Enemy In the Room (45 page)

She did, her look expressionless. “This is
what Alex and I were talking about yesterday when you got here. I
told him I might be pregnant. He said, like, not to worry, that he
would arrange for the abortion. He said that he knows the best
clinic in the area.”

“Do you want an abortion?”

Callie looked down, then up at Kristen. “I
guess so. I know that Alex doesn’t want a baby—and I’m nineteen.
What do you think?”

Kristen was slow to answer, choosing her
words and looking intently at her friend. “Callie, this is the kind
of situation when you want—or at least I want—to base a difficult
decision on clear, firm principles, and not on the immediate
circumstances. The principles I believe in hold that abortion is
wrong, so those principles speak above the circumstances.”

Callie frowned. She slowly shook her
head.

Kristen touched her hand. “I’m sure those
principles came from our Creator, but I appreciate that you
probably don’t know about them or believe in them.”

“You mean God?”

Kristen smiled. “Yes.”

Callie looked up. “Well, I sort of believe
there’s a God, I guess. But I don’t connect God with giving answers
to questions like this one. It seems like it’s up to me.”

Kristen nodded. “Yes. You’re right that it’s
up to you. My point is that a value system helps to set the
boundaries within which you choose, and describes the consequences
of choosing right or choosing wrong.”

“You think there are consequences to an
abortion?”

Kristen nodded vigorously. “Yes. For the
baby, for sure. He or she will be dead. And for you, and your
family.”

“You think this thing is alive, like, a
baby?”

“Yes. Of course. What else is it?”

Callie thought for a moment. “Alex will want
me to have the abortion today, or early next week. To get it over
with.”

“Today?”

“Yes, he said the sooner the better. He’s
going to call a doctor he knows.”

Kristen sat up. “Callie, I know you don’t
agree with me that abortion is wrong. But if we talk about it some
more, you may at least understand what I’m saying, both about that
baby and about you. Or you may not. But if you have an abortion
today, and tomorrow you change your mind, it’ll be too late.”

“You really think it’s alive?”

Again Kristen nodded and said more gently,
“Yes.
Your
baby.” Suddenly Kristen felt a chill, and she
looked around, then back at Callie. “We’ve got to go.”

“What?”

“Callie, we’ve got to leave here. This
apartment is all about Jane and drugs and your movies and maybe an
abortion. We’ve got to go somewhere else, at least for a few
days.”

“What?”

“Trust me—please. Have I ever done anything
to hurt you? Please pack an overnight bag, and we’ll go check into
a hotel. We can even go to one at the beach—wherever you like.
Maybe up toward Malibu. My treat. I just want to get you away from
Alex and from Jane’s memories for a day or two. Come on, it won’t
hurt.”

“I…I don’t know. The police.”

“They came and you answered their questions.
It’s the Fourth of July weekend. They’re not going to call again.
We’ll come back on Monday or Tuesday. But for now, let’s go.”

“I guess I could use a break. But should I
tell Alex? What about the abortion?”

“Tell him you’ll be back, or leave him a
note. There’s plenty of time, if you want an abortion. Let’s just
go. I’ll throw my things in my bag. You can talk to all of them
again on Tuesday.”

Callie smiled. “If you say so.”

SUNDAY, JULY 3RD

David was piloting a jet fighter on a long,
dark mission when the constant ringing in the cockpit suddenly
demanded his attention, and he woke up. He looked around. A hotel
room in Moscow. Light filtering around drawn curtains. A telephone
ringing next to his bed. He reached for it, still groggy from the
jet lag and the sleeping pill.

“Hel…Hello”

“David?”

“Yes…Elizabeth?”

“David! Thank God. I thought I had the wrong
numbers to the hotel.”

“What is it?”

“It’s Rob. He’s been in a car wreck!”

“What?”

“A car wreck. A bad one. The hospital just
called me, and I’ve got to go down there. He has head injuries and
a broken leg. Maybe a broken pelvis and internal injuries.”

“What time is it there?” He sat up in bed,
suddenly very awake.

“Eleven-fifteen. The wreck apparently
happened about ten. David, he was in the car with some man I’ve
never heard of, who is really badly hurt. Justin is hurt, too. Rob
is full of so many drugs that they don’t know whether they can
safely operate.”

“What man?”

She almost screamed. “I told you that I
don’t know!”

“All right, all right.”

“You’re not here. Rob’s hurt at the
hospital. How do you
expect
me to react when you ask me who
Rob’s been with when I thought he was at the baseball game?
Obviously he’s been lying.”

“Elizabeth, I’m sorry—call Paul Burke. At
the last minute he couldn’t come, and he should be home. See if he
can take you to the hospital.”

“All right.” She sounded a little
calmer.

“It’s Sunday morning here. Call me at the
hotel or on my cell phone once you get to the hospital and find
something out.”

“David, you’ve got to come home.”

“Elizabeth, I will if it’s life threatening.
Otherwise, I have to stay. Knox arrives in a few hours, and I have
to brief him. They need me here.”

“We need you at home.”

“Elizabeth, please, go check on Rob and then
call me. And use the cell phone. It’s OK.”

“All right. Good-bye.”

David hung up and got out of bed. He walked
over to the window and opened the curtain. The room was flooded
with bright sunlight. He squinted and looked out at an almost
deserted Moscow street on a beautiful Sunday morning. He rubbed his
forehead.
What’s next
?

An hour later Knox’s corporate jet began its
descent to Vnukovo Airport, on the southwest side of Moscow.
Onboard were Knox, Akbar Kamali, and Victor Mustafin. Mustafin had
made sure that they would be given landing privileges at Vnukovo,
because it was not as busy as the main international airport and
closer to USNet’s new office south of the Kremlin. In just over
twenty-four hours, its closer location would be critical.

The three men sat around the conference
table in the middle of the aircraft and ate a continental breakfast
put onboard the previous night in Halifax. Forward of the
conference table were two plush seats and then Knox’s computer
console and mini-command center, on the right side, just aft of the
cockpit. As they ate and talked they could monitor the computer
screens displaying the same information that the RTI duty officer
was seeing.

Knox took a sip of coffee and asked his two
lieutenants, “Are all our assets in place?”

Kamali nodded. “While you slept we received
a video call from North that the missile crew will be in place and
confirmed operational this afternoon.”

The Kazakh spoke. “I’ve arranged for our jet
to be parked by itself at the far end of the taxiway, over by a
stand of trees on the edge of the apron, where no one will bother
us. We’ll of course have an armed guard outside the plane at all
times, plus a car and driver provided by our security people. We’ve
made provision for electrical power, and I will be here until the
mission is finished and we’re on our way home tomorrow
evening.”

“Do we have all the codes?”

“Yes, we’ll always be able to run the
operation from here, if need be, plus keep up with all the rest of
the RTI network.”

“Well, Victor, I regret that you have to
stay in the corporate jet, but it would not be good for you to be
seen with us—particularly in these next days. And let’s make sure
that these are, in every way, ‘normal’ days. Sawyer is supposed to
brief us later today, and I don’t want him or anyone else to
remember anything unusual about us. So, Akbar, we’ll be
very
enthusiastic about meeting the Presidents.”

“Oh, we will be,” Kamali agreed. “We
definitely will be. It’ll be Happy Fourth of July— Moscow style.
Lots of ‘rockets red glare.’” The other two smiled as their
aircraft turned to begin its approach.

Goli’s sister was preparing breakfast for
Hamid, Omid and her two children in suburban Tabriz when there was
a knock at the door.

The adults looked at one another. “Who can
that be at this hour?” Hamid asked.

He went to the living room and looked out
the window. Three black cars were parked in the street. He turned
to Omid and shook his head. Then he closed the door to the
kitchen.

Hamid unbolted the front door and started to
turn the knob when the door flew open, pushing him back. Six men,
three in police uniforms and three in plainclothes, burst in.

“Where is he?” the tallest of the men in
suits asked.

“Who?”

A policeman hit Hamid in the stomach, and he
doubled over.

The kitchen door opened, and Omid walked in.
“There is no need…”

“Bring them,” the leader said, and turned to
leave.

Goli’s sister ran from the kitchen and put
her arms around Hamid. “No. He did nothing.” A young child started
to cry.

“Bring them,” the leader repeated, and one
policeman separated Hamid from his wife while the other two led
Omid between them.

A minute later all the men were gone. Goli’s
sister was sitting on the floor, looking through the open front
door, her arms around her two children, who were crying next to
her.

David and Peter were at the USNet
headquarters in the upstairs room where the speeches would be
given, watching the workers move the heavy Presidential podium into
place on the temporary stage, when David’s phone rang.

He looked around and moved to a window on
the far side of the room where it would be relatively quiet. He sat
on a box and put a hand over one ear. “Hello. Yes, it’s me. How’s
Rob?”

“Not good. I’m at the hospital. His left leg
is broken, his face is bruised, his pelvis is broken, and they’re
about to do an MRI to check for internal injuries. Not good.” He
could hear how upset she was
—
almost whispering.

I ought to be there. But how can I, with all
I’m responsible for here?

Before he could speak, she continued. “But
that’s not the worst thing, David. The man who was driving Justin
and Rob is some guy the police have been investigating for a year,
Leonard Tanner. David, they think he’s one of those guys who finds
kids on the internet and lures them into crazy stuff. Justin’s
fine, though hung over, and he’s been telling his parents, the
police and me what they’ve been doing. David, if you can believe
it, Rob and Justin have been going to parties with adults who are
into all these same group internet games.” Her voice grew in
volume. “Drinking, sex, and drugs. This is our son, Rob. He’s
fifteen! David, the police say we’re lucky that he and Justin are
still alive!”

His stomach was turning.
I ought to go
home
. “What else did the doctor say?”

“They’re not sure. It’s two am here, and
they’ll be doing the MRI and more tests.”

“I’m sorry I’m not there, but I physically
couldn’t get there any sooner than Monday evening because I could
never make a flight today.”

“David, did you
hear
me about this
Tanner person, and what they’ve been doing? All because of that
stupid
internet in his room!”

He closed his eyes. He spoke, trying to be
calm. “Elizabeth, yes. There’s a lot to do. A lot to talk about.
But I can’t do it from a cell phone in Moscow.”

“Then come home.”

“I am. I will. If I change my ticket and
leave tomorrow evening after the reception, I can spend the night
in France or Germany and then be home early Tuesday afternoon.”

“Why can’t you leave today?”

“Elizabeth, we’ve been through that. Is Paul
still there?”

“Yes. He’s been wonderful.”

“Good. Then call me back when you know more
about Rob.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, for now. If Rob has serious injuries,
then we’ll need to talk about treatment, and I’ll come home as soon
as I possibly can.”

“Good-bye.”

The phone abruptly went dead. He paused,
sitting on the box, looking at the room full of people working on a
project that may all be a lie.
Rob in the hospital because of an
internet creep. Callie still doing internet porn movies. And all
that Todd told me
.

It struck him.
I can’t do this myself.
It’s completely beyond me.
Then another realization.
God, if
you are there, as Kristen says, you know the answers. It’s beyond
what I can understand or fix. Please help me!
He felt light
headed; he put his head down.
Please take over. Please help my
family.

Peter walked over. “Is everything all
right?”

David looked up. “Uh—yes. Fine. Thanks.” He
thought for a moment. “Mr. Knox ought to be getting to the hotel
soon. We should probably head back to meet him.”

Kristen drove Callie in her car north out of
Los Angeles. They drove and drove, talking some, and enjoying being
out of the city. They finally stopped in one of the small villages
that dot the California coast between Malibu and Santa Barbara and
checked into an old-style motel with small white frame duplex
cabins along the hillside. They shared a single room with two
double beds and ate a late dinner in a nearby seafood café.

During the drive and dinner, Kristen had
done most of the talking. She told Callie about her childhood in
Texas, her early residential real estate career, more details about
her affair with Richard Sullivan and its consequences, her move to
work with Callie’s father, and what she knew about her upcoming job
with the pension fund. Callie listened and asked questions.