“I shouldn’t worry about that,” Donovan replied. “You’re to have the best care Britain can provide…by order of no lesser authority the Royal Household. You helped save the lives of the entire Royal Family, not to mention the extinguished Archbishop. I shouldn’t be surprised if you were offered a knighthood.”
“Sir Robin?” Emily tried the title on him for size.
Fox laughed and shook his head. “That’s just too Monty Python.”
“Besides,” said Donovan, “as an American, I’m sorry to say you couldn’t claim the title of ‘sir.’”
“Just as well. I got enough of that in the Army to last a lifetime.”
“I’m sorry to break this to you,” Donovan said, with another glance at the opulent surroundings, “but they say you can probably be discharged soon. What’s next for you? Would you like to stay in England for a while, to help us wrap things up? Acknowledge the accolades?”
Fox shook his head. “I need to get back to work. I’ve missed enough classes already. I can only hope that saving Western civilization doesn’t ruin my chances for tenure.”
That reminded him of the one remaining loose end. It wasn’t only Western civilization that had been under threat.
“Ahmad is still out there,” he said to Adler. “The Hajj isn’t until October, and now that we have Gottlieb and the rest of his team, there’s no telling whether he still intends to carry out his part in the plan. But still, you’ll make sure the Saudis are properly forewarned, right?”
“Yes.” Adler looked at him and nodded. “Yes, of course. So, as soon as they say you’re ready to go, we’ll have a brief session with the press, and then catch the next flight back to Washington. How’s that?”
“Sounds good.”
“And you may not be able to join Her Majesty for tea at Buckingham Palace,” Donovan added, “but I should think we all definitely deserve a pint at Buckingham Arms.”
22
OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
SUNDAY, APRIL 5
EASTER SUNDAY
Another business class flight, this time courtesy of the CIA, on British Airways direct to Washington. The beef-and-Stilton pie was better than Fox had expected, and this time, he had no compunction about sampling from the wine list. Yet, strangely, he felt as little able to relax and enjoy the trip as he had on the way to Tel Aviv.
It was over. Gottlieb was dead, and all but one of his minions were in custody. Ahmad was still at large, but it was only a matter of time before the authorities tracked him down.
What, then, was this nagging unease in Fox’s chest that he couldn’t shake? He recalled the last time he had had to ask that question, about a mission that by any conventional measure was a success.
I’ve never killed anyone, he had said to Gottlieb. But full disclosure would have required him to add: At least, not directly.
In his mind’s eye, he stood once again in Colonel Matthews’ office, facing his commander across the marble-topped desk inherited from Saddam Hussein.
“The report is in from our boys in Ramadi,” Matthews was saying. “They recovered enough evidence to verify that your analysis was exactly right. They found equipment for producing biological agents at scale, empty mortar shells, and machines for filling them. And Saif al-Jaffari has been confirmed EKIA.”
Enemy Killed in Action. Fox wondered why he couldn’t just say “dead.”
“Was there any contamination of the surrounding area, sir?”
Matthews shook his head. “All he had was a small sample of the virus. They hadn’t even begun the production process. No health risk detectable.”
Fox dreaded asking the next question. “And the hospital really was a hospital, wasn’t it, sir?”
He nodded. “They investigated that. It seems that Zuhairi offered the hospital some kind of deal: AQI gave them funds from their Saudi sponsors to renovate it and put in new equipment, in exchange for letting them set up shop out in back. Well, they choose that strategy, they get what’s coming to them. Those that sow the wind shall reap the whirlwind.”
“Do we know how many civilian casualties there were, sir?”
Matthews shrugged with an abstracted look, as though Fox had just asked him the population of New York—a detail that at some level he felt he ought to know, but was of no great consequence if he couldn’t call it to mind at the moment. “A couple dozen, maybe.”
“Children, sir?”
“Yeah, most of them, probably.”
Fox bowed his head.
“Yes,” Matthews went on with a sigh, “when al-Jazeera and the Stateside networks get their claws on it, there’ll be a crapstorm, no way around it. But here’s what’s important to me. One of our highest priority targets is dead. A biological attack on American forces—which could have started a terrible epidemic back in the homeland—has been prevented. AQI’s germ factory is ashes. And all this was done without a single American casualty. You have the right to be proud of what you’ve done, Captain. I see a Bronze Star in your future.”
“Thank you, sir.” Fox tried to look suitably pleased, but the attempt fell flat.
There was something else Matthews needed to know. “Sir, it’s my duty to tell you that I’ve decided to file for conscientious objector status.”
Matthews looked up in surprise. “Why is that?”
“You can read the details in my application, sir.” He had listed numerous reasons, and Matthews had just unwittingly given him another: He felt he had to do something before he reached the point where he could watch the deaths of dozens of children, and see only a PR problem.
Matthews gave a resigned nod, as if to say that the decision disappointed him, but he still respected it.
“Fox.”
“Sir?”
“You did your job. And you did it very well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
At least, thought Fox, he didn’t call me a hero.
...
He looked to his right, where Emily was sleeping. The Celtic cross pendant around her neck gently rose and fell with her breathing. Her face was turned toward him, her eyes closed, her lips parted. It would have been a clear invitation to kiss her, if she had been conscious.
They had lived through more together in the past week than most married couples do in a lifetime. And here, between continents, in an indeterminate time zone, thirty thousand feet above reality, it was easy to entertain the illusion that the world belonged only to the two of them. But as soon as their wheels touched the ground, it would be his duty to let Rep. Frederick Paxton, D-MD, reclaim his rightful place at the center of her life. He had always tried not to begrudge the Congressman his good luck. At the same time, he found himself wishing that the pilot had taken the scenic route across Asia, the Pacific, and the entire North American continent, rather than this shortcut across the Atlantic.
Emily stirred and opened her eyes. Fox felt a momentary flush of embarrassment that she had caught him staring at her.
“Robin,” she said in a dreamy voice. “You owe me.”
“What?”
“You never gave me my back rub. Before I finished with you, you were already snoring.”
Fox smiled, and sighed internally with relief. “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you when we get back to Washington. I hope I didn’t keep you awake.”
She shook her head, closed her eyes again, and turned her face away.
He looked to his left, across the aisle, to where Adler was engaged in some prodigious snoring of his own. The stranger in the window seat next to him was rummaging through the amenities kit for earplugs.
“Yes,” Adler had said, when Fox had talked to him about alerting the Saudis to a possible attack on Mecca. Then he had looked at Fox, then nodded, then said, “Yes, of course.”
He hadn’t looked Fox in the eye until after he spoke. His gestures followed his speech, when in a sincere person, they would usually appear together. He had reiterated his answer with a “Yes, of course.” Three affirmatives were muc
h less convincing than one. And then he had quickly changed the subject. All the signs were pointing in one direction.
He had been lying.
...
As soon as they cleared customs at Dulles and emerged into the arrivals hall, an explosion of flashbulbs greeted them. In the midst of all the reporters stood a tall figure in a blue suit and red tie. When he saw them, he spread his arms wide. Emily broke into a run and leapt into them. They embraced and kissed, as all the camera lenses turned to point at the reunited couple.
A photographer stepped in front of Fox, snapping away and blocking his vision. It was just as well.
Eventually, the cameras retreated to make room for microphones. “Today is a great day,” the Congressman said. “My heartfelt thanks to the British police and Security Service, our embassy in London, and the United States Peace Research Institute. Once again, the staff has shown great courage and resourcefulness in their mission of protecting America’s interests without violence. May it continue to grow and expand, until the day when a Secretary of Peace sits on the Cabinet! I owe an unending debt of gratitude to all of them…especially Robin Fox! Robin, thank you for bringing this wonderful woman home to me!”
He extended his hand. As the reporters parted to let him through, Fox came forward to take it. The Congressman clasped Fox’s hand in one of his and Emily’s in the other, and lifted them high as another storm of flashbulbs erupted around him. He looked for all the world like an Olympic gold medalist acknowledging the silver and bronze winners, or a stage star inviting the supporting cast to join him in the curtain call.
23
WASHINGTON, D.C.
MONDAY, APRIL 6
Fox was back at work, trying to focus on his classes, and attend to the necessary paperwork for making up the ones he had missed, with his mind still reeling from the whole experience. Jet lag did not help matters at all.
As he sat in his office, staring blankly at a form he was supposed to be filling out, the conversation with Adler still kept running through his mind. He knew it would leave him no peace unless he did something about it.
He locked his office and headed downstairs without greeting Mirage, for fear that she would have another message from someone who needed him to do something. His feet automatically carried him to the intersection where they always paused to ask him whether he wanted to turn left, toward USPRI headquarters, or right, to catch the Metro home.
He stopped for a moment, and then kept going straight to New Hampshire Avenue, turned left, and walked up to a marble-and-glass façade with a green flag flying above it. Embossed in gold in the wall next to the door was a palm tree above two crossed scimitars, and the words: Embassy of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.
...
The next time his phone rang, Fox had no need to check the screen to know who it was. He inhaled deeply for two rings, exhaled for another two, and answered.
“Robin Fox.”
“What in the…” came an explosive voice from the other end. He held the receiver a few inches away from his ear, and waited for “…did you think you were doing?”
“John. Always a pleasure to hear from you.”
“What in the nine circles of hell gave you the idea that a civilian consultant like you has any business messing around in diplomatic affairs of this level?”
“What’s the problem, John? All I did was double-check to make sure the Saudis got your message. You know how easy it is for these things to get buried in bureaucracy. Stovepipe organization and all that.”
“Do you have any idea what a serious matter this is?”
“If you think you can charge me with a crime, then you’re most welcome to send the police over to arrest me. I already know all about the right to remain silent.”
Adler was silent himself for a moment, but the sound of his breath would have done credit to the fiercest of dragons.
Fox’s voice became ice to Adler’s fire. “Or did the message actually get sent in the first place? Could it be that you weren’t planning to tell them? That you were just going to stand by and let it happen?”
Silence.
“Give those damned hajjis a taste of their own medicine? Let them know what it feels like to be the target of a terror attack? Still thinking we have a little score to settle from September 11? Is that what you had in mind?”
“It’s not like that. What kind of monsters do you think we are?”
“You tell me, Adler. What kind of monsters are you?”
“It worked.”
“What are you talking about? What worked?”
“The antiserum. They administered it to everyone at the Vatican who had been exposed. And in the follow-up test, not one of them tested positive for Zagorsk. Since then, Rid has been cooking it up on a huge scale.”
“On a…” Fox broke off as Adler’s meaning slowly began to sink in. “So. A biological attack on Mecca, by a secular Afghani operating out of Britain, no connection to us. And then America gets to ride in on a white horse and save the day. Talk about winning hearts and minds. Is that what you were thinking?”
There was silence on the other end. As the full ramifications of Adler’s plan became clear to Fox, he felt a chill and a wave of nausea together, as if he were going to vomit ice water.
“And what would you have demanded in return?”
More silence.
“How very convenient. Potential outbreaks of Zagorsk all over the Muslim world, and the only known cure is an American trade secret. You could ask any government to do anything you wanted, and they could hardly refuse. A blackmailer’s paradise on a global scale.”
There was another pause. Then, “If one word of this gets out…”
“I know what the consequences would be, and believe me, I don’t want to see them any more than you do. If I were you, I’d be more worried about the consequences of your secret staying in. The consequences for your soul.”
Adler was silent long enough that it became apparent he had nothing further to say.
“John.”
“What?”
“Peace be with you.”
Adler hung up.
...
A wave of applause swept through the auditorium at USPRI headquarters. From the lectern, a beaming Leila nodded graciously to acknowledge it. Fox joined in enthusiastically, and glanced to either side of him to share a smile with Emily and Miriam.
As the applause tapered off, Leila kept the microphone. “I should give special thanks,” she added, “to three people without whom I would not be standing here today: Miriam Haddad, Emily Harper, and Robin Fox. And at this time of year, it seems appropriate to honor a very special Jewish gentleman, born in my hometown, who may have been the first-ever teacher of nonviolent resistance in occupied Palestine. So, to all my Christian friends: Happy Easter!”
The panelists and USPRI staff adjourned to Circa at Foggy Bottom, where Fox and Emily regaled Miriam and Leila with their stories from London. When Fox got to the part about the Archbishop of Canterbury, the waiter, with timing worthy of a master magician, arrived with his flaming crème brulée.
After dinner, the group dispersed, leaving Emily and Fox walking toward the Metro station together.
“It’s a beautiful evening,” Fox said. “Do you feel up for a walk around the garden?”
“Sure.”
They passed through the Sheen Hok Gate into the Dixon memorial garden, and strolled among the flowers in silence for a while.
“You know something,” Fox said.
“What’s that?”
They walked past a sundial. Time began in a garden, the inscription informed them. Right, Fox thought ruefully. Back when there was only one man and one woman in the world, with no further complications.
“You know something,” he said again.
“I like to think I know a few things,” she replied, “but I don’t know which one you’re talking about.”
He took a deep breath.
“Back in Gottlieb’s hou
se, after the firefighter took you, and I blacked out—at that moment, I was sure that my life was over. And the one thing on my mind was…”
His voice trailed off.
“Was?” she prompted.
He took another deep breath and tried to calm the pounding of his heart.
“Was…”
Now or never.
“ ‘Now I’ll know.’ I’ve spent all these years studying the world’s religions, learning all the different ways they envisioned life after death. And now, here I was, about to discover it myself. The culmination of all my research. I didn’t feel any fear at all. In fact, it was the most exciting moment of my life.”
Coward, coward, coward! You faced a poisoner, an armed madman, a fire, the wrath of the CIA, even the drivers on Israeli highways…and now, at this of all moments, your courage fails you?
“So,” she said, “are you disappointed that you’ll have to stay in this world a while longer?”
“Well, it does have its compensations.” He was just bold enough to add: “You’re one of them.”
She turned to him with a smile. “I’m glad you feel that way. Because there are a lot of people who would have been very sad if you had chosen to pursue your research to the end. I’m one of them.”
They came full circle, back to the gate. She turned to him, wrapped her arms around him, and held him close.
Ah, with moments like these, who needs Heaven?
She released him partway. They stood, arms lightly holding each other, forehead touching forehead, nose almost touching nose. The slightest inclination of the head, just a degree or two in either direction, would clear the way to a fearsome, forbidden, fabulous point of no return.
They kissed.
One chaste little peck on the right cheek, and one on the left. Their lips were the identical poles of two powerful magnets: bring them close enough together and they would connect, at any point but that one.
“See you tomorrow?”
“Definitely.”
“Good night, Robin.”
“Good night, Emily.”
Mind Virus Page 25
