Jake recognized a handsome man of tall, lean build from photographs he’d seen in multiple news sources. Hana al-Salem sat in an armchair reading the New York Times.
He folded the paper upon seeing his visitors and walked to the glass.
“You’re reading rubbish,” Renard said.
“I agree,” Salem said. “I read this waste of murdered trees as an exercise in appreciating the worthy news sources I have access to.”
“You’re fortunate that you have any privileges.”
“Hardly. Do you not realize that I am a living martyr? I may spend the rest of my days in captivity, but if any harm comes to me, people from more than one nation will rise in response. And your liberal-appeasing justice system is more concerned about my rights than my punishment. The same is true for my surviving crew mates.”
“It sickens me,” Renard said.
“I have been inundated with visitors of all types,” Salem said. “But I am grateful for each new face, even those who judge me harshly. Will you be so kind as to identify yourselves?”
“I took the Leviathan back from you,” Renard said.
“And I stopped you from taking out the Bainbridge,” Jake said.
Salem’s eyes glared.
“I am honored,” he said. “And admittedly caught off guard. Do you realize what you’ve both done?”
“We defeated you,” Renard said.
“Maybe,” Salem said. “Or perhaps you perfected my attack. Had you failed, two weapons would have crippled the entire continent, but in retrospect, such an outcome may have been excessive. The single weapon that was impossible to stop by its distance from your defense systems provided just enough of a glancing blow to matter.”
“What?” Jake asked.
“I apologize if you came here to gloat,” Salem said. “But I assumed that men of your quality are above that. I assume that you are here to understand the intent and mindset of a like-minded adversary.”
“You have no right to assume anything,” Renard said.
Jake put his arm around Renard and whispered.
“No, Pierre. He’s right. I couldn’t put words to it until he said it, but he’s right.”
“Jake, no. I—”
“What?”
“Very well,” Renard said. “If I’m honest with myself, I may have come here to gloat. This is my capstone operation, and I wanted to complete it by confronting my adversary with victory already decided. Don’t let him alter the outcome with his tongue.”
“He gave you a purpose. If you want to learn more about what makes you tick and drives you, you need to learn what makes him tick. Go with it.”
“Damn you,” Renard said. “So be it.”
“What drove you to this?” Jake asked.
“I had been arranging the taking of the Leviathan for its own sake,” Salem said, “to turn its weapons against targets of my choosing.”
“Tel Aviv?” Renard asked.
“Yes. But when I was introduced to a communications channel to the Iranians, I had to combine the Leviathan operation with the Iranian electromagnetic pulse attack capability. The inspiration was divine. My purpose was clear.”
“Go on,” Jake said. “Your purpose. What was it?”
“I did this as an enlightenment and an awakening,” Salem said. “I did it for the sake of humanity.”
“You bastard!” Renard said. “How do you awaken people by driving them to starvation and killing?”
“I regret that I had to take the lives of warriors, but the thousands who died—”
“Thirteen thousand,” Renard said. “You killed thirteen thousand people at last count.”
Jake felt Renard’s frustration rising.
“I am given both credit and blame for this, but it is undeserved. That people chose to kill each other for food, that people chose to ignore neighbors in need, that so-called countrymen raped, beat, and stole from each other is the result of me having done no more than turned the mirror upon yourselves.”
“You failed to mention that people banded together,” Jake said. “There were plenty of accounts of people helping each other. Even vigilante militias to protect neighbors.”
“And nobody took keener note of this than I,” Salem said. “America has individuals of merit. But the net result of its populace in mass is telling. You are not yet capable of sustaining yourselves when driven to rely upon your senses of community and personal reliability. The truth is ugly, but now thanks to me, exposed.”
“I give little credit to a man who exposes a problem without offering a solution,” Renard said.
“The solution is self-evident,” Salem said. “By having exposed it, I have shown the solution. It is a change at the personal and cultural level.”
“So you think you’re a hero?” Renard asked.
Salem waved his palm dismissively.
“I am called this by many, but a hero’s title is undeserved and irrelevant. I saw a problem, developed a resolution, and displayed the courage to see it through. I fulfilled my destiny.”
“You’re a madman,” Renard said. “How hypocritical of you to waste an economist’s insight on mass destruction and think you accomplished something righteous.”
“You two strike me as noble men and worthy adversaries. We are more alike than you care to realize.”
“I dislike his perspective,” Renard said. “It’s time to leave.”
“Farewell, gentlemen,” Salem said. “I will always welcome your company.”
Jake let Renard take a few steps as he glanced at the prisoner. For a moment, he remembered having seen the world from a perspective more harsh and jaded than Salem’s.
He looked away and followed Renard.
“Do you want to talk about him?” he asked.
“Not at the moment,” Renard said.
“Then what?”
“You pick a topic. Just get my mind off that rat.”
“Nick said you were in danger.”
Renard stopped.
“Did he?”
“Yeah, Pierre. That’s the omen he threw at me before we went out with the Mercer. He just gave me an update.”
Renard inhaled and sighed.
“I was trying to spare you the burden of knowing. I was diagnosed with lung cancer prior to our operation with the Mercer,” Renard said. “But in the six months since our return, it seems to have reversed course.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it.”
“That’s why you were on and off with the cigarettes.”
“I’m off now. For good. Our work on the Mercer reminded me that I will always be able to find a purpose.”
“Good, Pierre. Because you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“That is one reason I am determined to survive.”
“Have you undergone any treatment?” he asked.
“One round of chemotherapy. That’s all.”
“How well has it reversed course?”
Renard smiled.
“I think I just may pull through.”
Jake called the CIA officer that had replaced Olivia as his watchdog and told the young man he was driving to Charlotte, North Carolina.
He entered a familiar suite of the Westin Charlotte Hotel and leapt onto the plush king sized bed’s satin sheets. Alone, he called his brother.
“Hi, Nick,” he said. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Do you have any sense about Pierre?” Jake asked.
“You know,” Nick said, “I had a dream about him last night. I felt a sense of enlightenment. I can’t be sure, but something important might have happened for him.”