Part 22 (1/2)

They stood outside and made sure their masks were tight.

'Is that even possible?' Beatty asked. 'Can they target something like this to Jews? And how in h.e.l.l would Saddam hide something this big for so long?'

'We're pretty sure it wasn't Saddam,' Harris said.

'He made tons and tons of the s.h.i.+t. If not him, who the h.e.l.l is it? G.o.ddammit, boys, this could be what we've all been looking for. My senators-'

'Sir, you are not to speak of this to anybody,' Master Sergeant cautioned. 'Not even your senators.'

'Well, how in h.e.l.l-I'm not in your line of command, son.'

Master Sergeant lifted his H&K. 'Sir, I have been instructed to tolerate your presence, so as to access whatever information you may provide, and so as not to create another partisan mess in Was.h.i.+ngton. But I am authorized by the Commander in Chief to prevent this information from being leaked by anyone, including you. Do I have your word as a patriot and a military officer that you will keep absolutely silent about everything you see and hear today?'

Beatty's face stiffened. He raised his gloved hand, keeping it well away from his face and body. 'When you put it that way,' he said, 'on my mother's grave, I so swear.'

Al-Tabrizi stood in an outer doorway, gasping and trying not to be sick. As Fergus came out of the death room, Fouad approached him and quietly asked, 'Can these people now be properly buried?'

'They should be burned,' Fergus said.

'That is not the custom,' Al-Tabrizi protested.

'If dogs get 'em it could spread all over town.'

Master Sergeant intervened. 'Sir, we won't be able to return for the next day or so and we certainly can't take them with us. We do not want to violate local customs. That might attract even more attention.'

Harris nodded to Al-Tabrizi. 'Tell the burial detail to wear masks and hospital gloves and to bury them deep, where no dogs will find them,' he suggested. He removed a glove, reached into his jacket, took out a thousand-dollar bill, and gave it to Al-Tabrizi. 'For expenses, headstones, whatever.'

Al-Tabrizi took the money but refused to look at anybody now. He had tears on his cheeks, tears of anger and shame.

Beatty returned to his vehicle, walking beside Fouad, Harris, and Fergus for a few yards. 'Doesn't matter what we do now, what we give or what we try,' Beatty said. 'They needed twenty years to learn democracy. We gave them five. When the Baathists rose up again and the s.h.i.+tes allied with Iran, we supported the Sunnis with money and weapons, bless our pointy little heads. That cranked up the old death machine all over again. When we pulled out, we left the whole country twisting on a short rope. G.o.d have mercy on us all.'

Master Sergeant followed them, walking backward, face to the battered white house. Beatty gave them a brief wave, climbed into his Subaru, and put it in gear, spinning up a rooster tail of dirt.

The Superhawk roared overhead and made its dusty landing.

'I hate dust,' Fergus said. 'Could be spores everywhere.' He pulled a canvas-wrapped plastic box from the wall of the helicopter and showed them syringes pre-loaded with Gamma Lysin. 'We'll all carry these, just in case.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

Seattle, Harborview Medical Center.

SAC John Keller joined William in Griff's hospital room late in the evening. Keller turned a metal hospital chair around and sat on it with his long legs jutting out like a crane fly's. In his late fifties, thin, with sculpted Appalachian features and large gray eyes, he looked like a particularly conservative accountant or an undertaker and more likely to be William Griffin's father than the man in the hospital bed, behind the plastic curtains, even in his better days.

They said very little for the first few minutes of Keller's visit. Griff hadn't moved except for the rise and jerky fall of his chest. 'They're going to transfer him to Swedish in a week, I hear,' Keller said.

'That's what they tell me, sir.'

'He's going to make it. He's tough. I've worked with a lot of fine agents and I have never known anyone tougher. We cannot afford to lose agents like Erwin Griffin.'

Keller was thinking out loud. Agents had come in and out, observing Griff in his bed and all of them without exception had begun to think out loud as if at confession.

Keller glanced over his shoulder at William. 'I hear you spend an hour here each day.'

'I'm waiting for OPR to return me to duty,' William said.

'Right.' Keller smiled. 'Rose gave you one h.e.l.l of a spirited defense. Told me she'd be dead if you hadn't turned arsonist.'

'I'm not allowed to speak about the matter, sir.'

'It was certainly unorthodox.'

'Yes, sir.'

Keller pushed to his feet and brushed off his midnightblue pants. William stepped aside in the small s.p.a.ce as Keller strode for the door. Keller paused, turned, and held out his hand. 'Thanks.'

'Sir?' William shook with him.

'We need fine agents. Hate to lose any.' Reaching into his jacket, smiling like a bandit, Keller pulled out a length of white toilet paper, about a yard's worth, hung it around William's neck, and made a quick sign of the cross. 'May this wipe away your sins.'

Pleased with himself, Keller closed the door behind him.

William sat in the metal hospital chair the same way Keller had and leaned his chin on the back like a puppy.

Griff's face, in the shadow of a steel cage studded with screws, was a map of sutures held together by s.h.i.+ning glue and plastic strips. His nose and cheek bones had been pulled back into place from where the bomb suit's face-plate had squashed them. s.h.i.+ms of sterile cartilage interlaced with stem cells from his own marrow had been inserted between the bones. They made little b.u.mps under the sutures. Nose cartilage had been removed so Griff's face was still flat, and he would need more reconstructive surgery later. His mouth was full of so much plastic tubing that he couldn't speak even had he been conscious.

'Come on, Griff,' William said. 'I need some advice right about now.'

Griff opened his eyes. The eyes surveyed the ceiling, but did not turn either left or right. They closed.

Still no Griff. Just the body fighting along as best it could, waiting for its owner to return. Waiting for the commanding presence it had been used to for so many years.

Like William himself.

An hour later Rebecca arrived with two coffees in a cardboard carry box. William jerked out of a stiff slumber on the metal chair.

'It's four a.m.,' she said, staring through the plastic at Griff. Her eyes glinted like onyx in the penumbra of the room's small night light. 'They're holding the wife and son at Seatac. Since we bagged them, News has arranged for us to interrogate them before anyone else. But we have to get in and out before eight. Drink this, then come with me,' she said.

'I'm on probation,' William said.