“And what about Senator Stevens?”
“If you follow my rule the senior senator from the great State of Virginia is definitely not to be trusted. To flourish on the Hill as long as he has means he must be pretty deep in someone’s pocketbook and he probably has a blackmail dossier on nearly every politician of any importance. Including you and me.”
The President turned back to face her. “But what I can’t figure out about Senator Stevens is how he’s able to get hold of such current intelligence on the terrorists. Everyone knows the American intelligence community is still organized for a cold war. It’s going to take them another ten years to fully adjust to the realities of terrorism and the new world order.” President Pierce shook his head, wondering how the United States of America had made it this far without being decimated from the inside out. “It’s the mountain of information he has at his fingertips that I don’t trust. If I were a betting man I’d say he’s been bought by a very powerful interest. The question is which one?”
Caroline Black gathered her briefing papers and with an approving nod from the President headed for the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she asked, “And what about me, Mr. President?”
“Well, you fall into the newcomer category, Carrie. If you ever graduate I’ll let you know.” President Pierce sat down behind his desk and watched the door close behind her.
A small door on the left side of the Oval Office opened. “Come in Karl. Did you hear the proceedings this morning?”
“Yes Mr. President. Very interesting.”
“I only have a few moments. What have you got?”
“Just a few thoughts on your dilemma. May I continue?”
President Pierce switched on his intercom. “Hold my next appointment for a few moments, will you, Miriam?”
***
The Hart Senate Office Building
“He’s beginning to waver.” Senator Stevens spoke into his private cell phone. “Now he’s trying to decide which path to choose. And he’s actually listening to input from all sides for Christ sakes.”
“Is that all you have to report?” The voice at the other end was synthesized and scrambled. “I wish you had more information for me because we have a major problem.”
“Now what?” Stevens sat down in his armchair. “You people always create problems and then blame the world for not helping you out.”
“He escaped from the hospital sometime in the early morning.”
“Escaped? Shit. Well, it’s your problem. My job was to bring you the doctor for a change of identity so you could use him to track down his old Beirut friends and the terrorist cell. I did my job and quite frankly I couldn’t care less if you’ve gone and messed up your job.”
“But he could draw attention to us, and ultimately to you.”
“Then put out an alert to the police. After all, he has the face of a known assassin.”
“And when they find him and he divulges his true identity?” the voice said. “Someone is certain to start an investigation. And the terrorist cell may accelerate their timetable before we find out who they are. No, we’ll find him quickly, and if we can’t capture him then we’ll eliminate him. In the meantime my people will track down all the American students at AUB that year and put pressure on them. One of them must know something about these terrorists.”
“If you’re going to hunt him down, use some of the money we keep lavishing on you people and hire real professionals. I don’t want you implicated. If anyone finds out about your activities on American soil it might tip the opinion polls the wrong way.” Senator Stevens paused, hearing only silence in his receiver. “Are you still there? Have you fainted or just shit in your pants?”
“I’m still here, Senator. I was just thinking about what this little incident might do to your illustrious career…”
“Don’t threaten me, you bastard. Go find your lost doctor.” He clicked his cell phone shut and tossed in onto the sofa. Muttering, he returned to his desk. “They’re all the same. Too much religion and definitely too much inbreeding.”
Chapter Eight
Sweet Briar College
The brick buildings and grounds looked the same. So did the coeds walking to class in the cold air, or sharing cigarettes in the parking lot next to the library. Everything seemed the same, except him. Not only did he have the face of someone else, he was no longer a part of this place. Professor Matthew Richards was dead.
Was it foolish to come back? Wasn’t this the first place his pursuers would look? He needed that diary. The one Samir helped him buy that day in the bazaar. If there’s any hope of making sense of what was happening he’d have to recall his experiences in Beirut. The problem was, his memory was a bit foggy about that period. Actually, his memory was a bit foggy about nearly everything. But then that was the purpose for making Scotch one’s sole liquid intake. Dull the memories and pain of the past, present and future.
Matt calculated it had been six or seven weeks since he’d had a drink. He had to admit he did feel better physically. Hadn’t felt so light and energetic, except maybe in his teens when his body was hard and his hormones were on the rampage. Youth is definitely wasted on the young. Matt parked the stolen car at the far end of the faculty parking lot and cautiously headed for the Admin Building.
“May I help you, sir?” An attractive young student looked up from behind the counter in the faculty office. He recognized her immediately. One of his senior biology students, a bright African-American who studied hard and held down several jobs on campus. Sweet Briar College attracted two types of young women: the daughters of the rich and famous for whom money was no object, and bright students from middle- and lower-income families who helped defray the $26,000 tuition through scholarships. Even though she had a scholarship, this student still had to work.
Her “sir” caught him in mid-stride. He forgot he was a stranger. Would he ever get used to being himself on the inside and someone else on the outside? “Actually, yes. My name is William Stubbs. I’m Dr. Matthew Richards’s cousin. Is there someone I can speak to about picking up his personal effects?”
The student’s eyes registered sorrow. “I’ll go get Ms. Parsons, the assistant dean of faculty affairs. Please have a seat, I’ll be right back.”
Wonder who they got to take over my classes? Matt sat and fidgeted in the chair. As the seconds ticked by he grew more and more uncomfortable. How soon before they started looking for him? He shouldn’t have come back.
“Hello, Mr. Stubbs? My name is Fiona Parsons, assistant dean of faculty affairs. Sara tells me you were inquiring about Professor Richards?” She was a slightly overweight woman whom Matt had met once before, at the infamous faculty party where he drank more than usual and tried to French kiss the college President.
“Yes.” Matt stood and shook hands. “I’m Bill Stubbs, Matthew’s cousin. His father, Dr. Wilson Richards, is away in South America and asked me to collect Matt’s personal effects. I have some identification if you need it,” he said, reaching for his wallet.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Stubbs. I’m sorry to tell you this, but-but just a few days after Professor Richards’s accident, the faculty house he lived in caught fire and burned down. We’ve been unsuccessful at reaching his next of kin. I don’t enjoy being the bearer of bad news. I’m certain there were mementos and personal effects his family would have wanted. Professor Richards was an unusual man, so… so full of life, shall we say?”
They’re way ahead of me. Someone had burgled his residence and burned it down to destroy any possible evidence. He tried to remain calm. “What about his office here on campus?” Matt smiled, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Maybe he kept some personal effects there?”
“Why yes. Some of the students helped pack up his books and papers. A few pictures, boots, umbrellas, cardboard boxes, that sort of thing. They’re stored over at the campus maintenance shed. I’ll call and tell them you’re coming over. Shall I say right away?” she asked, pic
king up the phone.
Matt nodded. Just books, umbrellas and boots? He tried to recall what had been stored in his office. There was a chance one of the boxes contained the diary. He had to look. Ms. Parsons put down the phone, Matt thanked her and turned toward the door.
“Don’t you want directions, Mr. Stubbs?”
“I think I can find it. Thanks for your help. I’ll just load up the car and be on my way.” He quickly exited the small building.
“That whole family is weird,” remarked the dean as she returned to her office.
Matt moved quickly along the tree-lined asphalt road toward the maintenance shed. The brick and corrugated iron building was located at the rear of the campus. Snow still lay in piles over much of the campus. Bare branches of maple and elm trees defined themselves against the slate sky. “Bizarre,” he muttered to himself, raising the collar of his coat-the other guy’s coat. Not only did he not recognize himself in the mirror, now he was a stranger on a college campus where just a few weeks before he was recognized by everyone.
Can’t people see beyond the face!
He passed several students. They kept their heads down against the wind. As he approached the senior bench he spotted a woman. He’d never seen her on campus before, but she looked familiar. Tall and attractive, she was deep in conversation with one of the women teachers from the biology department.
Then he remembered. The outspoken reporter from the International Herald Tribune, the reception for Dr. Melikian. This time her auburn hair was flowing around her shoulders, not piled up on top of her head. He recognized her athletic figure, confident gait, prominent nose, and light-olive skin. Caution tightened his gut. What is she doing here?
The two women, deep in conversation, drifted across the large open quadrangle that formed the center of the campus. Matt followed. When they arrived at the library building, the women shook hands and the biology teacher disappeared inside.
Matt took the calculated risk and approached the reporter. “This is a strange coincidence,” he said, smiling. “Didn’t I see you at the reception for Dr. Melikian several weeks ago? I’m William Stubbs, Dr. Matt Richards’s cousin. I’ve come to collect his belongings.” Matt stuck out his hand, which she took and shook lightly. She stepped back for a good look at him in the morning light. “So what brings you to Sweet Briar, Ms…? I’m sorry, I recognize the face, but not the name.”
“Delacluse. Nicole Delacluse from the International Herald Tribune . Did you say you were Dr. Richards’s cousin?” She stared at him closely, reporter’s instincts in play.
Can she really see me? “Yes. Matthew’s father, Dr. Wilson Richards is in South America and asked me to come when I could to collect his personal effects. But not much is left. Seems his house burned down just after the accident.”
Matt decided to press his her. “And what are you doing here? Not much international news in a little out-of-the-way woman’s college is there?”
Her eyes stayed on him, burrowing deeper. “What say we move out of this cold wind and get some hot chocolate at the campus bistro? Or would you like something stronger?”
“Lead the way,” said Matt, checking Stubbs’ watch. It was mid-morning. Plenty of time before the maintenance shed closed for lunch, and he was curious about what this reporter was up to.
In the bistro, Nicole Delacluse continued to study him. “There’s something about you I can’t quite figure out,” she said after a long silence, then shook off the thought and took a sip from the piping hot mug.
“You were at that reception for Dr. Melikian, weren’t you?” Matt said.
“Hell yeah, I was at the reception-in fact, I saw your cousin, who happened to be drunk as a skunk, being dutifully escorted out by the Marines. Seems he fired a big roundhouse hook into Senator Mason Stevens’ fat face. I think he busted several teeth and broke his nose was well. There was blood everywhere.”
She grinned, then caught herself. “Hey, no offense-I’m sorry about your cousin…”
“Yeah, well, he was on a collision course-it was just a matter of time.”
She studied him again. “Anyway, I had a hunch there was a story brewing so I took a few pictures with my mini-digital camera. Nice photos of the unconscious senator. Then I headed for the front driveway.” She sipped her hot chocolate, still staring at Matt. “I saw Dr. Matthews with Senator Stevens’ buxom daughter. The good doctor was being strapped into the passenger seat of her Porsche. He was so drunk he passed out as soon as he hit the bucket seat. The parking attendant had to fasten his seat belt. I got a picture of that too.” The hot chocolate was rich and frothy and comforting. She cupped the mug in both hands. “This is nice. And the chocolate as well.”
“Yeah, nice against the cold,” Matt said. “As I said, he was on a collision course with life. It seems you think he was a bit of an asshole?”
“No, I only met him briefly at the reception. But from what I’ve heard here on campus he was a tortured soul-as well as quite a rascal.”
“And just why are you poking around asking questions about my cousin?”
“Well, first of all, the feds, or whoever they were, confiscated my camera. They told me it was a matter of national security. To which I replied with a very loud Bullshit. Then I read the report in the Washington Post the next day about the accident. It stated that Dr. Richards was driving. But that’s impossible. He was passed out in the passenger seat. No one could recover that quickly and drive.”
“That makes sense.”
“Then when I told my boss at the Tribune about all this, he told me to drop it. He said it was old news and to stay away from the Richards affair.” She shrugged..
“And it looks like you did exactly as you were told.” He couldn’t keep from grinning.
“No one tells me what I can and can’t investigate.” she said, her eyes hot. “I follow my instincts. And there’s something wrong about this whole affair. So I came to Sweet Briar to talk to a few of the teachers and students about the notorious Dr. Richards.”
“Find anything?”
“Not much. Your cousin was a drunk and a womanizer. He was having a heated affair with one of his students, who just happened to be Senator Stevens’ daughter. And she was a pothead, and a frequent cocaine user as well. She even supplied some of the girls in her dorm. Word is, she couldn’t function without a hit at least every 30 minutes. So what about you, Mr. Stubbs? Did you find any of your cousin’s things?”
Matt felt an anger. Kelly was buxom, so what? She took a hit now and then, so what? Just like him, Kelly had her demons but she was basically a good person. His messed-up life suddenly came rushing back at him. “Nothing left of the burned-out house,” he said. “But he did keep some personal effects in his office at the biology department. They were packed up and stored in the maintenance shed. I was just on my way there when I ran into you. Care to join me?”
Matt realized this woman reporter was both professional and tenacious. She knew he hadn’t been driving the car; she was smart. He needed someone on his side. He felt incredibly alone at the moment, and ruthless men were after him. I need to trust someone.
“Join you? Only if you pick up the tab,” she replied. “I never go to second base with a man who doesn’t pay the check.” They walked out of the warm bistro into the chilly air and headed for the maintenance shed.
“You certainly know your way around,” said Nicole, pulling up the hood of her quilted parka against the wind. She took in his rather thin jacket.
“They gave me directions in the Faculty office,” Matt said. He walked briskly to stay warm. This would be his last visit to the beautiful Sweet Briar College campus. Yet his mind was screaming it was time to leave, to get out of there while it was still safe.
An hour and a half later, they approached the faculty parking lot. Nicole had been giving him odd looks ever since they left the maintenance shed. “Okay,” she said, firmly grabbing Matt’s arm. “What the hell is going on? You said you came for Dr. Richards�
�� belongings, yet all you did was rummage through a few boxes and take an old leather journal. Who are you and what are you really after?”
Matt yanked his arm away. “Still working for the Tribune?”
“No. I’m on my own. I tried to get Dr. Richard’s death out of my mind and couldn’t, so I went to my editor and told him I wanted to investigate the Richards’s affair. He said no. I said yes. He said hell no. I said hell yes and told him to go fuck himself.”
“And?”
“He shit-canned me.”
“Do you always talk like a sailor?”
“Only when I’m drunk or angry. And I’m still pissed off at that SOB for sacking me.” She grinned sheepishly, cheeks colored in the cold wind. “So here I am investigating on my own. But I’m open for a good partnership. Assuming you level with me first.”
They resumed their walk and by the time they reached the VW Passat Matt had made his decision. His whole adult life had been a twisted tangle of drunken lies. It was time for a change. Matt stopped.
“What is it?” Nicole asked.
“I’m wondering two things: if you can stand the truth and how you just might have a terrific story – if it’s ever allowed in print.”
“Meaning what?”
“Okay. First, I’m trusting you with the truth.”
“I’m waiting. Spit it out.”
“I’m Matt Richards. And you’re right. I wasn’t driving that night, Kelly Stevens was.”
Her eyes narrowed in the cold air. “Bullshit. Go turn yourself in to some clinic. You may be nice, but you definitely need help.”
What can I say? Matt looked straight at her, wondering how to convince her. He smiled weakly.
“Something…” Nicole said, a professional gaze cutting into him.
“What? Something?”
“You’re not crazy. Something’s going on.”
The Beirut Conspiracy Page 13