The paper felt heavy in Moises’ hands. His face burned with understanding. And with embarrassment.
“He doesn’t lie, Brother Moises,” Roger said, slapping the knee that would not stand up to the rigors of college basketball. “When this went out they didn’t say ‘hang around and we’ll give you an education.’ Unh unh. It was good-bye, Roger.”
Darian folded the classifieds open to the third page and looked down at Moises from the bed. “That’s propaganda, Brother. White man’s propaganda. The front page are whatever lies they can think of. Lies. They call it news.”
Moises closed the sports section and let it slide to the floor. There was so much to learn. So many habits from his old life that needed to be exorcised. It would take time, but he would do it.
Mustafa looked to his leader. “Did you find it?”
“Right where they said it would be,” Darian answered, tapping the small five-line ad. “A week from tomorrow is the meet.”
“This is a lot of waiting,” Roger commented.
“Good things are worth it,” Darian said. It had been damn good so far, and if their cracker partners were true to their intentions it was only going to get better.
Darren Griggs jumped whenever the doorbell rang. It was no different this Monday evening.
“Darren, hello,” Anne Preston said through the barred screen as the front door opened.
“Dr. Preston.” Darren’s expression added a question mark to his words. Not necessarily because of his therapist’s presence, but because of the vaguely familiar man at her side.
“I hope we’re not intruding. You remember Rabbi Levin? He was the sponsor of the seminar where we met.”
“Right.” Darren smiled and unlocked the screen. “Come in.”
Felicia came through the dining area, dishtowel in her hand, as the front door closed. “Honey, who was th — Dr. Preston!”
Anne saw that the surprised smile was genuine, and warm. She liked Felicia Griggs. “Anne, Felicia.”
“Anne.” The smile was now tinged with mild embarrassment.
Darren gestured to their other visitor. “Honey, this is Rabbi Levin.”
“Seymour Levin.”
Felicia took the large hand offered her. “I’m going to have to call you Rabbi. I hope you understand. It’s my mother’s doing.”
“Of course,” Levin said, understanding perfectly. There was a formality to his position, one shared by all men of the cloth.
“This is my wife Felicia, Rabbi,” Darren said, completing the introductions. What followed was the inevitable awkward silence. “Would you like something to drink? Some coffee?”
“I have a pot on,” Felicia added.
Both Anne and Rabbi Levin politely shook off the offer, exchanged a glance, and smiled at Darren.
Darren returned the expression, adding a nervous chuckle. “What?”
“Darren, Felicia…” Anne paused, trying to find the best words. Hell, she was still having a hard time fathoming the news Rabbi Levin had brought to her less than an hour earlier. “We’ve been invited somewhere.”
“We?” Darren looked to Levin.
“Not me,” Levin said. “I haven’t the honor.”
“The honor?” Darren parroted. “What’s going on?”
“Darren,” Anne began, “you, and Felicia, and I have been invited to come to Washington.” She stopped, letting that sink in for a moment. What came next would take longer to absorb. “By the president, to be his guests at the State of the Union address next month.”
Darren felt Felicia clutch his elbow, and knew without looking that her jaw was closer to the floor than it had been a second before. His was.
“I have dealings with the president’s party,” Levin explained, filling the shock-inspired silence. “He is very much saddened by what you have been through. By the reasons it happened. This would be good for all to see. That… hate does not prevail.”
“Darren?” Anne saw that he hadn’t moved. Neither had Felicia. “Are you in there?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.” The President!?
“Honey.” Felicia looked to her husband. “Do we… Should…”
“Well?” Anne prodded.
Darren let a deep breath drain from his lungs. “Well, I guess you don’t say no to an invitation like that.”
“Wonderful!” Levin exclaimed, joyously clapping his large hands once.
“It looks like we’re going to Washington,” Anne said, hugging Felicia.
“I guess it’ll be an adventure,” Darren observed.
“An adventure,” Levin agreed. “That it will.”
TWENTY
Consultation
Mark Reister looked to the flashing arrow next to line one and wondered when the slowdown of the congressional recess would apply to chief aides as well as their bosses. Well, someone had to oil the machinery that kept the Hill running when the big boys were away. Away. That didn’t do justice to the slopes of Vail. But then his big boy didn’t either. Old Limp Dick did as good on skis as one could with only one real hoof. Perpetually on the beginner’s slope. It was a waste of snow, Reister thought.
Buzz-
The flashing arrow wasn’t going away. Neither was the caller on the other end. Six days ‘til Christmas, he reminded himself, and picked up line one. “Congressman Vorhees’s office.”
“Yes. This is Jeff Krishak from CRI in Boston. Is the congressman in?”
“Uh, no. CRI? I’m not familiar with that.”
“Children’s Rescue International. We arrange relief for refugee children, mostly in sub-Saharan countries.”
“I see,” Reister said. “I’m the congressman’s chief aide. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Possibly. We’re undertaking a pretty ambitious project. Something new for us. Our usual thing is to send aid, but early next year we’re going to bring several children to the States to receive medical treatment. All have lost limbs because of mines and unexploded shells. And, like I said, it’s a new thing for us, and we’re a relatively small operation. We have the donations to handle any treatment, but we need some expertise. Someone to tell us who the doctors are we should be contacting.
“That’s where we hope the congressman can help. Or, rather, his doctor. One of our board members said the congressman’s doctor has to have expertise in this area, considering, and since he represents our district…”
Reister sniffed and smiled at the phone. Someone wasn’t asking for a favor from his boss. Mark this date down, he thought. “So you just want to talk to Dr. Conrad?”
“To get his recommendations on who would be the appropriate professionals to contact.”
Hell, Reister thought. Altruism… What was D.C. coming to? “I’m sure Dr. Conrad would be happy to give you some guidance.” He cycled through the cards on his flip-file — important ones were white, virtually meaningless were blue (Dr. John Conrad was somewhere in between) — and found the correct address and phone number. He passed the information on, accepted the caller’s obviously genuine thanks, and laid the phone back in its cradle.
Seventy-five miles away, Stanley Barrish hung up at the same time.