In His Image

by James Beauseigneur

  13

  The Color of the Horse

  Derwood, Maryland

  IT WAS AN EXTREMELY PLEASANT late fall day in Washington, D.C., with temperatures in the upper sixties and the sky clear and sunny. It seemed to Decker a great day to play hooky from work. On the other hand, he had not been into the office for more than three years and he figured he was about due.

  Decker boarded the Metro at the Shady Grove station and noticed that the train was less crowded than usual. Several stations later, when the cars continued to be less than fully occupied, he realized the reason: the Disaster. He was aware the D.C. area had lost about 14 percent of its population—nearly 1.5 million people—but seeing the impact in microcosm on the Metro brought the figure home. The thought continued to occupy him as he exited at the DuPont Circle station and made his way to the offices of NewsWorld magazine.

  When Decker walked into the lobby of NewsWorld, the receptionist insisted that he sign in and wait for an escort before going back to the working offices. Decker was not a rude person, but he was somewhat territorial, and despite having been gone for so long, to him this was his territory. He had no intention of either signing in or waiting for an escort. Fortunately for the receptionist, Sheryl Stanford arrived on the next elevator. “It’s all right,” Sheryl told the receptionist, “he works here.”

  Very few familiar faces greeted Decker that morning. Over the last three years, most of the people he knew had been transferred to other offices or had retired or taken other jobs; a few were victims of the Disaster.

  When Sheryl caught up to Decker he was staring unhappily at the person who now occupied what had been his desk and his office. Far worse, though, was the fact that some young jerk was in what had been Tom Donafin’s office. “Mr. Hawthorne,” Sheryl called, preventing Decker from saying something to the new occupant that he might regret later. “Mr. Hawthorne,” she repeated as she got closer, “Mr. Asher would like to see you.”

  Decker gave the young reporter in his old office one last dirty look and proceeded on toward Hank Asher’s office. “I want my office back,” he barked at Sheryl.

  “This is not going to be a good day,” Sheryl muttered, trying to maintain a smile.

  “I want my office back,” Decker repeated as soon as he walked through Asher’s door.

  “That’s what I wanted to see you about,” said Asher. “We’re giving you a new office, a corner office with windows and a view.”

  Decker’s mood changed quickly as he looked around covetously at Asher’s office. He knew that Hank’s description could only fit one office at NewsWorld, and they were sitting in it.

  “Wait a second,” Asher said, reading Decker’s thoughts. “Not this office!”

  “So where, then?” Decker asked.

  “Decker, word just came down today. You’re being promoted. They’re putting you in charge of the New York office.”

  Decker thought for a second. “What if I don’t want the New York office?”

  “Why wouldn’t you want it?”

  Decker thought about his house in Derwood—the house he had told Elizabeth they would make their home. He thought about the grave in the backyard in which his family lay. “I’m just not interested,” he answered.

  Asher thought he understood what the problem was. After all, he’d dug the grave. “Decker if it’s about your … uh … house, there’s no problem. I’ve been authorized to offer you a very generous raise. You should be able to afford an apartment in New York and still keep your house here.”

  “Are you crazy?” Decker asked. “Do you have any idea how much an apartment in New York goes for?”

  “It’s less now than you may remember. There are a lot fewer people in New York since the Disaster. It’s a buyer’s market.”

  Decker cringed a little as he recalled what the cabby in New York had said about dead people’s apartments. “Yeah, that may be so,” Decker answered, “but I hate apartments.”

  Asher closed the door and lowered his voice. “Look, Decker, just between you and me, I’ve been told to offer you whatever it takes.”

  Decker looked at Hank to be sure he wasn’t kidding. “What do you mean, ‘Whatever it takes’?” he asked.

  “Don’t get crazy on me now, Decker.”

  Decker thought for a moment. “Why?” he probed.

  “Why what?” Asher responded.

  “Why are they being so generous?”

  “They need a new head for the New York office, and I guess they think you’re the man for the job.”

  “Look, Hank, I’m flattered but there must be more to it. News-World is not the type of organization to throw money around. How can they possibly offer to pay me enough to maintain two homes?”

  “I don’t know, Decker. It sounds a little out of character to me too, but I think you’d be crazy to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “So what else did they tell you?”

  “Look, Ima Jackson just called me this morning and told me the decision had been made to give you the New York office. I asked her how much I was supposed to offer and she said ‘Whatever it takes.’ When I asked her to be a little more specific, she just repeated herself. She told me not to ask questions, that the decision had come down from way above her head, and that I was to see to it you accepted the position. I guess somebody on the board of directors must want you there. To tell you the truth, I was hoping you might be able to fill me in on what’s going on.”

  “I have no idea at all,” Decker shrugged.

  Asher took a deep breath and shook his head. It made no sense that the board of directors should care about the promotion of a particular reporter. They almost never got involved at this level.

  “When do they want a decision?” Decker asked.

  “ASAP.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll get back to you.”

  That evening Decker took Christopher out for dinner. He wanted to talk with him about his first days in his new school and to see how he’d feel about moving to New York. Christopher had been given a battery of tests at his new school because his records from California had not yet arrived.

  “How do you think you did?” Decker asked him.

  “Okay, I guess. The tests were pretty easy.”

  Decker had always thought of Christopher as bright; he decided to pursue it a little. “Christopher, what sort of grades do you usually get in school?”

  “I’ve always had a 4.0,” Christopher answered.

  “That’s good,” Decker said, not really surprised. “Have any of your teachers ever suggested that you should skip a grade?”

  “Yes, sir. Almost every year the subject was brought up, but Aunt Martha said I should be with kids my own age. She said it would be bad for my social growth to be put with a bunch of older kids.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I guess she was probably right,” Christopher answered. “She said that once I got to college I could go as fast as I wanted because I’d be old enough to make my own decisions.”

  “Your Aunt Martha must have been a remarkable woman. I wish I had gotten to know her better,” Decker said. Christopher smiled. They took a few more bites of their food and Decker changed the subject. “How would you feel about us moving to New York?” he asked without explanation.

  “New York?” Christopher said with unexpected enthusiasm. “Would we be near the UN?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I’ve been offered the job as head of the New York office for NewsWorld. The office is just a couple of miles from the UN but I don’t know where we’d actually live. We’d have to shop around for an apartment.”

  Christopher’s excitement was obvious. “You really are a big fan of the UN, aren’t you?” Decker asked.

  “Yes, sir! I bet if we moved there I could get a job as a page to one of the delegates. And did you know they have their own university?”

  “I had no idea you would be so favorable to the idea.”

  “Oh, yeah! It’d be great!”


  “Well, don’t get too excited. I haven’t taken the job yet.”

  Decker still wasn’t comfortable with the circumstances of the promotion, but he did check the Internet for prices of apartments near the UN.

  After Christopher went to bed Decker got out the financial records Elizabeth had kept while he was in Lebanon to determine how much he needed to ask for to be able to keep the house and get an apartment in New York. He had only studied the figures for a few moments when he dropped his head and began to cry. In Lebanon he had wondered so often what Elizabeth was doing. The figures provided a partial answer. Not only were they debt-free except for the mortgage, but Elizabeth had made frequent extra payments on the house, and she had put a tidy sum in their savings account. The tears he cried were not of joy but of pain as he came to realize that Elizabeth must have pinched pennies the whole time he was in Lebanon, saving for when he got home. How many things, he wondered, had she denied herself? How many times had she and the girls eaten leftovers of leftovers? How many times had they made do with less when everyone around them had all they needed? Now he was home and here was all the money, but they wouldn’t be able to share it with him.

  Between Elizabeth’s frugality and the apartment prices he found on the Internet, Decker determined he wouldn’t need to ask for as much from NewsWorld as he thought he might. Still, as he neared the bottom line he wondered just how much they were willing to pay him. This brought back the question of what was behind this sudden and uncharacteristic generosity. He was torn between keeping his mouth shut and taking the job, and wanting to know what was behind the offer. Was this really a gift horse, as Hank Asher had suggested, or was it a Trojan horse? As he continued to think about it, he became more and more resolved to know the answers and to know them before he took the job.

  Decker went directly to Hank Asher’s office, closed the door behind him, and gave Asher a slip of paper with a figure written on it.

  “What’s this,” Asher asked, after he looked at it.

  “That’s how much I want to take the job in New York,” Decker answered without flinching.

  “Are you crazy?! That’s twice what I make! There’s no way they’re going to pay you that much!”

  “You’re probably right,” Decker answered, “But let’s see.”

  Asher thought it was a dumb idea, but he placed the call anyway. No sooner had he told his boss, Ima Jackson, how much Decker wanted than she authorized it. Asher put his hand over the phone and looked at Decker dumbfounded. “She says yes,” he mouthed silently.

  This wasn’t the way Decker planned it at all. He had assumed that Jackson would refuse and then he’d offer to negotiate. Then, once he was talking with her face-to-face, he could get some answers. “Ask her why,” Decker directed in a whisper.

  Now Hank’s pride was on the line. He didn’t particularly appreciate that NewsWorld was willing to pay Decker so much more than he was making. He asked, but Jackson directed him to simply comply with her instructions. Asher gritted his teeth and took his orders like a good executive, but this would not be the end of it. Whatever happened with Decker, Asher planned to demand a substantial increase in his own pay in the very near future.

  “So, what are you going to do?” Asher demanded, after he hung up the phone. He was angry about the whole situation and didn’t want to be pushed any further.

  “Call her back and tell her I’m not interested. Tell her that if they want me that badly they’re going to have to tell me why. Tell her I’m in no mood for games and either I get some straight answers or else leave me where I am and give me my office back! Tell her she can reach me at home. I’m taking the day off.”

  When Decker arrived at his house the phone was ringing. He recognized the caller’s voice immediately as Ambassador Hansen’s daughter, Jackie.

  “Mr. Hawthorne,” she said, “Ambassador Hansen asked me to call you. He was very impressed with your article about him in this week’s issue of NewsWorld and he wishes to thank you for all the nice things you said about him.”

  “Well, please relay my regards back to the ambassador. Tell him I appreciate his graciousness, especially considering the circumstances of the interview.”

  “Thank you, I will,” she answered. “Ambassador Hansen would also like to know if you would be at all interested in discussing the possibility of accepting a position as his press secretary and chief speech writer. The position has just come open and the ambassador feels that you would be an excellent choice to fill it.”

  Decker was surprised by the offer. Was this opportunity knocking? Perhaps another case of being in the right place at the right time? He was uncomfortable with what was going on at News-World. If he took the job as head of the New York office, he would have to live with Asher’s ire about his higher salary. But should he really turn down that much money? On the other hand, it made sense to look at another offer. Then he remembered the expression on Christopher’s face when he talked about the UN. Decker hadn’t quite realized it yet, but since the deaths of Elizabeth and the girls, Christopher was quickly becoming his family.

  “Sure,” he said. “I’d be interested. I’d be glad to consider it.”

  “Good,” she responded. “When could you come to New York to discuss it further?”

  “I can be there tomorrow afternoon, if that’s okay with Ambassador Hansen.”

  “That would be fine. We’ll arrange for your airline ticket and I’ll have someone call you back within the hour to confirm the time.”

  Decker hung up the phone and immediately went to work updating his résumé.

  In New York Jackie Hansen sat at her father’s desk with the door closed. In a moment she would instruct her secretary to make the arrangements for Decker’s flight. Right now she needed privacy to make another call. “This is Jackie Hansen,” she said into the receiver. “I need to speak to the director.”

  “Yes?” she heard after a moment.

  “He said yes,” Jackie Hansen said without explanation. “He’ll be here tomorrow for the interview.”

  “Excellent! You’ve done very well,” Alice Bernley said.

  Alice Bernley hung up the phone and smiled at Robert Milner. The look on her face left no doubt that the plan had been successful.

  “I guess we can tell Bragford to call off the people at News-World,” Milner said. “I think this is a better arrangement anyway. We’ll be in a much better position to direct the boy’s future with Mr. Hawthorne working for Ambassador Hansen than if he had accepted the job at the magazine.”

  “Assuming Jackie is able to ensure that her father offers him the job,” Bernley said, “how can we be sure Mr. Hawthorne will accept the offer?”

  “When NewsWorld abruptly withdraws its offer of a promotion and a raise, Hawthorne will have to consider it a professional insult. He’ll be looking for some way to preserve his honor. Ambassador Hansen’s offer will provide him that opportunity,” Milner answered.

  14

  Dark Awakening

  Three weeks later

  Tel Aviv, Israel

  A SMALL ELECTRIC SPACE HEATER blew a warm breeze across Tom Donafin’s face as sounds began to fill his ears with the reality that surrounded him. Still more asleep than awake, his mind wandered aimlessly between dream and consciousness. Finally he committed himself to wakefulness and opened his eyes, but was suddenly struck with intense pain as tiny bits of glass scraped across the inside of his eyelids. Instantly his eyes closed again as he winced and moaned and rolled in pain.

  He lay still, trying to relax his eyes as he sorted through his memories. The last thing he recalled was the missile that killed Nigel and destroyed the car. He did not recall being knocked unconscious, nor did he have any idea where he was now. He listened for voices or some distinguishable sound but heard none.

  “Hello,” he said finally to anyone who might be nearby.

  No one answered.

  “Hello,” he called out louder.

  “So, you’re a
wake,” a man’s voice answered in a not altogether friendly tone.

  “Where am I?” Tom asked.

  “You’re in the apartment of Dr. Rhoda Felsberg on Ramat Aviz in occupied Tel Aviv.” The man spoke quickly and his voice gave the clear impression that Tom was an unwelcome guest.

  “How did I get here?”

  “You were brought here nearly a month ago by my sister’s rabbi, who found you on the street.”

  “A month ago?” Tom gasped. “Have I been unconscious the whole time?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “What do you mean, ‘occupied’ Tel Aviv?”

  “Just that,” the man responded, not offering any more information.

  “Occupied by whom?” Tom probed, becoming a little exasperated at the man’s apparent unwillingness to provide substantive answers.

  “The Russians,” the man answered.

  Tom didn’t know whether to take the man seriously. He began to wonder if he had awakened in a psychiatric ward and the man he was talking to was a patient.

  “You said I was brought here by your sister’s rabbi. Is your sister the Dr. Felsberg you mentioned?”

  “You got it,” he answered.

  “And she has been taking care of me?”

  “Yep.”

  Tom desperately wanted to know what was going on and what had happened to him, but he wanted to talk to someone who would give him reliable, complete answers. “Well, can I talk to her?” he urged.

  For a moment there was silence. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Tom heard the man dial the telephone.

  “Hey, Rhoda,” the man said. “He’s awake and he wants to talk to you.”

  “I’ll be right there!” Tom heard the woman answer.