Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 71
Five Days, Eight Hours, Thirty-Eight Minutes
"According to records provided by the Central Intelligence Agency," Olga began, reading from the quick outline of events she had scribbled while she was reviewing the materials, "I show that Senator Pendley – in his early years of political service – spent a fair amount of time touring Saudi Arabia."
"Dr. Vukavitch," Stoddard tried, "you'll find that I'm not supporter of what the senator is subjecting this country to, but a great many Congressmen and women spend time in the Middle East. Israel, in fact, is one of America's oldest allies. I know many politicians who've spent as much time there as they have in Washington. There's nothing particularly uncommon about a press junket to that part of the world."
"Of course," she agreed, "but, as my research has shown me, a large portion of Pendley's campaign for public office was founded on his promise to establish a longer lasting peace to the countries of the Middle East. His family – they built their fortunes on the tobacco industry, but they were heavily invested in the oil business – had established some previous business relationships with the Saudi Royal Family, and the senator hoped he could use this leverage to his advantage. Travel records show that he spent several weeks in Riyadh, but, according to what was written at the time, he was unable to assure his contacts that the United States government would back him on what they viewed as a 'personal quest for the White House.'" She shrugged. "As we now know, the government didn't back the senator's position in shifting its allegiance from Israel to Saudi Arabia, and the senator was very outspoken on this topic. To be certain, it was the source of great political friction for Pendley. However, the CIA file does include information on some of the senator's more – er – romantic entanglements while he stayed in the country. One young woman he was quite taken with was Gada Nassif. Records exist which show that the Nassif family has a long history of businessmen. Many of their ancestors were scholars and public servants. Actually, there are records which show this reputation stretches all the way back to ancient times. However, as luck would have it, Gada fell out of favor with the Royal Family, but it's unclear as to why or how this happened. When her family's predecessors may've been heavily involved in influencing state policy, it appears that she was relegated to little more than a clerical in their Ministry of Business. Still, in the cultural evolution of Saudi Arabia, having a woman in this position was a tremendous step ... but it appears as Gada was demoted to this position not long after the senator left the country." She produced a piece of paper and slid it across the table. "This CIA report contends that the senator met Miss Nassif, and they began an affair that lasted for several years.
"Of course, this kind of behavior isn't exactly welcomed by other cultures," she continued, glancing through several additional files, trying to locate some more facts, "but Pendley's influence with her family and friends kept her safe for a number of years. Basically, Miss Nassif was allowed to live her life in seclusion, and she was never allowed to return to a position of prominence. There are some indications that she was, perhaps, used as a bargaining chip by several members of the Saudi Arabian government, but none of it has ever been substantiated. In fact, so far as the file indicates, she basically disappeared, popping up every now and then with a passing mention. It wasn't until two years ago – there was a covert operation to rescue a kidnapped American businessman from a rebel compound in Iraq – that she figures prominently."
"A rebel compound?" President Campbell asked. "You mean to say ... she was a terrorist?"
"To be frank, Mr. President," Olga replied, "we don't know. As even the War on Terror has shown, our intelligence gathering efforts over the last ten years hasn't been the effort we would have wanted it to be. Her involvement with any terrorist organization is very unclear. All that we do know is that she was there, and, as a result from a bullet wound to the chest, she died several weeks later." She stared up into the man's eyes. "However, some of the materials discovered recently about this compound showed that it was, in fact, a training spot for terrorists, and it now appears that Miss Nassif was held there for her protection."
"For her protection?" Glancing over at the chief, the President received little more than the shrug of shoulders. "Who was she hiding from?"
"Again, there is little evidence to show the specifics of her containment there," Olga explained. "But ... her file from the NSA states that it was believed she was being held against her will as a show of thanks on behalf of the Iraqi government to a chief terrorism trainer who is only identified by a code name: Efnisian."
"Wait a minute," Donovan interrupted from the viewscreen. "Olga ... did you just say ... Efnisian?"
"Yes."
"That's DeMarco!"
"What?" she asked. "Craig, I'm reading that from the NSA report ... how did you know that?"
"Because that's who Marty ... er ... I'm sorry ... let me explain this since not everyone present knows what I'm talking about."
Quickly, Donovan rattled off the events involving his initial investigation into DeMarco and the explosion that killed his good friend, Detective Martin Guerrero.
"Mr. Donovan," Chief Stoddard tried, "are you telling us that Chloe Vandemark shared with you the information the White House had been collecting on Richard DeMarco?"
He grimaced. "I don't know that there exists any legal precedent in trying someone as a traitor posthumously, so, yes, chief. That's what I'm saying. However, please keep in mind that I culled my information from a variety of sources. The NSA. What Chloe told me. What the CIA had declassified on DeMarco. It isn't as if she provided any vital clue, with all respect to the work you and your team are doing. She just added one more piece to the puzzle."
"Craig, what do you know about DeMarco's codename of Efnisian?" the President asked.
"It's from mythology, sir," he replied. "Celtic mythology, to be specific. I'm sure there's someone on your staff who can give you the long version, but the short version is that Efnisian was one bad apple. He destroyed his own nephew in order to purify his people's bloodline. He had his own unique vision for the world, and he allowed it to corrupt almost everything he did."
"So ... is it safe to say that we're dealing with an archetype for the world's first terrorist?"
"That's really a conclusion better drawn by analysts, sir," Donovan tried. "As I like to say, I'm a field agent, and I'm proud of it."
"As you can see, Mr. President," Olga announced, trying to bring the conversation back to her original assumption, "there exists a running theory that the senator fathered a child with Miss Nassif, and, if the Iraqi government was indeed protecting her in exchange for intellectual property provided by Efnisian, and, if what Mr. Donovan is telling is correct – that Richard DeMarco and Efnisian are the same person – then it's reasonable to conclude that DeMarco is, in fact, the senator's son."
"Good Lord," Campbell muttered. "Can you imagine what the press would make of this? A senator of Pendley's reputation being responsible for one of the world's most-wanted terrorists?"
"Mr. President?"
From his spot at the table, Isaac Mentnor waved a polite hand.
"Yes, doctor?"
"Sir, I believe I've noticed something here that may have evaded us until this point."
Everyone in the room focused their attention on him.
"Efnisian is, in fact, from Celtic mythology," Mentnor explained. "Mythology, I must admit, has always been one of my side interests, and I can attest for what Craig and Olga have explained. If Olga's conclusion about Mr. DeMarco's personal lineage is correct, then that road leads back to Senator Pendley. Also, as I can attest to from my own experience, one of your White House staffers – Miss Chloe Vandemark – also poses for us a road that leads back to the senator." He bit his lower lip before stating, "You'll pardon my noticing this, but the Basilisk, which we believe to have been destroyed by the senator's temporal weapon, is a word that also bears roots in mythology, does it not? Unless my memory fails me, I believe the basilisk was referred to in Greek mythology as 'the king of the serpents.'" Glancing around at the various faces, he asked, "Is there some other fact that ties Pendley to this submarine?"
"There is, doctor," Stoddard announced, clearing his throat. "Senator Pendley served on the Senate Intelligence Committee, and he is one of the few politicians who publicly supported development of such stealth technology."
"Then, sir," Mentnor tried softly, "wouldn't it be prudent for someone to begin a comprehensive review of the senator's other intelligence committee activities? It might – at the very least – shed some serious light on the specifics surrounding this temporal weapon."
Smiling, the President said, "That's a very good conclusion, doctor." Turning to the viewscreen, he added, "Get some of the staff at Glory Point to begin reviewing the records from the senator's service on the intelligence committee." He raised a finger, pointing at the group. "I want even the classified materials gone over in complete detail. If there's any shred of evidence – no matter how large or small – that can give us any insight as to the 'where' and 'how' of this weapon, I want it."
"Of course, Mr. President," the Vice-President agreed.
The intercom blinked, and Stoddard reached out to the comm relay.
"Yes?"
"Sir, we have Senator Pendley on the line."
"Speak of the devil."
Stoddard glanced over to the President. He nodded, and then the chief tapped the button.
"Hello, Arthur," Campbell announced.
"Good afternoon, Mr. President."
Before the senator could say anything further, the President peered down at his wristwatch. "Might I assume, given the timing of this call, that you're inquiring as to whether or not my official position to refuse you control of this government has changed?"
"Is has been two hours, sir," Pendley countered.
"My answer remains the same."
"I thought that would be your answer."
"Arthur," he tried, "you know as well as I do that no great nation has ever accomplished a single good deed by capitulating to terrorists. I haven't surrendered our interests abroad. I certainly don't intend to do it at home."
"For the time being?"
"For the time being," Campbell agreed.
"Then," the senator offered, "I would ask that you advise your staff to monitor every European news agency for the next ..."
"Arthur," the President interrupted firmly, "can't we agree to bring an end to this madness?"
"With all due respect, Mr. President, I don't feel the slightest responsibility for what you're inflicting on the world at large ..."
"You'll pardon the expression, but 'cut the crap,' Arthur," he shot. "You aren't talking to some inexperienced third world dictator who doesn't know his country from the holes you're creating in the ground."
"If you would just monitor the European news agencies, then you'll see entirely what I'm capable of, Mr. President ..."
"What you're capable of doesn't concern me, Arthur, but the fact that you're suffering from serious delusions of grandeur is alarming every member of the Cabinet ..."
"I'll not be insulted by the likes of you ..."
"Mr. President!" the aide shouted as he ran into the room through the conference room doors. Both of the doors banged loudly as they smacked into the wall. "Mr. President ... we're receiving satellite imagery right now!"
"What is it?" he asked quickly. Turning back to face the comm relay, the President ordered, "Arthur, tell me what it is you've done!"
"It's the Vatican, sir!" the aide exclaimed.
"What about it?"
"It's ... the building and the surrounding structure, sir ... they're gone!"
The room fell into a shocked silence.
Slowly, Olga Vukavitch slid her hand away from the disheveled paperwork, across the table, and onto Michelson's arm. He reached up and took her fingers in his, and he felt as she gripped him lightly.
"Oh, no," she whispered.
"In two hours," Pendley said via the relay, "I will strike again. Another target will be destroyed, erased from history, and you – each of you there providing counsel to this man you serve so blindly – will only know more and more guilt as you continue to support his useless policy of delaying the inevitable."
"Arthur," Campbell stated, "if you have truly done this ... then you are mad."
"Good day, Mr. President."
END of Chapter 71
