The Scent of Revenge

by Russell Moran

  With that, Ellen recited the names of every American president and vice-president starting with George Washington. The crowd stomped and cheered. Some people, like me, cried.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for my new best girlfriend.”

  More cheers. This was the most unreal press conference I’d ever attended.

  “The great news, and yes, we’ll answer your questions in a moment, but the truly great news is that all of the 900 women who’ve been afflicted with The Syndrome have been given the medication. A small army of doctors and nurses are now delivering the medication to the people afflicted on the Ocean Ecstasy. Our lost fellow citizens are coming back to us. People like Maria Adams, Deputy Secretary of State; Angela Johnston, President of the University of Michigan; Regina Townsend, CEO of the New York Stock Exchange; Joan Paddington, CEO of Megasoft; Georgina Laughlin, Secretary of Commerce; Mary Escobedo, CEO of Suresoft; Jane Lopez, Secretary of the Interior; Florence Lambda, Deputy Secretary of Defense; Dolores Estrada, Senior Director, NASA; Aimee Pierce, CEO of United Way; and Rear Admiral Ashley Patterson. I don’t have time to name them all, but I’m delighted to say that all of these wonderful Americans are now back with us.”

  Chapter 54

  Ellen and I sat in a restaurant at the airport waiting for our flight back to New York.

  “Rick, I think I have a great idea for that gigantic bonus that Angus MacPherson gave me.”

  “Eighteen million, I remember it well. Didn’t you say you were thinking of setting up a foundation to help kids?”

  “I have a better idea. What I just went through, along with those other people, had a happy ending, thank God. But what about the millions of people who have the real Alzheimer’s, real dementia? Frank Buchannan found a cure for The Syndrome in no time. He was able to find it because he knew the cause—the substance in the spray bottles. So the other women and I suffered from the symptoms of Alzheimer’s, but, as we know, it wasn’t Alzheimer’s. I want to start a foundation to fund research on the real Alzheimer’s disease. With my big bonus, we can provide a lot of seed money. Since the other victims and I have gotten so much press, it should be easy to shake the money trees. Because his daughter Jane was a victim, I’m sure Mr. Money Bags, Angus MacPherson, would love to make a big contribution.

  “Rick, I was out of commission for almost two months. People with Alzheimer’s have no hope, and neither do their families. Imagine yourself visiting me for the rest of my life at the New Horizons Nursing Home. I want to find a cure, or at least a treatment, for Alzheimer’s, and other forms of dementia. And part of the mission will be support for the families of the victims. Everybody calls me and the other women the victims. But I don’t remember what happened, and the others don’t either. I didn’t suffer. It’s like I was just asleep. You, Rick, and the other family members were the real victims. You were the ones who suffered. I want to support those people. Do you like my idea?”

  How typical of Ellen. She just came back to the world after weeks in a mental wilderness, and what does she think about? Helping other people. That’s Ellen.

  “Yes, I like your idea. And I love you.”

  ***

  Ellen and I walked into our apartment at 5:50. I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Do you have any idea what it was like coming home without you here?”

  “That’s history, Rick. I’m here now, and I’ll always be here for you.”

  We walked into the den. When I turned on the light, a bunch of people shouted, “Surprise!”

  There was Bennie; Buster; Barbara Auletta; Olga Burns, the private duty nurse; and Nancy Langdon, Ellen’s nurse from New Horizons.

  “We had to do this, guys,” said Buster. “We know you two have some catching up to do, but we had to see you.”

  Buster, who has a key to our apartment, had arranged for a buffet and drinks. He’s the classiest spook I’ve ever met.

  Bennie walked up to Ellen and hugged her. “Don’t call me Lennie and don’t call me George. Ellen, I can’t tell you how happy I am.” With that, the tough NYPD detective began to cry.

  “We all saw the press conference on TV,” said Buster. “I didn’t think anybody could outshine the First Lady, but you did.”

  Nancy walked up to Ellen, hugged her, and gave her a package.

  “Nancy, you’re too kind. I don’t remember ever meeting you until I came out of it yesterday, but Rick told me that you were my new mother for a few weeks.”

  Ellen opened the package. It was a DVD set of Barney and Friends reruns. Ellen looked puzzled.

  “That was your favorite show,” said Nancy.

  Ellen laughed and said, “I’ll cherish this forever.”

  Great, I thought. We can binge-watch the purple piece of crap.

  The party was great, a welcome home to a person nobody ever thought would come home.

  At 7:30 p.m., Buster said, “Folks, I think it’s time we leave these two to catch up. Ellen, you’re the best thing that ever happened to my friend Rick.”

  Everybody raised their glasses. Then something happened that I never expected to see, something that put an emotional exclamation point on this perfect day. Buster, Mr. Tough Guy, the fearless spook, broke down in tears.

  After everyone left, I took Ellen by the hand and led her to the couch, facing the TV.

  “Right where we’re sitting was when I realized there was a problem,” I said. “When I came home that night, you were sitting here staring at the blank TV. When I stroked your leg, you placed my hand on the couch between us. I went to kiss you and you pulled away.” After I said that, she leaned over and kissed me. A long, slow, wet kiss.

  “If you don’t mind,” I said, “I want to turn on the TV. The thought of you staring at a blank screen freaks me out.”

  “Hey, Mr. Romantic, I want to talk.”

  “I’ll put it on mute.” I clicked on the TV.

  Ellen got up and walked over to the table where Nancy’s gift lay.

  “We’re going to watch Barney and Friends. I want to see what I found so fascinating all those weeks.”

  We watched Barney for about 10 minutes, chuckling at the lunacy on the screen. Every now and then, Ellen looked at me with a “what the fuck?” expression on her face.

  “Rick, are you telling me I actually enjoyed this shit?”

  “Your cultural tastes have improved recently, hon.”

  “I’m going to take a shower,” Ellen said. “I feel grungy after a day of travelling.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful that you don’t need help bathing?” I said.

  “I may not need help, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it,” she said with a wink.

  Chapter 55

  “Greetings, Brother Gamal. May Allah be with you.”

  “Bob, I am not Brother Gamal or Gamal Pashez. I am Howard Orlando, and you are Bob McLaughlin.”

  “I’m sorry, Howard. You’re absolutely correct. We must stay in the shadows.”

  “Bob, The Committee and I have reviewed your photographs of the American electric grid. We all agree that you’re a gifted photographer, and your research is also impeccable. Out of the 55,000 substations, you have narrowed the country’s electric grid down to nine key locations, nine critical substations. Your notes about the surrounding terrain are invaluable. You’re also quite skilled in the use of small drone aircraft. But I do have an important question. Did anyone see you, and more directly, did anyone take your picture as you were taking yours?”

  “Of course I can’t be certain, Howard. I intentionally placed myself at a distance from the power stations to avoid suspicion of any kind. But these were public areas. I have no idea if someone photographed me.”

  “So you are satisfied that you weren’t observed?”

  “Yes, sir. If I may add, the locations I photographed are far from secure. If I could fly my drone so close to them, I’m sure they can be taken out.”

  “Why do you make that observation, Bob?”

  “Well, I think it
’s obvious that we want to target these stations and attack them. I think using drones for attack as well as surveillance is the perfect solution.”

  “But nobody has discussed any such plan with you, have they? These matters are for The Committee.”

  “I’m sorry if I overstepped myself, Howard. I was just making an observation.”

  “Bob, we all must do our jobs, and nothing more. Your job does not require making observations.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Our meeting has come to a conclusion, Bob. Thank you for coming to visit me.”

  As McLaughlin walked to the door, Orlando reached into his sports coat and withdrew a pistol. He fired twice at McLaughlin, hitting him square in the back and killing him instantly.

  Chapter 56

  “Imam Mike wants to see us, Rick,” said Buster. “Same place as usual, the Bethesda Terrace restaurant. We’ll see him there at 2 p.m. this afternoon.”

  Buster and I asked the waitress to sit us at a table near the edge of the outdoor dining area.

  “I can’t wait to see Mike’s outfit. He’s become a one-man costume drama,” I said.

  A private security guard in uniform walked toward us. He had a handlebar mustache and wore dark wraparound sunglasses. It was Mike.

  “Good to see you guys. Rick, I can’t tell you how happy I am that your wife is okay. Here’s a little something for her. I recall you telling me that these are her favorites.” He handed me a box of Perugina chocolates.

  “Thanks, Mike. I should be giving you a gift. Your tip to us about the spray bottles was the key part to the puzzle. I just wish we could thank you publicly.”

  “Well, I do have a little gift,” said Buster. “Mike, you’ve been invaluable to us in so many matters I can’t count them. I’ve discussed what I’m about to tell you with CIA headquarters. We’re putting you on the payroll for $95,000 a year, which isn’t bad for part-time work. Here is some fake ID so you can set up a new bank account. The money will be wired weekly to that account.”

  “Hey, do you think I’m doing this for money?”

  “Of course not,” said Buster. “You never even hinted that you wanted anything in exchange for your information. But the time you spend on helping us could be spent in other ways. Besides, I get paid, Rick gets paid, and even though you’re not full time, you damn well should get paid. Hey, you’ve got kids in college.”

  “Thanks, Buster, you flatter me. But I refuse. If you set up an account, I’ll refuse to sign the papers. If you send me checks, I’ll throw them away. I have a simple goal in life, and it’s to stop radical Islam. And I refuse to take money. But thanks anyway. What I want to talk to you about is The Syndrome.”

  “Well, thank God, and thanks in large part to you,” I said, “we don’t have to worry about that anymore. Every one of the people who were attacked with the substance has been cured, including the passengers on that cruise ship. Do you think it’s still something we should be worried about?”

  “Let me put it this way, guys. The scumbags in charge of that operation are furious. I’ve been hearing this all over the place. Those evil pricks actually took joy in destroying the lives of people with that shit they call The Scent of Revenge. It was one of their crowning achievements as they saw it. That place in Baltimore you guys took out was the key to ramping up the campaign. I cannot fucking believe that I share, or shared, a religion with those animals. But mark my word, guys, they’re looking for payback. The Super Bowl wasn’t enough. Rick, I know that you and your wife came close to being killed in that one. Even the Scent of Revenge wasn’t enough. They’ve got some even bigger stuff planned. They’re looking to pull off something big. Oh, yeah, the top dogs at al-Qaeda and ISIS now have a name for the group. They call themselves The Committee.”

  “Mike, do you have any idea what they’re planning?”

  “No, Rick. But it’s going to be something big.”

  “Anything else, my friend?” said Buster.

  “Yes. I have a study assignment for you guys. I’ve been reading a lot recently about Ayaan Hirsi Ali, the expatriate from Somalia who became a member of the Dutch Parliament and is now on a jihadi assassination list. I’ve read all of her books, and now I’m reading her latest. It’s entitled Heretic: Why Islam Needs a Reformation Now. Guys, I feel like I’m looking into my own mind when I read this brave lady’s stuff.

  “She says there are three types of Muslims: The Mecca Muslims, the vast majority of the 1.6 billion Muslims in the world. These are devout people, but people who don’t want to have anything to do with assimilating into a culture not their own. They prefer to cocoon themselves from society at large. They have a lot of tension with modernity.

  “Then there are The Medina Muslims, the radicals. She puts their number at about 48 million. That’s a shit load of people. She calls them Medina Muslims because the prophet Muhammad took on a political and military stance when he went from Mecca to Medina. That’s when he started to insist that you’re either a Muslim or you’re an outcast with no rights.

  “The third type of Muslims are the Dissident Muslims, a small group of reformers. She considers herself one of them, and so do I. Like me, Ali jumped ship. She thinks that military and political resistance to radical Islam is not the answer, but only a necessary blocking action.

  “Ali says the only true hope is a Muslim Reformation, and she came up with five areas that need to change. First, she attacks the faith in Muhammad’s semi-divine status, the unquestioned belief in his infallibility, and that the Quran is the literal word of God. Second, she questions the supremacy of the after-life over living in the present. Third, she questions the violent and intolerant parts of Sharia Law. Fourth, she insists on the right of individuals to enforce Islamic law over themselves, rather than by a religious vigilante police force. And fifth, she takes on the whole idea of waging jihad. She says Islam will never be a religion of peace if its followers insist on violent struggle. I’d love to see her quoted about The Scent of Revenge, the kind of evil cruelty that makes her crazy.

  “You guys need to read this book, as well as her other books. It will help you to understand all of the shit that’s going down. I know it’s helped me.”

  “Mike,” I said, “you don’t need to convince me. I’ve read a lot about Ayaan Hirsi Ali, but I haven’t read her books. I’m going to do exactly that. But I have a concern, my friend. You need to keep in the background. Please don’t promote this brave woman from your pulpit or you’ll become a target just like her.”

  “Don’t worry, Rick. I like my head just where it’s always been, attached to the rest of my body.”

  Chapter 57

  President Reynolds reinstated Sarah Watson as FBI Director. I’ve never seen Barbara Auletta, her short-term successor, so relieved. Reynolds had made it clear that Barbara’s appointment was interim, so she wasn’t embarrassed. We were both totally okay with the way it played out. We both like and respect Sarah Watson, and now that she’s back among the living, we were happy to go back to the status quo before The Syndrome.

  ***

  “Rick, we’re going to have a special visitor today, Sarah Watson. Please round up Buster and Bennie. She wants to see them too.”

  “Great,” I said. “She’s been on the phone with Ellen a few times and I’ve chatted with her, but it will be good to see her.”

  “Speaking of Ellen, how is she doing?”

  “Well, we’ve started playing chess again. Last night, she checkmated me in seven moves.”

  “As I recall, Rick, you were a champion chess player in college.”

  “That doesn’t stop her from kicking my ass, Barb. I actually think her memory has gotten better since The Syndrome.”

  ***

  Sarah Watson walked into Barbara’s office with her usual flair.

  “How the hell are you guys?”

  She gave each of us a hug.

  Bennie handed her a package. She opened it and saw it was a book entitled How to Improve Your Memor
y by Dr. Benjamin Weinberg.

  “Thanks, wise-ass,” she said, laughing.

  “Do you promise not to throw us out of my office, Sarah?”

  “What?”

  Barbara told Sarah about the incident when she came down with The Syndrome, and how she yelled at us and threw us out of Barbara’s office, which she thought was hers.

  “Holy shit! It’s a blessing that I can’t remember anything about my days with The Syndrome. So yes, I promise not to throw you guys out of Barbara’s office—unless it’s necessary.” We all laughed.

  “So let me bring you folks up to date on a few things, even though I’m the one who’s had a lot to catch up on after my unintended vacation. First, you can forget the rumors about President Reynolds declaring martial law. Cooler heads prevailed, including mine. Yes, the right of habeas corpus is alive and well in America. The next thing is this: The President wants to assemble all of us women afflicted by The Syndrome to convene at a big public meeting in Washington. He thinks it will be a sort of catharsis for the country.”

  “What do you think about that idea, Sarah?” said Barbara.

  “I have some definite ideas on the subject, but I want to hear your thoughts.”

  “May I be blunt, Madam Director?” said Buster.

  “Of course, and call me Sarah.”

  “Sarah, that’s the dumbest goddam idea I’ve heard in a long time. Rick and I met with our inside guy, that imam from Brooklyn. He told us that al-Qaeda is furious about our having found the cure for The Syndrome. They considered it their major operation and were looking to expand it from the Baltimore plant, as you know. They got pretty far with that cruise ship attack. The imam said that the top guys freaked out over the cure, and that they’re planning something, something big. If we assembled all 900 of the afflicted women in one place, I’d want to see it surrounded by a Marine battalion and circled by Apache helicopters. It would be the most tempting target they could ever want. They could brag that they got beaten once by the cure for The Syndrome, and then they killed all of the original victims. And what about the thousands of people, including men and children, who were hit on the Ocean Ecstasy?”