Chapter Four

Larry had been one of only two volunteers and was alone in the opulent suite except for an impatient male secretary, Todd, age thirty-eight – also a bodybuilder and also growing dissatisfied with the pro-war rhetoric of the congressman – seated in the vestibule hoping Larry would say, “Why don’t we both call it quits and leave for the weekend?”

“Yes,” Larry said, signing a document and handing it back to Rodney, an NSA courier, a young man of Native American ancestry who had been a lieutenant in the U.S. army before giving up his commission in 2002 to enter the intelligence community – this at the prodding of his senior commander at Ft. Sill. “So they’ve got you out delivering sensitive material on a day like this.”

“Had to find someone, so I’m away from my computer and searching the world via hyperspace for terrorists,” Rodney said. “The regular couriers are all on vacation.”

Looking out the window at the cloudy skies over the capital, Larry said, “How do you like this balmy weather?”

“Love it,” Rodney said. “Could be in the mid-seventies here tomorrow.”

“Should be nice for jogging and biking,” Larry said.

“So I heard,” Rodney said. “Within a couple hours, I’ll be on a flight to Tulsa, and I’ll need to do some jogging to burn off some of the calories I get at Thanksgiving dinner at my parents.”

“We’ve got the dining room set up for eight,” Larry said. “My parents and my father-in-law and his fiancée are coming in, as well as Louis’s half-brother Habib and his wife and their baby from Iraq.”

“Sounds like a nice get-together,” Rodney said.

“Habib and his wife came from half way around the world to see America for the first time, got here last Friday in New York and drove into town yesterday. They’re staying at a hotel in Alexandria, all paid for by a Middle Eastern consortium out of Oman that has Habib working as a consultant, something to do with water resources.”

“You have a nice holiday,” Rodney said.

“And you too,” Larry said. “Have a safe flight.”

“Thank you.”

“And thank you for the packet,” Larry said. He could hear Rodney and Todd chatting, wishing each other Happy Thanksgiving, and the main door to the suite open and close.

Larry unsealed the large mailer carefully with a letter opener and looked inside. Papers to do with the anti-war movement on the East Coast, reports on Iraqi refugees who had been admitted to the U.S., and a separate file in a manila folder marked, Habib Rahman al-Fatat. Larry’s eyes widened as he opened it and perused five or six sheets that including numerous dates and numbers of international phone calls, a few digital photo prints of Habib speaking with two imams, a photo taken of him naked when he was detained by the U.S. military in the summer of 2003, photos of his mother and step-father. Larry raised his eyebrows as he glanced at a report on threats to women in Basrah, and human rights violations there in particular from extremists as well as the Iraqi police, militia groups, and confidential reports of the British military 2003 to the present utilizing torture in Basrah prisons. Larry gulped a moment at the details of one “interrogation” conducted by the British that the report deemed “violated the Geneva convention in several aspects,” closed the files, put them back in the large mailer, went to the credenza on one side of his office with a large painting which was on hinges, pushed the picture frame back to reveal a wall safe with door twelve inches in diameter, worked a combination, opened it, put the mailer inside, closed it, twirled the dial, closed the painting back onto the wall, began shuffling a few papers on his desk, got a few personal things from the center drawer of his desk, pushed the intercom and said, “Todd, how about it if we finish up now?”

“Anytime you’re ready, Larry,” Todd said. “I’ll close up.”

“Thanks,” Larry said. He got his jacket and briefcase, locked the door to his office, smiled as he passed Todd still at his own desk getting things in order before leaving, and said, “Happy Thanksgiving. Thanks for volunteering to be here.”

“Anytime,” Todd said. “And you have a Happy Thanksgiving.”

Larry walked down the corridors, passed two security checkpoints, out into the parking garage, into his SUV, and began the drive back to the Virginia suburbs where Louis was already at home handling preparations for the family banquet the next day, and cooking a light meal for Habib and Noor for later that evening.

Larry got out his cell phone and called the land line phone at their house. Louis answered. “I’m on my way,” Larry said.

“There’s just one thing I forgot,” Louis said.

“What?”

“Chocolate layer cake for your father.”

“How could you forget that?” Larry asked.

“I had a complete cart filled to the brim this morning at the grocery store,” Louis said, “and panicked housewives all around me acting more like terrorists than housewives if you know what I mean, and I just forgot until I got home. But we could use the bakery near downtown that’s open until eight.”

“Okay,” Larry said. “I can try there. But could you call ahead and ask them to please hold their best chocolate cake? You can give them a credit card to hold it. I bet they’re crowded. I can understand how you could forget. I can hardly stand shopping the day before Thanksgiving. The grocery stores are a madhouse.”

“It would have been worse this afternoon,” Louis said. “At least I didn’t have thirty minutes standing in line when I was there.”

“So, the deluxe dessert my father counts on every Thanksgiving will be there, and my mother, your father and his fiancée will be there, and your brother Habib and Noor and Hassan, and we’re set for tomorrow, right?”

“Everything and we’ve got a stock that will last a week at least,” Louis said. “I can hardly find space for everything in the kitchen.”

“How are your father and Melinda doing at the mission?”

“Dad called from there about an hour ago to say he’s never felt such kindness in his heart, although he and Melinda are feeling rather tired from all the loading and unloading of boxes of food,” Louis said.

“Must be a good feeling,” Larry said.

“He said the over-sized pickup truck he rented is just big enough for the six volunteers and box after box of food and other donations the refugees are getting, delivered right into their hands. And now they’re helping inside the mission sort all kinds of donations, interviewing some refugee families, and then tomorrow the place will be packed for the free food.”

“Wish I could help,” Larry said.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Louis said. “Dad said they’re worn down but they need volunteers for tomorrow. Would you consider it, if we have a couple hours? It’s just thirty minutes there and back. I could do the driving. I think Habib wants to go too, so we’d have at least three men.”

“It’s a nice idea, Louis. I need to think about it, but it’s definitely something I’d like to help with.”

“Thanks. And by the way, we’re invited to a private party for donors to the Bright Star Theatre for next Saturday, around eight, if you’re interested.”

“I’m interested. One party at a time. So the food is overflowing.”

“Yes,” Louis said, “overflowing.”

“Great. We’ll have a feast,” Larry said. “Love you.”

He began petting one of their two cats - Madeline, their female short-hair gray cat with white stripes - that leapt upon the table and that began eating some of the dry cat food whose ingredients he and Larry had carefully considered before buying: (poultry by-product meal, whole grain corn, brewers rice, soybean meal, corn gluten meal, animal fat preserved with mixed-tocopherols (form of Vitamin E), salmon, tuna, brewers dried yeast, non-fat yogurt, calcium carbonate, phosphoric acid, animal digest, caramel color, salt, potassium chloride, tetra sodium pyrophosphate, choline chloride, calcium phosphate, L-Lysine monohydrochloride, taurine, zinc sulfate, Vitamin E supplement, ferrous sulfate, manganese sulfate, niacin, Vitamin A supplement, calcium pantothenate, thiamine mononitrate, copper sulfate, riboflavin supplement, Vitamin B-12 supplement, pyridoxine hydrochloride, folic acid, Vitamin D-3 supplement, calcium iodate, biotin, menadione sodium bisulfite complex (source of Vitamin K activity), sodium selenite) - that was usually set out on blue glass saucers circa 1940 from Holland that Louis had bought at an estate sale in Fairfax and that he and Larry did not use except for their cats in that they had three other complete sets of eighty-piece dinnerware including Art Deco china from the twenties given to them on their first wedding anniversary that listed in one auction catalog at over $25,000 for a complete set, which theirs was.

He opened a literary magazine sent to him by Calvin Benderman and Mark Alexander from Boston - received on Monday that week - and began reading an avant-garde poem by Joshua Cooper, one of the co-founders of peaceforiraq.net, currently serving two months in a Massachusetts minimum security prison for organizing a sit-in the previous summer at a Massachusetts National Guard facility where ten other protestors had also been arrested, most of those having received fines and suspended sentences, Cooper having refused to renounce non-violent sit-ins as his primary means of arousing public opposition to the war in Iraq.

The poem, entitled “Banned Translations”, was meant to evoke the antiphonal chanting of medieval plain song, the text updated to modern anti-war lyrics and stanzas with the protestors masked, as in a Greek drama, their characters given names drawn from quantum mechanics and astrophysics.

Louis, who was of the opinion that to be understood, poetry needs to be spoken, began reading aloud to the cat, who promptly jumped down and ran into the living room out of range of Louis’s articulate bass voice.

“Banned Translations,” Louis began, “by Joshua Cooper.

Ah! that's curious. The war in Iraq truly is a signature of dark matter in the universe, the darkness of cruel senseless invasions of the weak force by the strong, Iraq by the Coalition.

ELECTRON: A signature of chaos, Bush and his individual elements of aggression. The signature says you are anti-war.

ANTI-NEUTRINO: When is an anti-neutrino not anti-war?

ELECTRON: An enigma from a relativist, the collapse and explosion of a massive illegal war, the war in Iraq.

So then when is an anti-neutrino not anti-war?

ANTI-NEUTRINO: When the signature is non-quantum, and the war is non-illegal. Electron, you are not the only one of your kind then? Verbotene Übersetzungen

ELECTRON: That is banned. Call me a rest mass, as in mass arrests by the U.S. military. La massa arresta, gli arresti di masse, le masse dell'innnocent hanno arrestato. Here, this volunteer from chaos, his translation also is banned.

GAMMA: This volunteer is the reactor of the Pentagon, who is the reactor of electron; so that, you see, the signature is the magistrate’s relativist; just as boson might say, pledge to stop the war or we will not leave until the mediating boson stops the reactor of the F15’s, who is the reactor of the air guard.

ANTI-NEUTRINO

Then this volunteer is muon! Why, what a lot of the magistrate’s trident missiles he has lost!

ELECTRON: And if we unravel the mystery of how so many missiles were lost?

ANTI-NEUTRINO: That is nothing. That is unravelling the random fluctuations of nothing.

ELECTRON: So that Iraqis have nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

GAMMA: And the banned translation is: Auflösen sich die zufälligen Schwankungen von nichts.

ELECTRON: The accidental variations of do nothing break up. Do nothing, and Iraq breaks up in chaos.

GAMMA: Les variations accidentelles de ne fait se brise rien. At least nothing is honest.

ELECTRON: That is because the peace ritualist is honest; so the informers set upon him and the armed guards too pluck out the magistrate’s trident missiles.

ANTI-NEUTRINO: The accidental variations of does not do breaks itself anything.

GAMMA: Som ble forbudt. Følgelig kaos. A positron, do you see that many-colored spectrum of witnesses to American war crimes? What is the magistrate’s name? I crimini di guerra americani

ELECTRON: His name is banned. Su nombre es prohibido. This one? That's the abused. Eso es el abusado.

ANTI-NEUTRINO: Is there another abused besides the detainee? But why, if the ritualist is honest, has the ritualist not thrown away the magistrate’s war surge? But what is the meaning of all these crests? Have these introverts come to contend for the double momenta prize? forbudt oversettelser

ELECTRON: The double momenta prize also is banned from translation. They are like the mercenaries who cling to the crests of their mountains of money for greater safety.

QUARK: Oh, Positron, look what awful swarms of militarists are gathering here!

ANTI-NEUTRINO: Enjambres de militaristas, by the broken man, the detainee strapped to a table and abused in American prisons! what a cloud! The entrance to the stage is no longer visible, so closely do they fly together.

QUARK: Here is the insurance against war.

ANTI-NEUTRINO: Sarkozy est trop anxieux pour se lier d'amitié avec un criminel de guerre Buisson nommé. Why, there is the French ally of American war.

QUARK: There is the Turkish invasion.

ANTI-NEUTRINO: Here is the king of the Saudis. (To ELECTRON) What's that volunteer behind the king of the Saudis?

ELECTRON: That's the vanishing breed of those who love peace.

ANTI-NEUTRINO: What? a volunteer whose translation has been banned?

QUARK: Why, the truth is one. The translation of truth has been banned in the interest of national security.

ELECTRON: A tradução de verdade foi proibida no interesse de segurança nacional. Here comes the State Department.

And who is it brings an Islamist to the new string theory?

ELECTRON (pointing to the various volunteers): The new? Here is the Omar, the Khalid, the Baathist, the Iranian, the Algerian, the Shiite, the ayatollah, the archeologist, the mosque violator, the NGO, the released prisoner, the cleric, the suicide bomber, the refugee. They all bring the Islamist to the new string theory.

QUARK: Oh! what a lot of witnesses to war crimes, and what a lot who have disappeared.

ANTI-NEUTRINO: Oh! what a lot of blind-folded witnesses!

QUARK: How they scold, how they come rushing up! What a noise! what a noise!

ANTI-NEUTRINO: Hear the noise of the anti-war movement, banned in translation, it’s protests banned. Can the mercenaries bear ill-will to the blind-folded witnesses?

QUARK: Oh! there! there! they are opening their mysticisms and staring at us.

ANTI-NEUTRINO: How much of a mystery?

GAMMA: No more mystery at all. The Coalition, the mercenaries, dispel the mystery. It was an enduring mystery, until the public realized it was all a lie. Yet a very enduring mystery, at my very heart, why so many millions of innocent souls were made to suffer in Iraq, while America has become a banned translation.

INTERSTELLAR MEDIUM: Dust, dust, dust, dust, dust. All about Iraq, nothing is dust.

Damma av, damma av, damma av, ingenting är dammar av.

La poussière, la poussière, la poussière, rien est la poussière.

ELECTRON: Nothing survives in this illegal war.

SINGULARITY: Nada sobrevive. Where is the survivalist who called me? Where is the signature to find him?

ELECTRON: The signature has been waiting for you a long while! The electron signature, the signature never fails in his word to my friends.

INTERSTELLAR MEDIUM: Ionized, ionized, dusty plasma. Like the dusty plasma in the hospitals in Baghdad. What good news have you for me?

ELECTRON: Something that concerns our common safety, and that is just as scandalous as it is to the point. Two men, who are subtle reactors, have come here to seek me. They would detain me, and ban my translations.

INTERSTELLAR MEDIUM: Where? How? What are you saying?

ELECTRON: The signature says, two old men have come from the abode of humans to propose a vast and splendid scheme to us.

INTERSTELLAR MEDIUM: The war-mongers Cheney and Rumsfeld. Oh! it's a horrible, unheard-of crime! What are you saying? The schema is a war crime, is it not?

ELECTRON: Never let my words scare you. It is not so horrible.

INTERSTELLAR MEDIUM: What have you done to me? I am detained, and my translations banned.

ELECTRON: The signature has welcomed two men who wish to live with us.

INTERSTELLAR MEDIUM: Warmongers to live with us?

ELECTRON: Call it a phased transition.

INTERSTELLAR MEDIUM: And you have dared to do that! Those two men are war and aggression. Their names translate as Bush and Blair. Volunteers! Freiwilligen!

ELECTRON: typical density of about 1 atom/cm³ (10^-24g/cm³⁾

Yes, and the signature is delighted at having done so. Have you not translated the signature as yet?

INTERSTELLAR MEDIUM: And are they already with us?

ELECTRON: Just as much as the signature is.

WEB NEBULAE (singing): Ah! ah! we are betrayed; 'tis sacrilege! Our friend, the ritualist who picked up newly-formed stars in the same trapezium as ourselves, has violated our ancient laws; the ritualist has broken the oaths that bind all witnesses; the ritualist has laid a snare for me; the ritualist has handed us over to the attacks of that impious race which, throughout all time, has never ceased to war against us.

INTERSTELLAR MEDIUM: That indeed is the apparent visual magnitude. War has betrayed us again. La guerra nos ha traicionado otra vez. As for this traitorous witness, we will decide the magistrate’s case later, but the two old men shall be punished forthwith; we are going to translate their war crimes, piece by piece, into many languages.

MUON: Nous traduirons leurs crimes de guerre, le morceau par le morceau, dans beaucoup de langues

PROTON: Wij gaan hun oorlogsmisdaden, stuk door stuk, in vele talen vertalen.

vi går att översätta deras krigsbrott, lappar lappar by, in i många språk.

QUARK: It's all over with us.

ELEKTRON: Det är all över med oss.

ANTI-NEUTRINO: You are the sole cause of all our trouble. Why did you bring me from down yonder?

QUARK: To have you with me. Curves space isn’t curved space without my anti-neutrino at my side.

ANTI-NEUTRINO: Say rather to have every banned translation melt into tears.

QUARK: Para derretir en los rasgones

in Risse schmelzen

Att smälta in i revor

Para derreter em rasgos

GAMMA: Go on! you are talking nonsense. How will you weep with your volunteers? Verbotene Übersetzungen,

NEUTRINO: Water cures thirst. War cures thirst, the thirst for war. The thirst for peace, the thirst for tears. War seeks tears. It should be banned. In any translation, the whole war in Iraq should be banned.”

Louis nodded and called out to the cats, “muon, muon.” Madeline mewed in response and came back into the breakfast alcove.

“Good kitty,” Louis said, petting her. “Smart kitty, you know a word from physics. Cats can talk, can’t you?”

“Ummm,” the cat murmured.

“Liked the poetry, huh?”

The cat hissed and ran back to the living room.

Louis suddenly realized he had not called the bakery and did so promptly, asking them to hold their best chocolate cake – at least two layers, enough for eight guests, “and here’s my credit card,” which the attendant took saying it would, “be ready when Mr. McIntire arrives.”

“Thanks so much,” Louis said, “and Happy Thanksgiving.”

“And to you too,” the attendant said.

It was less than ten minutes later that Larry called on his cell phone from the bakery.

“Louis. What sort of cake did you order?”

“A regular chocolate cake. Why? Was there a problem? The guy told me they’ve have something for us.”

“No problem at all. It’s just incredible. They said there’s been a cancellation, a family who had commissioned a cake with theme from the capital, with all sorts of buildings designed in icing, and their father who was a senior State Department official under Clinton has gone to the emergency room so they cancelled, and they’re giving us this huge cake for the price they quoted you.”

“Twenty-five dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are they giving it to us?”

“Something to do with whipped cream spoiling if it’s not eaten tomorrow, I don’t know,” Larry said.

“How big is it?” Louis asked.

“It’s in a box about two feet by two feet and could feed forty I’m sure.”

“Then we can take the leftovers to the mission when we’re finished, if we have time.”

“We’ll have time. Anyway, I thought I’d let you know you’re going to have to find somewhere to put it.”

“The library?”

“Somewhere the cats can’t get to it.”

“All right,” Louis said. “See you soon.”

“Right. Just wanted to let you know this will be quite a Thanksgiving dessert.”

“Stroke of genius having five of our younger female operatives follow O’Connor to that supermarket this morning and keep an eye on him acting like hostile hyper upscale housewives in a huff to finish last minute Thanksgiving shopping,” Lyeforth said.

“And to keep a file so extensive on McIntire that we knew his father always has chocolate cake on Thanksgiving,” Beltmann said.

“Instead of pumpkin pie.”

“And our ladies noticed he did not pick out a cake at the supermarket deli,” Beltmann said.

“Lacy and Genevieve both said they’d like ‘to do it with that good-looking bastard in the sexy sweatpants’.”

“Aren’t they nice?” Beltmann said. “Seeing that the senior Mr. McIntire likes to honor the family legacy of European chocolate confectioner whose candies were in every palace on the continent until the war. We knew they’d have to go to that downtown bakery – like they always do in a hurry – to get the chocolate cake his father craves.”

“The bakery staff asked no questions?” Lyeforth said.

“None,” Beltmann said. “Our agent knows the owner and brought the box, complete with mouth-watering creation from our own superb headquarters head chef, and an electronic listening device planted in that ornate gold-plated miniature model of the capitol building, so as to give us unparalleled access to the whisperings and the family gossip and perhaps for us to overhear McIntire incriminate himself by divulging to his partner O’Connor those national secrets that only he is to know.”

“We’re so smart,” Lyeforth said.

“I like you too.”

“Listen,” Lyeforth said. “He’s thanking the bakery owner and carrying it out to his SUV.”

“Can’t quite hear all of it,” Beltmann said.

“That’s because it’s still in the box.”

“There,” Beltmann said, as the sound of a large car engine starting came over the monitor. “He’s heading home.”

Larry parents – Dirk Pieter and Rosemary Joan – had driven the five hours from their ten acre estate on Long Island to the Virginia suburbs outside the capital on Tuesday and had taken Louis and Larry out to dinner at a four-star restaurant Tuesday evening (the Autumn menu consisting of the following:

and then resting at their McLean hotel much of Wednesday - other than to sample a few antique shops (Rosemary having bought a pair of 18^th century sterling silver candlesticks to give to Omar and Melinda for their wedding) and a visit to the Potomac (sampling only a part of the middle Potomac for half an hour, and hoping to see portions of the upper and lower Potomac before returning to New England ) to enjoy the foliage - having booked a suite there despite Larry’s offer of the guest bedroom, Dirk and Rosemary having been stockholders for many years in the hotel chain (its CEO having received over $1.2 million in salary plus $3.8 million in deferred compensation and stock options in 2006) where they were staying and having “so many free nights available at hotels all over the world that we wouldn’t use them up if we travelled like Marco Polo.”

They owned a 2008 SUV with AM/FM MP3 Satellite ready with 4 speakers, front-wheel drive, Electric Power Assisted Steering (EPAS), Power 4-wheel disc brakes with anti-lock braking system, Power Group: power windows, locks, mirrors and accessory delay; Remote Keyless entry, driver side keyless entry keypad, auto dimming (electrochromic) rearview mirror; Hybrid-unique 16" aluminum wheels with brushed aluminum center cap; Roof rack side rails, Privacy glass, Power 6-way driver seat, Dual Automatic Temperature Control, Leather-wrapped steering wheel with cruise control, Dynamic Side Impact Safety Package with Side Air Curtains, Air bags, dual stage driver & single stage front passenger with Front Passenger Sensing System with passive anti-theft system – with a 6 cylinder engine and EPA rating 18 mpg City, 24 mpg Highway -

And select options that included: Leather Trim Package including premium leather seating surfaces, lumbar controls and 6-way power driver seat Hybrid Premium Package: Energy Flow /Navigation system; heated Premium leather seating surfaces; heated exterior side mirrors; Reverse Sensing System; cargo area retractable cover; roof rack crossbars, including leather trim package, the exterior in a light ice blue clearcoat.

Dirk had confided to Larry upon arrival Tuesday that he and Rosemary were interested in looking at some waterfront properties along the Potomac and Rappahannock Rivers – the main features that they sought being: Water Oriented, Waterfront, Fireplaces (preferably 3 including one in the master suite), Fully Finished, Walkout Level Basement, Separate Dining Room, Attached Garage, Walk-In Closets, Hardwood Floors, Master Bedroom on Main Level, Hot Tub, Central Air, Pool, and Privacy Fencing. “Something colonial in style, but built in this century, would enchant your mother,” Dirk had said.

“How big a lot?” Larry had asked on first learning about his parents’ interest in local real estate.

“About a quarter to half acre,” Dirk had said. He had gone on to mention other features they sought: with a wide view of the Potomac and even one of the bays, with a commercial pier, ramp, bulkheads, sandy beach, close to a marina, bowed second-story windows overlooking the pool, “incredible sunrises and sunsets,” – that being one of Rosemary’s preferences – granite and porcelain tiles, built-in bookcases, exercise and recreation rooms, an entertainment size bar – even a 40’ sea cruiser if the current owner was willing to sell, “although we’re not planning retirement yet” - Dirk being fifty-seven and Rosemary fifty-five – all this in the hope of finding a milder winter home to enjoy in December and January, “and to be closer to you and Louis,” Rosemary had said, the price mattering little in that Dirk, a partner in a private Manhattan investment banking firm, was due for a bonus having advised his partners to sell out the big U.S. commercial banks before the sub-prime mortgage lending crisis had surfaced to the public view. Larry had two older siblings, a brother Jacob Ethan age 35 and Emma Olivia age 34, Jacob now a tenured professor of physics in California, and Emma Olivia married to a stockbroker in the Chicago area, each married and with children, and each having called Tuesday evening to speak with Larry (now age 31) and their brother-in-law Louis (having just turned 27 in November).

All the celebrations set for Thanksgiving day led Louis to wonder if he and Larry could possibly find time to get away after the dinner to help at the Iraqi mission, which was located in Arlington. “It will be dark before we get there, if we start dinner at two,” he told the cats as he fed them some canned tuna in spring water. Louis glanced at the dinner table. It was set up for Habib, Noor, and with a high chair for their baby, who were to arrive for Wednesday evening supper around 6:30 p.m. He had set out their Wedgwood china and had managed to prepare a complete steak and purple potato salad that he thought would be quite filling, a colorful entrée inspired by salpicon, a favorite dish in Chile, which would be served on a bed of mixed greens, the ingredients for two servings (which he had multiplied by two) calling for:

1 teaspoon lime juice
1 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon salt, divided
1 clove garlic, mashed into a paste
8 ounces sirloin steak, trimmed
3/4 pound small purple potatoes, scrubbed
2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
4 large radishes, sliced
3 scallions, thinly sliced
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro

…the desserts coming from the supermarket deli.

Larry arrived home around 6 p.m.

“Here’s the dessert,” he said, walking in with the large white box in his arms. “Better set it in the library.”

After a few hugs and remarks from Louis about how impressive the cake looked, they closed the library door and prepared for their guests.

“Oh, well,” Lyeforth said – still inside NSA headquarters that Wednesday evening as the sound from the transmitter in the cake decoration became mute. “We’ll hear what they have to say tomorrow when they take it out of the box.”

“Stroke of genius though,” Beltmann said. “Might as well head home. See you tomorrow around 2 p.m.”

“I’m having a hard time explaining to my fiancée why we have to have a late Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow,” Lyeforth said. “She’s wondering why anything could be so urgent a matter of national security on a national holiday like Thanksgiving.”

“Did you tell her we’re onto a leak?”

“Something like that. Anyway, see you tomorrow.”

They passed through the security checkpoints, out into the dark parking lot, and drove home.

Upon arriving thirty minutes later, Habib and Noor said how excited they were about seeing the Washington area.

“And I so want to see Bush or Rumsfeld out in their limousine passing by so I can point my finger at them like an accusing judge,” Habib said.

“Half of Washington feels like that these days,” Louis said.

Larry coughed politely and changed the subject to Hassan’s favorite foods.

“We bought baby foods just like you asked,” he told Noor. “And we found a grocer in Loudoun county that carries Iraqi food.”

They began talking about Habib’s employer…

At that moment, in a 7-passenger minivan rented in Baltimore around noon that day, after first renting a 5-passenger SUV in Albany on Monday, November 19 (changing vehicles often since the events of their unplanned meeting with Nabih at the Jonathan Algernon lecture), Akbar and Ramesh were speeding at 71 mph on Route 32 just south of Route 295, with Ramesh trying to take digital photos with infra-lens through the open passenger window of what was visible of Ft. Meade after dark.

“You know those guys even have a golf course in there,” Ramesh said. “Jerks, wasting taxpayer money and all.”

“Can you see NSA headquarters?” Akbar asked, his eyes focused on the road and the heavy Wednesday evening traffic. “This is miserable. All the government types heading home for Thanksgiving at this hour hogging the freeway.”

“I think that’s it over there. Can you slow down? We’re almost past it.”

“No way. I’ve got some big old guy in an oversized cargo van bearing down on us from behind, glaring at us,” Akbar said. “Can you believe that? I think he noticed you taking photos of the fort.”

“You don’t mean he suspects two Arab émigrés dressed for success would be photographing a sensitive site with terrorist intentions?”

“Yes, I do mean he suspects two Arab émigrés dressed for success of photographing a sensitive site with terrorist intentions. Might as well put the window up,” Akbar said. “Good, he’s changing lanes. Must be a bigot from the American South.”

“Or West.”

“Or North.”

“Well, we’ll try to see the NSA Friday when we visit the museum. I’d sure love to see that place blown sky-high,” Ramesh said.

“The code-breaking museum?”

“No. Our friendly NSA haven in the sheltering arms of Ft. Meade.”

“You really think being this close could give your laptop better range for hacking into the NSA supercomputer?” Akbar said.

“That’s what I’m trying out right now,” Ramesh said, feverishly typing into his laptop with Intel Core 2 Duo Processor T5250, Genuine Windows Vista Home Premium, 2 GB Duel Channel DDR2 Memory, 180GB Hard Drive, 13.9” glossy HD widescreen with built-in webcam, wireless mini-card, cordless optical mouse, and slot-loading CD/DVD burner. “There. I’m already into the NSA system. Now, to try a few passwords. Got any ideas?”

“Uh… ‘bushsucks’.”

“No, didn’t work. Try another.”

“cleversneaks.”

“No. Another, quick, before I lose the connection.”

“Who’s the current director?”

“Some general. Oh, here. I’m already into their personnel files. Keith Alexander,” Ramesh said.

“Try alexandersalamander.”

“Oh my gosh,” Ramesh said. “We’re in. I’m actually into level 8 of 10 security levels and can browse almost 99% of the NSA files. You’re brilliant.”

“Psychic.”

“Oh, darn, we’re past the main gate. Try to turn around somewhere so we can whiz past again and I’ll try to take more infra-red photos. I just got an email from Tarek explaining our new performance criteria.”

“Performance criteria?” Akbar said.

“There must be eight or nine attachments for us to fill out, everything from a list of every sensitive site we’ve photographed this year to monthly budgets for next year,” Ramesh said.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” Akbar said. “We don’t even have to keep receipts. Now a budget?”

“Just look at the attachments in this thing,” Ramesh said, frowning. “This is too much! Asking us to give our electronic signatures to a pledge to reach, or at least commit to reach, goals of the al-Qaeda ‘division of functional excellence’. Says we should be flattered that we’re among those selected. We’re supposed to fill out a one-year planner, and a five-year planner, and email by attachment copies of our wills.”

“They want to be sure we have all our affairs in order, right?” Akbar said. “In the event we’re killed while on duty. I’ve been going by Abdul-Wahid Tamim Harith for so long now I forget at times it’s not my real name.” “Everything has my alias on it. Bahir Muhib Marouf.

It’s like they own us,” Ramesh said. “Here’s something about leveraged information database for the global bin Laden network. And then here. This is simply incredible.”

“What?”

“The new bin Laden ‘Ramadan Lullaby’ CD. They’re trying so hard to appear socially responsible. It’s for all the Muslim kids in the world. Osama himself singing acapella lullabies from Arabic countries dating back to the 18^th Century. Tarek asked if we’d like to hand them out on a street corner in Montpelier.”

“He’s got to be kidding.”

“He is. And we’re to begin online training in providing tech support – like a 24 hour help desk – to support groups across the global enterprise, including data transmissions in code, and ongoing support of the leveraged integrated terrorist environment.

“We’re to help run ‘the team’s’ – don’t you just love it, ‘the team’s’ ‘SeeBeyond9/11’ integration tools.”

“Meaning help downloading files on building a homemade bomb from scratch,” Akbar said.

“To interface with migrations from one jurisdiction to another when a terrorist squad is on the run, script development for the detainees to repeat when they’re strapped naked to a table being interrogated, testing new toolsets…” Ramesh said.

“Testing toolsets? Like what?”

“Bombs, I suppose,” Ramesh said. “To partner with the Spanish al-Qaeda, the Indonesian al-Qaeda…”

“Those losers,” Akbar said.

“Disaster recovery teams when a cell is busted, managing vendor relationships with the cell phone companies when a dead terrorist has forgotten to pay the monthly bill, error handler, response center, technical duties, and he wants us to volunteer to fill in when a team member has been detained and travel half-way around the globe on a moment’s notice.”

“I knew all the money was too good to be true,” Akbar said. “He’s got us spoiled and now it’s payback time to Tarek.”

“Oh, the money’s no problem. He writes that the credit limit on our credit card has been raised to $50,000.”

“Let’s do some Holiday shopping, Bahir Muhib,” Akbar said.

“Resolving disputes with widows of suspects blown up on the job, identifying process improvement opportunities – meaning how to get more bang for your buck – trouble-shooting police crackdowns on militant imams and other crazies…”

“Other crazies?”

“My words, not his,” Ramesh said. “Debugging and/or optimizing the al-Qaeda software codes, developing bin Laden’s intranets and extranets, global modules for disseminating the bin Laden videos and audios online for free, and here are the names for the new software – OBL Suite – that’s the Osama bin Laden Suite of software for entry-level terrorists, IMPRESS – Instant Massacre Programmed Remote Explosion Suicide Success, and Primavera – has to do with the elite of the terrorist elite conducting a virtual online meeting in Aspen or on the Rivera each April to sort things out, exchange ideas.”

“That part I’d like,” Akbar said. “Now that’s class.”

“We’re now part of the global ‘Follow-the-sun’ team, expected to provide high value, cost efficient online services to each national al-Qaeda unit. And here’s the pressure: ‘continuous improvement – year on year – will be the focus.’”

“We’re coming around to Ft. Meade main gate again,” Akbar said. “Finding anything yet on their supercomputer that will get us promoted?”

“We’re doing just what it says we should do,” Ramesh said. “‘Must be able to take control in escalated situations and coordinate the efforts of multiple sympathizers to the global network.’ And yes, I’m getting deeper into the NSA database now. I’m not sure where to start.”

“Those two NSA goons who’ve been hounding my brother. Let’s get ‘em.”

“Lyeforth and Beltmann,” Ramesh said. “Here. A complete sub-system in covert intelligence gathering devoted to their rights-compromising and privacy-violating antics going back to before 9/11. Of all the nerve!”

“What?”

“Complete dossiers on gossip and innuendo and unsavory tidbits on every declared Presidential candidate for next year’s grab for the Potomac powerball,” Ramesh said. “And here, you’re so right. Files marked Nabih Hunarfar, Kamel Mumtaz Hunarfar, and Louis O’Connor. Hmmm.”

“What?”

“There’s something active in the one on O’Connor. There’s some electronic surveillance going on right now.”

“Without a court order, no doubt,” Akbar said.

“No doubt. Here. I know that voice; that’s O’Connor’s voice.” He adjusted the travel remote and put on the noise-isolating earbuds, then turned on the external speaker, and they could clearly hear the voices of Louis, Habib, and Noor in the library where the chocolate cake was stored. “The NSA has bugged O’Connor’s home. I’ll turn that off right now.” He typed quickly into the laptop and then gave a sigh. “Good. I jammed and disabled whatever device was sending a signal. We’ve got to tell him.”

He took out his cell phone, a 3 G device that allowed Ramesh to remain connected via email, text and instant messaging, with Internet access, personal organizer, video, and satellite radio: all at broadband speeds; also with Wi-Fi, Integrated GPS navigation, a 2.8” color touch screen, Windows Mobile 6 Professional, Tri-band UMTS/HSDPA; Quad-band GSM/GPRS/EDGE; Integrated Wi-Fi (802.11b/g), 3 mega-pixel camera with autofocus and 10x digital zoom, and Enhanced memory and micro SD expansion slot - and called the number saved for the land line at Louis and Larry’s home. “Answer it, Lou,” Ramesh mumbled. “Answer it, for the sake of Allah.”

Louis picked up a custom designer phone on the library credenza after glancing at the caller ID - which had the alias of Ramesh and his cell phone number - and said, “Hello.”

“There’s something in your house that’s bugged, Louis,” Ramesh said.

“What?”

“We just heard you and your half-brother and his wife entering a room in your house.”

“That’s not possible,” Louis said. “Who is this?”

“Bahir Muhib…. Abdul-Wahid’s friend.”

“How do you know there’s some, what, electronic device in my house?”

“Never you mind,” Ramesh said. “You’ve got to believe me. Whatever room you’re in, there’s something planted in it that was sending out strong audio. We picked it up after hacking into the NSA supercomputer.”

“Cool.”

“I suggest you cool it and get out of range.”

“There’s a huge chocolate cake we got at a bakery tonight,” Louis said.

“Is that an invite to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?” Ramesh asked.

“Hmmm. No. Just that the cake, and how we got it from the bakery, was all rather suspicious. Thanks.” He hung up suddenly.

He tried to explain to Habib and Noor that he had received a call from a “computer geek who claims this room is bugged.”

They left the room and told Larry – whose eyes widened on learning that Louis had in fact met Akbar and Ramesh that summer, a detail of the lecture that Louis had not mentioned at all - who went into the room alone and began looking closely at the decoration atop the cake. Larry noticed the ornate gold-plated miniature model of the capitol. Why would they sell us this so cheap? he thought. He picked the object off the top of the cake and looked at it clearly, sniffing it, shaking it, and out fell a small electronic transmitter. If you can’t trust your hometown bakery, whom can you trust? He put the transmitter into a small metal file box and in turn put that into a larger stainless steel filing cabinet next to his desk and went out into the hallway, where Louis and Habib were waiting with eyes wide open – Noor sitting with the baby in the living room – and said, “It was a bug. The Feds, or the NSA, or some culprits out to ruin us, had planted a bug on that cake.”

“Unreal,” Louis said.

“So like Iraq today,” Habib said, and they went into the dining room and enjoyed the meal.

Around nine p.m., having enjoyed the evening completely, Habib and Noor got up, taking Hassan who was snoozing in the child carrier, thanked Louis and Larry profusely for the hospitality, and left – going out to their rented premium 6-passenger 2007 four-door sedan, with Noor saying with her Arabic accent, “Can hardly wait for tomorrow.”

“You take care,” Louis said.

“And you too,” Noor said.

With more thanks and a few hugs between the men – and Habib kissing Louis on the cheeks saying, “It is Iraqi custom,” they parted for the night.

Back inside their living room, Louis and Larry sat down a while, talking about who would put the dishes in the dishwasher, who would clean the cat litter box – “Oooh,” Larry said, “one of them did something while we were outside…”

As they lay down in their king-size bed almost ninety minutes later, Louis said he was sorry he had not mentioned meeting Akbar and Ramesh earlier that summer. “I didn’t want you to know anything that would be compromising to your position with the government.”

“That’s all right,” Larry said, turning off the lights.

“I’ve been thinking about what our Manhattan priest did to me when I was a boy again,” Louis said. “I’ll always have that nightmarish memory with me. I must have blocked it out, subliminal memories only. I think it’s one reason I was promiscuous with other men after high school.”

“We need to look into filing a brief with the law firm that’s handling a case against the Manhattan diocese for forty-three other plaintiffs,” Larry said. “You shouldn’t put it off much longer.”

“I won’t. Let me know who to contact and I will.”

“Good,” Larry said. “Your nephew Hassan looks so healthy. I was worried what with all the issues in Basrah with water.”

“Dad makes sure Hassan gets the best treatment available for children.”

“Good. Now. Louis?”

“Yes?”

“I think we should have children of our own.”

“Meaning, born out of wedlock?”

“Yes. I think we should find some women who want to have a child, women who would allow us to provide for the children, so we will have heirs, children of our own.”

“To live with us?” Louis said.

“At times, yes. Children who would know each of us as a father, who would accept that we love each other, and still can be good fathers. Children who would care what happens to each of us when we’re old men and one of us is gone. There are lots of gay married men in America. Their wives know they’re gay and their wives wanted to get married and have kids and didn’t really want a long-term sex life with a man anyway.”

“I know there are. I knew several guys in high school who got married and had kids because their fathers told them to, even though they knew they were gay.”

“So the time is coming when we need to find one or more women who are willing to let us father children by them, to be adopted by each of us at the right time.”

“When we do, I want you to watch,” Louis said.

“I plan to. And I want you to watch when I’m with the woman in bed,” Larry said.

“Any volunteers in mind?” Louis asked.

Chapter Four

Copyright 2008 by David Lawrence Cade

All rights reserved

David Lawrence Cade

1208 S. Delaware

Bartlesville, OK 74003

(918) 336-6418