Under the cover of darkness, some of the security team members began escorting the three conspirators from the mosque and into unmarked sedans. They would be held in a high security prison in Israel until transferred to the proper jurisdictions for individual trials. The remaining security team members had split into two groups. One group discretely closed the forbidden tunnel, while the other carefully disarmed the bomb and removed it to a safe location for its final disposal. All present knew the facts of this night would stay buried deep within that tunnel, and like it, remain hidden for many, many years.
The trials of each of these three main conspirators would be carried out in closed hearings at the national criminal courts of their respective countries: United States, Israel, and Jordan. Benton Spencer would be tried for the murders of Peter Newbury at Fermilab and Steven Nash at CERN. Joshua Cohen, in turn, would be placed on trial for the attempted sabotage of the Amundsen – Scott South Pole Station. In addition, he would be charged with the murder of Colonel Paul Brown and the associated deaths of Joel and Enoch.
Ibrahim had denounced his Iranian citizenship and thus fell under Jordanian jurisdiction for having attacked the international facility at CERN in a plot that was now defined as being associated with ISIS. There would be no publicity of these three trials, and no connection made between the three conspirators. All court records of these three independent trials would remain sealed for as long a time as the tunnels under the Temple Mount.
In Oliver’s hotel room Maxine and Agent Swift attended to his arm. He might need additional stitches, and was weak from the loss of blood, but for now Oliver felt that formal medical care could wait until they were back in Washington. They each knew the less attention to their activities in Jerusalem the better.
As he was securing Oliver’s bandage, Swift said, “Saxon, I’ve changed my mind. You’re the most lethal field agent I’ve ever met, and you definitely don’t need weapons training.”
Not lost on Oliver was the fact that, as Robert was saying this, there were two nine millimeter hand guns, in their holsters, lying on the night table next to his chair.
Maxine, still in her torn and bloody clothes, had picked up the Bible that Oliver had earlier given her to study. Smiling gently at him she said, “Oliver, you know, of course, there is a fifth horse of the apocalypse,” and she read from the nineteenth chapter of Revelation, “’And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war….and he was clothed in a white vestment dipped in blood….and out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword, that with it he should smite the nations.’”
12
Reflections
I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.
-Robert Frost
The G450 had flown Oliver, Maxine, and Robert Swift back to Washington where Oliver had received expert medical attention to his wound at Walter Reed. Cleaned and re-bandaged, it would heal with no lasting harm to his left arm, although the doctors had indicated it would be sore for some time and he would need some physical therapy in the next few weeks. They had referred him to physical therapists in Washington, D. C., and Chicago.
Later that morning the three met at Arlington National Cemetery in time for the military funeral of Colonel Paul Brown. His casket had been received at Dover Air Force Base by an honor guard from the 3rd Infantry Regiment. He had served in combat as a Marine pilot and had now distinguished himself in the defense of his country in the attack at Christchurch. He was to be buried with full military honors.
The casket was carried to the gravesite by horse-drawn caisson, accompanied by six soldiers from his former unit. Led behind them was a rider-less horse. Oliver now found himself participating in another sacred grave-side service, this time surrounded by the endless rows of white headstones marking the graves of America’s fallen heroes. Taps was played by a lone bugler at the end of the service as the honor guard slowly and deliberately lifted the flag from the casket and folded it into its traditional triangle.
Paul Brown’s wife received the flag, gently handed to her by a member of the honor guard at the end of the ceremony. As these formal, but meaningful actions were taking place, Oliver found himself wishing he had been quicker at second-guessing Benton Spencer’s moves. Maybe I could have prevented the killings that followed Peter’s.
Maxine was having similar thoughts as she watched Paul Brown’s wife and children comfort each other and try to maintain their proud composure as they sat at the gravesite holding the folded flag. She was keenly aware that her feelings of sorrow were for them alone. She no longer felt the fear and anxiety that had followed her home from the Northern Provinces of Iraq.
As they were walking back to their cars following the ceremony, Maxine said, “I want to visit a gravesite here before going back to the office. Oliver, would you come with me?”
Oliver, knowing this must be the grave of her fellow advisor in Iraq, smiled and nodded agreement. This was to be a moment of closure for Maxine, and she wanted him to be a part of it.
Robert, sensing the deeply personal moment for Maxine and Oliver, said, “I’ll meet the two of you back at the I&A conference room,” and walked to his car.
Maxine had a tattered map of the national cemetery she had carried with her since returning from Iraq. She knew where he had been buried, but had been afraid to visit his grave until now. Oliver followed Maxine as she studied the map and walked along the endless rows of head stones. Finally she stopped before a grave marked, “Lt. Thomas Carson, U. S. Army Special Forces, 1986 – 2014.”
As tears began to flow, Maxine attempted to tell Oliver about that morning. “We were inspecting the new weapons when he was shot. I must have been seen by the sniper; why was I not in his crosshairs?” She then broke down in bitter weeping, and Oliver gathered her in his arms and held her tightly to himself.
As she wept, holding on to him, Oliver said to her, “How were you spared when Tom died in Iraq? How was I spared when Paul died at Christchurch? Max, we’ll never know the answer to those questions. Each sacrifice, memorialized here on this hill overlooking the Lincoln Memorial, allowed countless others to live and to thrive in this free land. Perhaps you and I were each spared so we could complete a mission.”
The two stood, each holding the other tightly, until Maxine had composed herself. Releasing her hold on Oliver, she said, “Thank you for being here with me. We can go back to the office now.”
Walking out of the cemetery and to their cars, Oliver said, “If you’re not ready to conduct our formal debriefing this afternoon, we can wait until later.”
“I’m OK now,” replied Maxine, “let’s get it done.”
Driving across the Arlington Memorial Bridge and around the Lincoln Memorial, Maxine was thinking of Oliver’s words of comfort as she took in the beauty of Washington, D. C. She thought of what could have happened last week if they had not stopped Benton Spencer. Turning northwest on Mass. Avenue, she headed toward Nebraska, to join Oliver and Robert Swift at the I&A office to begin sorting out and documenting the events of the last week.
Oliver greeted Maxine in the parking lot of the Homeland Security complex, and they joined Robert Swift in the I&A office. Spreading out their notes in a conference room near Maxine’s office, they began preparing their report. Oliver, the organized academician, erected a large story board against one wall and began diagramming the entire set of events, to include all the people and places. He stood examining it. “I should have seen this pattern much sooner. Spencer certainly left all the clues.”
Robert Swift looked at Oliver and then at Maxine. “Oliver, Max, without your expert analysis and dogged determination this plot would have caused a world crisis. You both should be commended.”
Oliver responded, “Max and I both work in that dark world where commendations are considered dangerous because they attract too much public attention. However, for her excellent work in the field, Max has been offered a new
position at CIA as a field officer.”
“That’s great to hear. Congratulations, Max, you will be excellent. But, what about you, Oliver?”
“I get to work here at Homeland Security again next summer.”
Maxine reached over and patted Oliver’s arm sympathetically. “I’m sure you can get yourself in even more trouble than you did this summer.”
The three remained lighthearted as they completed their report and closed out their part in the case. The trials of the three conspirators would contain very little of the information in this top secret report.
After Swift had left the I&A offices, Oliver walked to the door of Maxine’s office. “Max, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight to celebrate your new position. Are you free?”
“Of course I am.”
“Good, I’ll pick you up at your place at seven. I know a wonderful spot that serves great exotic dishes and drinks.”
Max grinned at him and said, “I’ll wear a nice dress, so you better not wear that white outfit of yours.”
“I can’t! I haven’t seen it since Jerusalem. I think they buried it under Temple Mount.”
“Good place for it.”
The two left the offices of Homeland Security in a spirit of relief and happiness, each anticipating their evening together.
Oliver drove to his small Washington apartment adjacent to American University and showered for the evening date with Max. He had been wearing a dark suit for the morning’s funeral at Arlington Cemetery but chose more casual dress for the evening. Worsted slacks and a blazer seemed appropriate. He laid both out on his bed as he chose the right shirt and matching tie. He dressed and then picked up the neatly wrapped gift he had purchased for Maxine in Waxahachie. He stood studying it, thinking of the note he had enclosed inside. Tossing it lightly with his right hand, he caught it and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
The drive took him across the river and on to Williamsburg Blvd. He drove to Falls Church and found Maxine’s apartment. Oliver parked nearby and walked to her front door. He smiled broadly when she greeted him. “Max, you look gorgeous!”
“Thanks, Oliver. I like your outfit too. You do have good taste after all.”
“Of course I do, I have a date with you.”
Oliver helped her into his car, and the two drove back toward Washington to highway 193 where Oliver turned north toward Langley.
Having driven this route many times from her apartment to the CIA headquarters, Maxine turned to Oliver and asked, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“The snack bar is closed at this time of night. Besides you don’t have a clearance to get in,” she quipped when Oliver began to slow the car as he approached the turn-off for the CIA Headquarters.
“Oh darn, I was hoping you could sneak us both in,” said Oliver as they passed the entrance road and continued on north.
When they reached the restaurant, a few miles further up the highway and down a side road, Maxine looked at Oliver with delight showing on her face. “How did you know this is my favorite place?”
“Remember, Max, I work in Intelligence and Analysis.”
She prepared to poke him in the shoulder, but then remembered his gunshot wound.
They walked side-by-side to the entrance and were immediately approached by the head waiter who greeted them by name and escorted them to their table in a corner of the dining room. Maxine was impressed. Has Oliver been here so many times the head waiter knows him by name? She wondered why the waiter had not presented them with menus. She had decided to order her favorite Indian dish when she realized they were approaching this restaurant.
Oliver smiled at her as he read her mind. “Max, this is your night. For the first time this summer we don’t have to rush.”
“I’m sorry if I look anxious. The waiters have always handed out menus before. What’s going on?”
As Maxine was saying this, the waiter, displaying his usual serious face, placed small glasses in front of them and poured lemon-flavored vodka from a carafe encased in ice and frozen fruit slices. She again looked at Oliver suspiciously. “Just how much intelligence have you gathered about me?”
“Enough to discover that a nice Quaker girl from Missouri likes chilled vodka.”
“Shocking, isn’t it.”
“Absolutely. No pun intended.”
The two continued to sip their chilled drinks, the waiter continuing to refill their glasses. Maxine had just begun to say something when a second waiter appeared and placed her favorite dish before her, picking up her napkin and placing it gently on her lap. She looked at Oliver in surprise as his plate was being served to him. “Oliver, you are amazing.”
“Everyone tells me that.”
Maxine just shook her head, as she picked up her fork and began to relish the curry on her plate. “Just how much did you find out during your secret intelligence work?”
“Well, I learned your home town used to be a wild, lead-mining boom town. Some of its better-known residents included Ma Barker and sons.”
“Hey, they’re not my relatives. They’ve always been a sore topic with Grandfather, but we’re not part of their gang.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Max. I wouldn’t want to associate with kidnappers and bank robbers.”
The two glowered at each other in mock indignation. Finally Oliver said, “Seriously, Max, I wanted this evening to be special for you. I may not have another chance to tell you how much you mean to me. You began the summer withdrawn and grieving, and you managed to pull it together in the face of grave danger. You also pulled me together and twice saved my life.”
“Oliver, none of that would have been possible without your care for me. Yes, I was grieving over the death of Tom, and you were patient with me, and helped me work through it. You helped change my outlook.”
“But now you’ll be back in the field facing new dangers. Are you ready for that?”
“I think so. After all, I spent this past week doing much the same thing. I think I’m ready to return to Langley. By the way, now that we’ve finished our report for the director, what are you going to do before you go back to the University of Chicago?”
“I’m going to write a paper on religious zeal: how it can lead to peace as well as war. You see, Max, you’ve helped me to change my outlook too.”
“What are you planning to say?”
“That man is free to choose between good and evil. The more fervent one’s religious belief, the more unstable this choice becomes. Believers like Elizabeth, Khalil, and David show respect for all others regardless of their faiths. However, when love is replaced by hatred, the most devout person can become an agent of evil, deceiving himself that he is on the side of good.”
“Like our Father Abraham conspiracy.”
“Like Benton Spencer who turned his followers into beasts and planned to start the apocalypse in Jerusalem on Trinity Sunday!”
“I read the paper you wrote last summer. ISIS is following a similar End of Days prophesy to bring the worlds radicals to their cause. How can such evil be stopped?”
“Individual civilizations have always been built on common goals and mutual respect. Now that our world is becoming a single civilization, we have to follow suit as one community. Only through a quest to replace evil with goodness, hatred with love, can mankind find peace.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Oliver. Remember, I’m a member of the Society of Friends. Nevertheless, I would like to read this summer’s paper when you have finished it.”
“Better yet, Max, you can be my proof reader and editor.”
“Oh dear, another work assignment!”
As a dessert of Italian ices was served, Oliver reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his gift and handed it to Maxine. “Max, congratulations on your new appointment. Bob Clark has done nothing but praise you since our return, and I agree, you are a top field agent.”
“Thank you, Oliver. Your friendship’s my true
prize.” Tears welled up in her eyes. She held the gift with both hands like a most prized possession, but did not open it.
When they had finished their desserts, Oliver escorted Maxine past the waiters, each of whom bowed warmly to her. Again Maxine was surprised by the attention. “Don’t you have to pay the bill?”
“I paid it earlier today.”
“Did you leave a tip?”
“Why do women always ask that question?”
“How many women do you treat with this kind of charm!”
“You’re the only one, Max.”
The two drove back to Falls Church by way of Langley, where Maxine would begin the work she had missed during the past year at I&A. They spoke very little on the trip, each lost in thought, savoring the intimate evening of fine food and drink and thinking of the days ahead.
Oliver parked and walked with Maxine to her apartment. She stopped at her door and turned to Oliver. Tears glistened in her eyes. “Thank you, Oliver, for a wonderful evening, and this gift.” She was still holding the unopened present.
“Max, I will miss you.”
The two stood face-to-face for an extended moment until Maxine placed her hand gently on Oliver’s chest, then turned to unlock her door. “Goodnight, Oliver,” was all she could say as her voice began to break.
Maxine entered her small apartment and turned on the lamp near her desk. Laying Oliver’s unopened gift on the desk, she stood wiping the tears from her eyes and slowly examined the room. Here were the things that defined Maxine Phillips: a computer work-station, her academic texts and reference books in a small bookcase, pictures of her in combat gear posing next to Kurdish officers, and, finally, her diplomas and marksmanship awards.
Reaching into the back of an upper shelf of the bookcase she removed a small framed photograph and stood examining it, feeling tears well up. The photo had been taken when she was a high school student in a small town in southwestern Missouri where she had grown up. She was standing next to her father and mother in front of their small home, built in the thirties like so many others in the neighborhood.
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