside the United States? They’ve bought somebody high up is my guess. I wouldn’t trust anybody in an official capacity at this moment. And if they get to you they’ll find out about me one way or another. And I’m not ready to depart this planet yet. I don’t have my required two and a half kids, a dog and a cat.”

  “But I can’t embroil you in all of this.”

  “I’m already in it. I know too much and I’ve seen too much. We live or die together. And my vote is we live.” Nicole smiled. “So you just drive like a normal commuter into Washington and we’ll go see my father. Besides, you and he will probably get along famously.”r />
  Two hours later, Matt parked the Firebird on a side street in Georgetown, a trendy suburb of Washington. Matt locked the leather valise in the trunk. Now what? Nicole stopped at a phone booth in front of a small restaurant. She dialed the number quickly.

  “He’s expecting us,” she said emerging from the booth. After a short walk she abruptly cut through someone’s backyard and into an alley. They reached a rotting wooden fence with the gate open. Nicole headed for the back porch of a dilapidated brick row house. She opened the screen door and reached under the sisal mat for the key. Matt was about to ask her father’s name.

  “He’s got a bug on him.” A rough voice sounded as if it was coming from inside a closet. “Tell him to lie down and remove his clothes.”

  “I’ve got ears, I can hear you,” Matt called out. Who is this guy?

  “I don’t give a shit about you. It’s my daughter I’m concerned about. Now lie down on the kitchen floor and remove your clothes. I’ve got a scanner here picking up an implanted homing signal. We need to locate it and get it out of your body quickly, before they pinpoint our location. I just hope it’s not in some messy place, like the last guy.”

  “What happened to him?” Matt said apprehensively, whipping off his shirt, shoes, pants and underwear.

  “He exploded. Took me a week to get the stench of body parts off my skin.” The closet door opened and out stepped an elderly man with shock white hair, olive skin and a prominent nose. He carried what looked like a miniature Geiger counter. Nicole stood at the far end of the kitchen. Her father proceeded to sweep the machine slowly and expertly over Matt’s naked body.

  “For Christ’s sake, hurry up, this tile floor is freezing. I’m shriveling up,” Matt cried.

  “Well, if that’s shriveled, then I am definitely impressed,” Nicole grinned.

  “Shut up, Nicole. You’re just like your mother,” her father said, “nothing but sex on the brain. I found it. Raise your left arm-Dr. Richards, isn’t it? Do you have a scar under your armpit?”

  Matt shook his head.

  “I hate to tell you, but someone gave you one recently. My guess is they planted an XT3400 homing device just under the skin. Has a range of twenty-five miles and lasts for three months. You’re life isn’t exceptionally important to these people, it seems to me, otherwise they would have used the longer-lasting model.” He smiled. “Now, get your pants on. If the nurse would oblige me, I need to extricate this little package and send it on its way. Do you want a shot of a mild anesthetic or a large belt of whiskey?”

  “Neither. Just watch out for the brachial artery,” Matt pulled on his underwear and pants. “Who normally uses this type of bug?”

  “They’re not easy to get hold of. Used quite a lot by the CIA, MI6, and some of the more sophisticated foreign intelligence agencies.”

  A quarter of an hour later Matt had a line of expertly sewn sutures in his armpit. Nicole handed him a pocket mirror. “You should have been a surgeon,” he said.

  The old man was placing the small metal broadcasting unit into a brightly colored Federal Express pack. “Nicole, I’ll be back in about half an hour. There’s a FedEx collection center not too far away. With any luck, our little package will arrive in Rio Grande, Tierra del Fuego early tomorrow morning. Whoever’s monitoring this little homing device will go nuts tracking it.” He waved and let the screen door slam shut.

  “What’s his name?” Matt asked Nicole as he put on his shirt. Nicole set a large pot of hot tea on the table.

  “His legal name is Elijah Tajikian. His father was an Armenian diplomat in Paris. His mother was French. He’s an only child. I don’t know much about my father’s life, other than his mother brought him to the States when he was just an infant. It seems that his father disappeared under strange circumstances in the mid 1930s and they never saw him again. My dad married a French Canadian from Quebec and I was born in 1960. By that time he was working for the CIA and rarely home, and when he was he couldn’t talk about his work. After he and my mother split up, I hardly saw him. But he would always send me postcards and parcels from exotic locations. He’s still somewhat of a stranger to me, but he’s good at the spook stuff and he’s the only man I even remotely trust.”

  “And your last name, Delacluse?”

  “My mother’s maiden name. I grew up under her roof so I took her name.”

  Matt finished dressing and looked around the kitchen. The faded linoleum floors and chipped Formica counters described the existence of a man for whom home life had never been a high priority.

  “What are you thinking, Matt?”

  He stared at her. “Your reporter instinct buzzing?”

  “You were far away for a few seconds. What’s up?”

  “Oh, just wondering if I’ll wind up like your father. Alone.” If I live that long.

  “Have some hot tea, Dr. Richards.” Nicole smiled, pouring the fragrant Earl Grey into a mug.

  “Tea would be great,” he said somewhat embarrassed that she had seen him totally naked. Even after all those years as a physician seeing countless people naked he never really got used to other people seeing him without clothes. “And I wouldn’t mind a hot bath. I feel as if I’ve got a year’s worth of grime all over me.”

  “Drink your tea. I’ll go upstairs and run the tub. First floor, second door on the left when you’re ready.”

  As Matt savored a mug of Earl Grey he went over in his mind what had happened since he woke up in a private hospital with someone else’s face. Whoever they are they’ve got a lot to lose – or a lot to gain.

  Unfortunately, wherever he went he was leaving dead people. He said a silent prayer for the student killed by a sniper. He also mourned beautiful, vivacious Kelly Stevens, killed in the automobile accident. Both Harry Ears and Scarface were dead, toast actually. He smiled at the fact that there was still some justice left.

  Who’s chasing me? And why? His thoughts turned to Senator Stevens trying to avenge the death of his daughter. He sipped from the mug. Or it could be the CIA. After all, it had to take some pretty well-placed people to establish a connection, even as far fetched as it was, between himself, his friends from Beirut in the 1960s and a cell of terrorists operating in the United States.

  “Bath’s ready.” Nicole called.

  He trudged up the stairs, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. A door with a brass knob stood half open.

  “Aren’t you going to take a bath? The water’s nice and hot.” Nicole’s voice came from deep inside the room.

  He pushed through the door into a small guest room then saw another door beyond, steam pouring out. After slipping off his shoes and socks and unbuttoning his shirt, Matt headed for the bath. Just inside he stopped.

  “There’s a water shortage in D.C. and the mayor is encouraging everyone to conserve. The official slogan is ‘Share a bath with a friend’ so let’s not let this nice hot water go to waste, shall we?” Nicole snuggled down inside the tub, a thick carpet of glistening bubbles covering her body. “And hurry up, my feet need a good scrubbing.”

  She was gentle as she touched him, her fingertips tracing the contoured scar next to his hairline. “It doesn’t really show.”

  “I can feel it every time I move. You can’t imagine. It’s like an alien has grafted itself onto me. And into my soul. Sometimes I just want to tear it off.”

  Nicole kissed him on the forehead. “One day, when all this is over, you’ll feel more comfortable.”

  “I want my old face back. It was wrinkled and dissipated by booze, but it was mine. Now I’m even a stranger to myself.” He shrugged. “Want to make love to an international assassin?”

  “No. I want to make love to you.”

  ***

  The Hart Senate Office Building

  Senator Stevens counted the rings from his cell phone. As per instructions he picked up on the fifth ring. “Yes?”

  “The situation is becoming complex,” the scrambled voice said.

  “Jesu
s, now what have you guys gone and fucked up?” the senator glanced across the room to make certain his door was closed. There wasn’t much privacy in the Hart Senate Office Building on Constitution Avenue. Wearily he sat down on the leather sofa, putting his feet on the coffee table.

  The voice came alive again. “The contractors we hired to track down our lost package met with an unfortunate accident. We have lost contact.”

  “Is this a joke? Are you telling me you’re worse off than when this whole thing started? You people can’t do anything right.”

  “Let me remind you, Senator, we’re in this together. Up to our necks. If you start thinking differently you can kiss your political career goodbye. So don’t worry, we’ll find our lost package. At the same time we are proceeding with the investigation of the others from Beirut who might be involved. You can either give us some assistance or stay quiet and let us get on with our work. I understand you Americans have to talk tough in order to feel important but it does get tedious. Besides, before too many more years China will be kicking your ass all over the globe. In the meantime I’m stuck with you, so if you have any brilliant ideas, which I very much doubt, give me a call. Otherwise I’ll let you know when we have both packages…”

  Stevens kicked off his shoes. “Who’s the other package?”

  “A woman. Delacluse. Nicole Delacluse. She works for the International Herald Tribune as a political journalist. She’s spent most of her career in Europe although she’s American by birth.”

  “Track her down. All her friends and relatives as well.” Stevens glanced at his Rolex. In an hour he was scheduled to meet with Dr. Finch, director of the CIA. “Better yet I’ll get my spooks to check on this Delacluse woman. They owe me some big favors. I’ll let you know if I find out anything. And try not to make things worse.”

  Chapter Ten

  Georgetown

  “You’re late.” Nicole watched her father come through the door and hang his overcoat on a hook.