In sober silence they watched the procession of reports and rumors coming out of the Middle East, as presented by a sober anchorman whose jet hair resembled a licorice sculpture.
"In a statement issued by the newly renamed Iranian Foreign Ministry today-that's the Arab Iran, not the Persian one-the Iraitis have assured the relatives of Reverend Juniper Jackman that he is well and is enjoying his new status as a guest of the state. Abominadad promises this will continue, but hinted that the reverend's fate is linked to that of the still-missing Ambassador Turqi Abaatira."
"What are the media saying about the Jackman thing?" the President muttered.
"They're unanimous," the secretary of defense returned.
"They think you should nuke Abominadad for daring to kidnap a former presidential candidate."
"If I do that, Jackman buys the farm. So does Cooder."
"A lot of reporters are hot to move into Cooder's chair," the secretary said flatly.
The President grunted. The chairman started to speak, but a graphic came on the screen just to the left of the anchorman's coiffed head. It showed a dead-eyed man with high cheekbones.
"A new mystery tonight is the identity of the American defector Abominadad has claimed went over to their side today. Although his name has not been released, a statement from the Information Ministry claimed it was a major defection, with grave repercussions for the U.S. effort to isolate Iran."
"Which Iran do they mean?" the chairman demanded.
"The bad one," the secretary replied, thin-lipped.
"I thought they were both bad."
The President shushed them angrily. He was very pale as he watched the screen.
The image switched to the familiar Maddas Hinsein clone who read all his prepared statements and speeches over the air-because Maddas was too assassin-conscious to enter a TV studio, it was rumored.
The spokesman read his prepared text in droning Arabic. Crude English subtitles flicked on and off the screen under him.
"The defector," it read, "is known to be the premier assassin in the direct employ of the President of the United States himself. But no more. President Maddas Hinsein announced today that this assassin has now seen the criminality of the U.S. stance and has agreed to perform necessary services for Irait-I mean, Iran. From this day forward, our Precious Leader has proclaimed, no head of state who has aligned himself with the un-Arab forces arrayed against us can sleep safely in his bed. For the-"
The President shut off the TV with a savage stab of his finger. His face was sheet-white.
"Maddas must be really desperate," the chairman said. "Imagine trying to convince the world that we have hired assassins on the White House payroll."
No one spoke.
"We don't, do we?" the chairman said.
Behind the President's back the secretary shook his head no. But the President was unaware of this.
"We remain on stand-down," he said hoarsely.
"Until when?" the disappointed chairman demanded.
"Until I say otherwise," he was informed.
The President left the room.
The secretary and the chairman stared at each other.
"That last report really got to him, didn't it?" the chairman undertoned.
"You know how that crazy Arab gets his goat. The guy's a barbarian."
"Well, if I had a crack at him, he'd be like Attila the Hun."
The secretary of defense looked at the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff with a single eyebrow raised questioningly.
"History," the chairman said.
The President went to the Lincoln Bedroom and lifted the CURE line with trembling fingers.
Harold Smith picked up on the first ring.
"Smith, I have just seen your special person on television."
"You have?" For once, the usually unflappable Smith sounded perturbed. That did nothing to reassure the President.
"I did. On a news clip out of Abominadad. According to the report, he has gone over to their side."
"Ridiculous," Smith said instantly.
"Maddas is saying that every pro-Kuran world leader had better watch out. He's Irait's assassin now."
"Sir, I cannot believe-"
"Tell me this, Smith. If he has gone over to the enemy, am I safe?"
"Mr. President," Harold Smith said truthfully, "if Remo has become a tool of Maddas Hinsein, none of us are safe. He could remove you from office while you sleep and no one could stop him."
"I see. What do you recommend?"
"Go to an unknown location. Remain there. Do not tell me where it is. I have to assume I am at risk as well. And I could be made to talk if Remo was bent on extracting information from me."
"Good thinking. What else?"
"If I can verify this report, you have no choice but to order the organization shut down. If Remo has gone over, all knowledge of CURE and our working relationship is at Maddas Hinsein's disposal. He could make it public. All evidence must be eradicated."
"Shut you down, Smith?" the President said, aghast. "You're my only hope of surviving this thing. You know this man. How he works. What his weak points are. How to reason with him."
"Let me look into this, Mr. President. Please stand by."
The line disconnected abruptly.
The next ten minutes were among the longest of the President's life. No post-midnight waiting for election returns had ever dragged by with such heart-stopping slowness. Presently the red telephone rang.
"Yes," the President croaked.
Smith's voice was grave, with the suggestion of a quaver in it. "Mr. President, I have seen a replay of the CNN report with my own eyes. It is my inescapable conclusion that this is no hoax or ploy. Remo has defected. I can only suspect the reasons. But for the sake of your own political survival, CURE must cease."
"My political survival be damned!" the President retorted. "It's my skin I have to worry about first. And the nation's survival. I want you ready to advise me. There must be some countermeasure to this guy."
"The only countermeasure I am aware of, Mr. President," Harold W. Smith said slowly, "died several weeks ago. I see no good options."
"Stay by the phone, Smith," the President ordered tightly. "I will be in touch."
Chapter 34
"So," President Maddas Hinsein said, after the video crew withdrew from his office, "this is the assassin who has committed murder all over my fine nation."
"He does not understand Arabic," Kimberly Baynes said.
Both of them were looking at Remo Williams.
Remo was looking at Kimberly Baynes with a mixture of desire and fear in his deep eyes.
Kimberly wore the abayuh, her face was uncovered, her blond hair cascaded over her shoulders. As she hovered near him, her hidden arms fluttered and disturbed the long lines of the abayuh with spidery grace. She had kept them hidden while the crew filmed Remo on display, and only removed her veil after they had gone.
"His eyes," Maddas told Kimberly. "I do not like the way he looks at you."
"He desires me with his body, but despises me with his mind," Kimberly said laughingly.
"He is too dangerous. He must die." Maddas reached for his revolver.
"No," Kimberly said quickly, one yellow-nailed hand intercepting Maddas' gun hand. "We have a use for him."
"What value can one man possibly have? Soon the Americans will know their finest assassin is under my control. That is all that is neccesary."
"You do not understand, Scimitar of the Arabs, this man is more powerful than your greatest division. He is the incarnation of the Destroyer, and in this form he will do anything I tell him to. Including eradicating the Hamidi Arabian royal family."
Maddas blinked.
"Would that not be fitting, O Precious Leader?" Kimberly said mockingly. "This man destroyed your family."
"And did me a tremendous favor," Maddas said quickly. "They were beasts, especially my wife's brothers. I am better off without them. And with you."