The Falcon and His Desert Rose

by George R. Lasher

  “Ask him to take a seat and let him know that I’ll see him shortly,” the doctor instructed.

  “What’s his name?” Thomas asked.

  Doctor Rosenberg pressed the mute button on the phone and asked, “Why?”

  “Last night I kind’a got a feel for who were the flunkies and who were the agents in charge. I just wondered if this might be someone up the ladder, or just a go-fer.”

  On the speaker, the voice of the receptionist sounded nervous as she asked, “Doctor Rosenberg, he says he’s in a hurry. What should I tell him?”

  Pushing the button, the doctor said, “Ask him what his name is, Rachel.”

  Rachel did. Because she wore a headset, the agent never heard the doctor’s words, and could not respond directly to him. “Okay,” she returned. “He says his name is Paul Collins.”

  Thomas looked up from the burgundy leather couch. “Let him come in,” he suggested. “He was the vice president’s primary bodyguard. He may have some news worth hearing.”

  The doctor nodded and said, “Rachel, show him in.”

  Collins came in, shook the doctor’s hand and then Thomas’s. He offered his condolences. “I’m so sorry about your father. He wasn’t even supposed to be on the stage.”

  “Yeah, well he was...and for a while I was too. Are there any suspects?” Thomas asked.

  “A hundred and twenty thousand at last count,” Collins answered. “It’s going to take a long time.” The agent turned and asked the doctor, “How is Mrs. Franklin?”

  Rosenberg folded his hands in his lap and shook his head. “She hasn’t responded well, I’m afraid. We’ll give her a couple of days before we take her off of the sedatives.”

  “Did she give any indication,” Collins inquired, “no matter how vague, that she or her husband was fearful or suspicious of someone or something to do with this peace conference?”

  “Oh for God’s sake Collins,” Thomas butted in before the doctor could answer, “She doesn’t know anything. She doesn’t even know who she is right now. I don’t know why you’re wasting your time here. You should be back at the stadium helping the interrogators.”

  “We’re just checking every angle, Thomas. You never know what a husband might say in confidence to his wife, or to his son for that matter.” He arched his blonde eyebrows and stared.

  “Don’t look at me,” Thomas said. “We rarely discussed his work. I couldn’t believe it when he asked me to accompany him and Mom to this thing.”

  Collins got up and apologized to Thomas. “You’ve been through so much last night and today. I just wish I could have somehow saved your dad and the vice president.” The agent put out his hand to shake, and although he didn’t much feel like it, Thomas shook his hand.

  “Just catch the son of a bitch that did it, would you?” Thomas requested.

  “We will,” Collins replied and turned to Doctor Rosenberg. Handing him a card he said, “Call this number if you should hear anything from anyone. This is a matter of national security and therefore supersedes any policies regarding doctor-patient confidentiality.”

  “Yes, yes, I quite understand,” Rosenberg answered.

  When Collins left, the doctor looked at Thomas and said, “He knew something. He knew something and he was here to see if we knew anything about what he knows.”

  “What makes you say that?” Thomas asked, surprised at the doctor’s statement.

  “I’m a psychiatrist, Thomas. I can usually tell when people are nervous, or confident. I can tell by their eyes, their voice and their mannerisms, and I’m telling you he knew something. He attempted to hide it, but I could tell.”

  That afternoon, as had been secretly arranged, Collins boarded a heavily armed, two seated, AH-64D Apache jet helicopter, which he had been told would take him to Egypt. “Well, if they didn’t suspect me before, they will now, for sure,” he supposed. “I’ll miss the U.S.A., but hell, my new employer sure pays a lot more. I just wish I didn’t have to fly in one of these things. Who knows what kind of half-assed maintenance schedule these camel jockeys go by?” The pilot, who evidently spoke no English, reached up to his helmet and pulled a thin, metal arm connected to a monocle sized glass video projection unit down in front of his right eye. The glass provided a weapons and navigational display system called an Integrated Helmet And Display Sight System, or IHADSS.

  Collins had just buckled his seatbelt when the helicopter lifted off, accelerating quickly and banking sharply enough to provoke a string of expletives from the rattled passenger. From the back seat, Collins banged on the back of the pilot’s seat and shouted, “Hey! What the flying fuck are you trying to prove? I just survived one crash, you asshole, I’m not ready to go through another!”

  The pilot, apparently deep in concentration, never gave any indication of hearing Collins and seemed unconcerned about whether his passenger might choose another airline on his next flight. Within minutes the battle ready helicopter approached an Israeli troop deployment near the long disputed west bank. It dove and opened fire on the soldiers who had not taken cover, thinking the copter might be one of their own. From the back seat Collins screamed and cursed, flailing away at the seat in front of him while the Apache dipped and twisted. “Do you know who you’ve got in your back seat you stupid jack-ass? I’m the new Director of Egyptian Security! Do you hear me, you moron?”

  ~~~

  Meanwhile, at the secret compound in Egypt, Horus looked up from his work and addressed the vizier, who casually strolled into the laboratory. “Ah, there you are,” Horus greeted him. “I have good news. I may have completed the task of recreating the “Fluid of Life.”

  “Is that so?” the vizier asked, his graying eyebrows rising. He walked over to where Horus bent forward, squinting into a powerful microscope. “What makes you think you have perfected it, Lord Falcon?”

  Horus straightened and placed a hand on the vizier’s shoulder. “Oh, just a feeling. I would like to test this formula the way it is right now, to see what effect it might have on a living being.”

  The vizier nodded and suggested, “I shall have one of the assistants bring us a lab rat.” He tried to pull away from Horus’s hold on his shoulder, but the grip’s pressure increased and held him where he was.

  Horus shook his head no, and said, “I would prefer to test this formula on something more than a common lab rat.”

  “Perhaps you are right my Lord.” The vizier cleared his throat and continued, “Perhaps we should test the serum on a subject with a more developed brain and nervous system. Instead of a lab rat, I shall ask for one of the monkeys to be brought in.” He made an effort to move towards the door, but Horus continued to hold him, increasing the intensity of his grip.

  “No, I don’t wish to waste this special moment on a lowly primate. We need someone with the ability to articulate the sensations they experience.” Eyes burning with intensity, Horus stared into the now fearful eyes of the vizier and said, “I want a human subject. What say you to that?”

  “Lord Falcon,” the vizier gasped, as the pressure on his shoulder increased yet again, “What if the formula is not yet perfected and proves fatal?”

  “Then he will have sacrificed his life while performing a service for Egypt,” Horus answered. “Speaking of doing things, Vizier, did you do that which I requested regarding the American Secret Service Agent?”

  The vizier nodded and replied, “That matter is being dealt with as we speak, my Lord. You need not further concern yourself with it.”

  Horus released his grip and smiled. “Maybe we should use a monkey after all. I’d hate to lose a valued member of our research team if the formula is not perfect.”

  The vizier reached up and rubbed his shoulder, relieved that Horus had not squeezed his face with those powerful fingers as he had once before. “May I ask, Lord Horus, who were you planning to use as a subject in your test?”

  Having resumed peering into the microscope, Horus straightened up and said, matter of factly, �
��Why you, of course. Such an honor could only be granted to an individual of the highest caliber, such as yourself. Wouldn’t you agree? An individual of lesser import being so honored would constitute disrespect for the contributions you have made. Think of it. You could be the first immortal Egyptian of the 21st century.”

  Appearing ill, the vizier placed his right hand upon his chest and echoed Horus’s words as he turned to go get a monkey from the room where the lab animals were kept. “Yes, just think of it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The previous day’s events left Boston’s Senator Kevin Gillpatrick, twin brother of the vice president, drained of emotion and energy. His home phone rang, non-stop, until past midnight as friends, associates, and a number of others, including reporters whom he and his wife had never met, deluged them with sympathy and prying questions. Exasperated, Gillpatrick remarked, “Is there anybody on Earth who doesn’t have our phone number?”

  When his wife, Shannon, found him asleep in his brown leather recliner around two, she considered waking him and leading him to bed, but decided to let him rest where he lay. She tossed an old burgundy and gold throw, which she referred to as “her blankie,” over him. Then she disconnected the phone in the study and closed the door behind her before making her way upstairs.

  ~~~

  Passing her 17 year old daughter’s bedroom, a floorboard creaked under Shannon’s slippered foot. The noise caught the attention of the teenager inside, who tossed and turned, trying to stifle the disquieting thoughts echoing in her mind. She sighed with relief when the board, her wooden sentinel, betrayed the existence of a late night presence in the hallway. It had to be her mother, because her father, whom she labeled as a “clumper,” always made more noise when he lumbered down the hall.

  She called out, “Mom?”

  “Yes Chloe?”

  “Is Daddy okay?”

  “I think he will be. He fell asleep in the study.” She pushed the partially opened door and entered her daughter’s room.

  In the dark, Chloe sat up in her queen sized four-poster bed, her back propped against a pile of pillows supported by the tall, Victorian headboard. As her mother approached, Chloe held out her arms as she had done ever since she was a baby whenever she needed to be hugged or picked up.

  Shannon sat down and wrapped her arms around her nearly grown up little girl.

  “Why does shit like this have to happen Mom?” Chloe asked, her head nestled against her mother’s neck. “I loved Uncle Chris.”

  “We all did, honey.”

  Chloe expected a lecture, chiding her for using rude language. Instead, her mother squeezed her tighter than she had in a long time.

  “Politics is a risky profession, sweetie. Anytime you stand up for what you believe in and decide to represent others who believe in you, there are major risks. No matter how hard you try to please people, someone will disagree with you, maybe even hate you. When you’re representing a whole country and your views affect the lives of millions of people, well, the risks get bigger.”

  Chloe wriggled free of her mother’s embrace and leaned back against her headboard. “Then why did Uncle Chris and Daddy have to get into politics in the first place?”

  “They felt like they could make a difference. You know that. They wanted to help make the world a better place and felt like it was worth the risk.”

  “Yeah, well, I always bought that, until now. I wish Daddy would get out before anything happens to him.”

  Shannon pulled Chloe to her again. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished your dad would get out of politics and get an eight-to-five job. But then, let’s face it, he wouldn’t be the same guy, would he?

  Chloe shook her head in agreement. “No, he wouldn’t.”

  “We just have to love him for who he is and know that he loves us just as much.” She hugged her daughter, kissed her on the cheek, and then released her. Standing, she said, “We have to help him through this, honey. We have to be strong. So get some sleep. I love you.”

  Chloe rearranged her pillows, grabbed her worn, red-headed Raggedy Anne doll, wrapped her arm around it, and scooted back down into the bed. She appreciated the attention as her mother tucked her in, planted one more kiss on her cheek, and turned to leave.

  Before Shannon slipped out of her room, Chloe stopped her. “Mom, I love you too.” The full moon shining through the opened curtains provided just enough light to make out the details of her mother’s face. In spite of Shannon’s brave smile, even in the dark, her daughter could tell - Mom was scared.

  ~~~

  Closing the door, which squeaked as she did, Shannon felt as if she were closing the door on an important chapter in her life. She felt a lump form in her throat. Tucking Chloe in hurt and comforted her at the same time. It reminded her of how she missed the little girl she once rocked to sleep every night. Before long, Chloe would be spending time under the covers, if she hadn’t already, with some horny boy rather than Raggedy Anne.

  But the moment had been comforting as well, because Chloe still loved and believed in her parents. Although she wasn’t little anymore, she retained that special, child-like quality, and remained sweet, so sweet. Shannon wiped away a tear as she headed for the master bedroom.

  At four in the morning the senator’s rest was interrupted by his wife, who nudged him gently and held the elegant Cartier watch phone out to him, saying, “It’s the president.” He sat up, returned the recliner to its upright position, rubbed his eyes and slipped the chrono-com over his wrist.

  Twenty minutes later Kevin came back from his study, and stood by the edge of the bed. “We need to talk,” he said in a low voice.

  Shannon placed a bookmarker in the paperback novel she had been reading and set it on the marble-topped nightstand by the bed. “I don’t like it when you sound like that, Kevin. What did he say?”

  Gillpatrick sat on the edge of the bed and reached for his wife’s hand. “You know how bad the economy has been.”

  “What has that got to do with us, Kevin?”

  “President Daley is worried about how the economy is going to react to Chris and Benjamin being killed. It’s a security issue. Right now we can’t allow the American public to believe that terrorists can knock off our leaders anytime they want. He thinks we’re headed for the toilet unless we can find a way to catch the people responsible for this. We have to find the killers right away. He wants my help.”

  “Your help? Your help? Jesus, Joseph and Mary, what does he think you can do? Just what does he think you can possibly—”

  “He wants me to impersonate Chris.”

  Shannon’s eyes flew wide open in an incredulous stare. She jerked her hand away and covered her mouth to keep from crying out. When she lowered her hand, she whispered, “He wants what?”

  “He wants me to impersonate Chris. We’re twins, honey - identical. It could have been me they killed. “

  “Chris is dead, Kevin. Everybody knows that. Everybody in the world saw it happen. How can you...?”

  “If we had suspected an attempt on Chris’s life, I might have gone in his place and the killers would never have noticed the difference. If they hear us say they failed, that they didn’t kill Chris, their pride might force them into a mistake. They might expose themselves with some outraged communication to convince the world that we’re trying to cover up the truth and that they really did kill the VP.”

  “Are you mad, Kevin? Have you lost your mind?” They had both been trying to keep their voices down, but Shannon could no longer contain her emotions. She shouted, “What if they do decide they didn’t get the right guy?” Her voice escalated further in volume. “What if they come after you? What if you’re with Chloe or me when they attack?”

  Kevin stood, preparing to say that wasn’t a concern because he would have to live at Chris’s place, in Washington. He would be surrounded by loyal secret service agents. But before he could speak, Chloe walked in.

  Standing behind her fat
her in her pink cotton nightgown, her normally smooth forehead wrinkled with worry. “When who attacks?”

  ~~~

  Concluding the astonishing late-night news story, CNN news anchor, Walter Jennings, peered into the eyes of viewers around the world. “And so, during a period in which the intelligence gathering community of the United States has been criticized as being inept, and while rumors of disloyalty exist within the ranks of the protective security forces, it appears as if they have pulled one over on the terrorists of the world, saving the life of Vice President Gillpatrick by tragically sacrificing his twin brother.

  “Democratic Senator Kevin Gillpatrick of Boston reportedly insisted on posing as the vice president during the World Peace Conference in Israel. Sadly, as we all know, the feared assassination attempt did take place, claiming the lives of not only the Boston senator, but also Ambassador Benjamin Jefferson Franklin. Although grief stricken over the loss of his brother, the vice president is reported to be alive and well in Washington D.C. this evening. With reportedly 60,000 interrogations still to be conducted at Zion stadium, the search continues for the assassins.

  “In a related incident, the sudden disappearance of Vice President Gillpatrick’s long-time bodyguard, Paul Collins, has been reported. It is not known if perhaps Collins may have been killed or kidnapped by those that carried out the assassination, or if he may have been involved somehow in the attempt. It has now been confirmed that Collins was the last person to make a security sweep of the stage and podium, where only twenty minutes earlier a highly trained team of explosive-detecting German Shepherds had been led through the entire area. We’ll have more on this, of course, as details become available.”

  The vizier turned to Horus and said, “Our celebration may have been premature, Lord Falcon. The American infidel lives and will, no doubt, be kept under even tighter security from this point forward.”