Tag: destruction

The Circle

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excerpt

BEVAN LONGHORN is in his office Monday morning, his desk covered in
paperwork that he has to get through before the day is over. His personnel have
just adjusted to Matthew Roberts’s absence and Bevan has been left with only two
middle managers to handle the work of three. He considers promoting one officer
to Matthew’s post, but there are twenty-odd people to choose from, all qualified for
the position. Bevan must give it more serious consideration.
He wants to make major changes to the structure of the office, but he has to
fight with the rest of the brass, particularly the ones well-connected with the
administration and the state department. He cannot put up any longer with the
way things are done and the way things they produce are used by the hawks in
higher places.
He has his own circle of people who would agree with him on certain
things; it would just be a matter of rallying the troops. His friend Jerry
Wolverton is the best example. He retired as a three- star general and left the
army seven years ago with pride and a sense of accomplishment after working
in Iraq for five and a half years, in charge of the reconstruction of public
projects that accommodated all Iraqi government personnel of various
departments. Jeremiah Wolverton got his extra star and a very good severance
package, and although retired, can still pull a lot of strings both in the state
department and within the ranks of the army.
Bevan decides to call him.
“Hello, Bevan, my old friend. Are you still in service?” Jerry jokes when he
hears who’s calling him.
“Of course I’m still in service. We cannot all retire at the same time; the army
wouldn’t know what to do without us”
“You’re right about that, my good, old friend; what makes you remember
me? Trouble?”
It’s Bevan’s turn to laugh at the general’s comment.
“No, no trouble at all; just the need to say hi to my good friend and see what
he’s up to these days.”
“Well, I’m doing okay. I play the odd golf game here and there, I walk a lot,
still take holidays with the old woman; other than that, nothing much.

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The Circle

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“Have you talked to Ibrahim?”
“Yes, I spoke to him this morning. He sends you his greetings and says he
would like to see you soon, also. He says he understands. You and my uncle
obviously go back a long way if you talk to each other in your secret code.”
Bevan laughs at his comment, “We don’t talk in code, however, you are right,
Ibrahim and I go back a long way. You have to understand, Hakim. I owe a lot to
Ibrahim; he’s been my guardian angel, having helped me a number of times over
the years and the last time was just a little too close.”
“When was the last time, Admiral?”
“Please call me Bevan. Admiral is too official and it’s not my style. Bevan is
good enough. The last time was during the war with Iran. I was there for a while
providing intelligence liaison within certain army units. Once, while traveling, I
was abducted and held in a dark place for two and a half weeks by a group of
fanatics with no specific affiliation or demands; poor guys didn’t know what they
wanted to accomplish, if anything. They kept me imprisoned until your uncle
discovered my tracks and got me out; don’t ask me how. Maybe he paid a ransom
or maybe he used other means, who knows? He never told me how he did it,
although I’ve asked him a number of times. The result is I’m alive today, thanks
to Ibrahim. There were a lot of beheadings in those days, as you probably know.”
Hakim sees another side of his uncle that he was not aware of until now. The
Admiral continues.
“He knows what I do, where I am, where I come from, and everything else
and I know a lot more than what you think you know about Ibrahim. It’s a
two-way street; he trusts me with everything and I trust him the same way, 100
percent.”
“What would you like me to do or tell him?” Hakim asks.
“Only do as he tells you, nothing else,” Bevan says, looking into the young
man’s eyes.
“That’s no problem. Am I going to see you again, Bevan, before you go?”
“No, I don’t think so; however, if you ever need me, you know how to find
me.”
“Yes, I know. By the way, perhaps it would be nice for you to come and visit
at some time after I move into my new apartment. That will be around the end of
October; better yet, I’m planning to have a housewarming party when I move in.
I’ll call you to come and have a drink with us; is that okay?”
Bevan smiles, “I’ll be very happy to do so, Hakim. Please call and let me know
when.”

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The Circle

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EMILY IS GETTING READY for Matthew’s funeral service at Mount View
Memorial. Jennifer and Hakim should be at the house soon. Talal is there with
her, as he has been ever since Matthew’s death, and Emily appreciates that. She’s
in love with this young Iraqi man with the lilting voice and the cute smile. They
haven’t made love during these last days and she wonders how Talal feels about
that. But she is very appreciative of the time and space he has given her.
He has prepared a simple breakfast and goes upstairs to see if she is ready to eat
before they leave. It’s early morning and a good cup of coffee, at least, is in order. He
finds her out of the shower and in front of the mirror doing her eyes. He hugs her
from behind. She cuddles in his arms and lays her head back on his shoulder.
“Are you hungry, sweet Emily?”
She smiles at him in the mirror and nods yes.
“Are you hungry, sweet Talal?”
His eyes look deeply into hers in the mirror, and as he rubs her buttocks he
laughs.
“Yes, my sweet Emily, yes. However, now is time for breakfast. Let’s have a
good cup of coffee.”
She turns and hugs him tightly; she seeks his lips and kisses him passionately.
“I’m in love with you, sweet Talal, and I don’t care what tomorrow brings. I
don’t care how long this is going to last.”
“I’m in love with you, too, sweet Emily, and I know this is going to last a long
time.”
They go downstairs to the family room and he serves their coffee toasted
bread and jam. She leans closer to him and kisses him once more when Jennifer
and Hakim come in and see them kissing. Jennifer looks at Hakim, who smiles,
“So what, Jennifer? They are adults. Why are you looking at me as if they have
done something wrong?”
Talal gets up to greet them and says to Jennifer, “Your mother is a beautiful
person. Be proud of her in the same way that she’s very proud of you.”
“I know my mother,Talal. I just find myself wondering and I don’t know why.”
Emily smiles at Hakim and asks him, “What happened with the apartment?”
“Well, the deal was finalized today. The agent called earlier…

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The Circle

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it’s best for their morale, for their belief in the rationality of what they do every
day, and for their steadfastness in moving ahead. He has been around these
people and this agency for a long time since leaving Baghdad, since the days he
thought he had a good future with the CIA. Time has passed along with his belief
in a good future. What went wrong? He has wondered many a time; Ibrahim is
right. Bevan knows deep in his heart that Ibrahim is right. The problem is what
the agency does and what his department does is often questionable. This has
troubled him for a while. He has a hard time understanding the reasoning
behind decisions taken that are based on a mounting fear in the psyche of the
American people. He has been abroad for many years in which he has come
across people of many different nationalities; Muslims and others and they are
seldom the way they have been portrayed by the administration and by the
Ameerican media at the best of times. Following the end of the term of the “war
president” the people elected a different party and the stand of the country
abroad softened a bit, but after a couple of terms they were back at the same old
doctrine of pre-emptive strikes whenever it felt right, and Bevan knows that’s
not the best approach. Sometimes it’s better to sit and talk to a person instead of
unleashing the power of the killing machine and later trying to find answers to
questions you never asked to begin with.
He knows something has to be done about all this. Yet there are times when
he doubts even himself, even the comments from Ibrahim, his good friend. Does
he doubt his friend? A number of times he has thought about that, as well. After a
while his mind gets stuck on the idea that something has to be done with this
department, something has to change; it cannot keep on going like this for ever,
it cannot keep on going on with the killings and the atrocities. Yes, he knows,
something has to change.
He has tried over the past five or six years to change the mentality of a
number of people whom he has talked to; but has found it difficult to convince
most of the people in higher positions that what they do and how they approach
things is wrong. Some seem to thrive on other peoples’ misery and cannot
suddenly change direction because Bevan Longhorn wants it. He knows the only
way something will ever change is when something dramatic happens. Bevan has
been thinking about that for quite a while.
Ibrahim is right; substantial change takes place only when dramatic events
precede, like the attack in New York in 2001. He takes a copy of the memo he has
issued to his personnel and puts it in his wallet. He closes the file and calls his
secretary to pick it up. Then he finishes eating his sandwich and asks Dorothy to
remove his cold coffee.

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The Circle

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“I’ll remember that.”
“Even if you or Talal need something, you call Bevan. If he calls and wants to
meet you, find the time for him, find anything he needs. Don’t hesitate to do
what is right.”
“Yes, my uncle. I won’t forget.”
The time comes for Ibrahim and the two guards to get to their gate for
departure. Ibrahim hugs and kisses his nephew.
“You have a safe and pleasant trip, my uncle. My kisses to Mara.”
“Thank you, my dear son. See you in Iraq, soon.”

Emily Roberts has been busy making arrangements for Matthew’s funeral scheduled
for Friday. She calls relatives, friends, Bevan Longhorn, of course, who
assures her he’ll be there not only for the funeral but because he also has something
to give her. She sends e-mails to a few people. She calls Cathy and asks for
her help in preparing food for people who might like to go to the house after the
service. Cathy knows what is necessary and gives Emily a list of what things need
to be prepared or ordered from a caterer.
Talal has stayed with her three nights in a row, keeping her company, and
sharing with her the pleasure of talk, of kiss and of a hug, which she needsmore
than anything else these days. They have been in bed next to one another for
three days and nights and haven’t made love yet. They talk a lot, the
conversation going several times to the underwater photography idea of hers,
and Talal reminds her all the time how pretty the water is in the Persian Gulf
and how many different species of marine life one can see there.
Tuesday morning and they are having breakfast, fruit, coffee, two and brown
bread with strawberry jam.
Talal sips his coffee and smiles at her.
“Feeling a bit better today, sweetheart?”
“I’m good, my sweet Talal,” she smiles a brilliant smile.
“Well, a few more days and everything will be behind us.”
She smiles at him again, leans forward and kisses his lips, while wondering at
the same time if everything really will be behind them soon. Are they going to
become a memory? What happens if he decides to go away to his country? What
is she going to do? Will he ask her to go with him?
As if reading her thoughts, Talal says, “Next year, early next year better yet,
we’ll take a short trip.What about that, my sweet Emily?”
“Where do you want to go, Talal?” Emily asks, anticipating his answer.
“How about if we go to my country for a couple of weeks.

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The Unquiet Land

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“But aren’t you trying to change souls with your sermons? Aren’t you trying to make them more acceptable to your God?” Finn leaned forward on the table, his massive hands cupped around his glass of wine. “The soul cannot be so untouchable.”
“With the word of God one can indeed reach into the soul,” Padraig consented. “But no instrument devised by man has the same power.”
“Ah, we have a conflict here,” said Finn. “Sweeney, fill up my glass and top up your own. Any of you others care to join us, help yourselves to whatever you want. That stage is getting set again. See why I prefer to act than to watch?”
“You don’t act, Finn,” Sweeney observed; “you direct.”
He poured the wine for Finn. The last drops from the decanter he shook into his own glass. His sunset face was blazing crimson, with purple only in the shadows. He replaced the empty decanter in the centre of the table and turned up the wick of the low-burning lamp. Shadows flickered on the walls, on the dark sideboard and the cabinets, on the tall clock and the pale porcelain of the Victory.
“So, Padraig,” Finn went on, “you think the word is mightier than the surgeon’s knife.”
“The Word that was in the beginning, yes; the Word of God that was made flesh as Jesus Christ.”
“What do you say to that, young Clifford?” Finn asked. “Does the Word of God tell us more of man and nature, life and death, than your brain and blade will ever reveal?”
“You’re confusing two separate realms, Finn,” Clifford argued in a precise, dry voice. “The brain is a material thing. We probe into it, repair it, understand it, with the aid of material instruments. The soul is immaterial. We change it, if we change it at all, with immaterial instruments: with words, thoughts, ideas, emotions, that reach it through the mind.”
“Body and mind; matter and spirit; material, immaterial.” Finn repeated the words reflectively. “That sounds reasonable enough. Conflict resolved.” He sipped some wine, then looked at Clifford. “You say that the soul is reached through the mind. So you separate mind and soul?”
Clifford looked around the table self-consciously. Michael was asleep with his head fallen forward on his chest. Seamus and Sweeney stared at their wine and looked as though they wished they too were asleep. Only Padraig, facing Finn across the length of the dish-and-bottle-laden table, stayed alert, leaning back in his chair with his left hand dangling and his right hand holding a half-emptied glass of wine.

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The Circle

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He sits down and looks around the office; the lieutenant catches his eye and
says, “Well, it’s as functional as any other, I suppose.”
The Admiral smiles thinking of his own office, which is very similar.
“Yes, I suppose so, lieutenant. Well, tell me what we know so far; do you have
an autopsy report?”
“Yes, it arrived a little earlier,” Bonetti gives him the written report of the
autopsy.
The Admiral reads the half-page brief and hands it back to the officer.
“It appears to be a clear-cut case, I suppose. Anything else on your mind,
lieutenant?”
“It’s strange that, when we got the phone records from the house, we
determined the widow had made a few calls when she discovered the body. The
first call was to a lover, then to the daughter, then to us third. Then to her
girlfriend.”
“To a lover? There is another man in the picture? I never expected that from
Emily. Are you sure?”
The lieutenant looks him in the eye and says, “No doubt, Admiral. She calls
him “sweetheart” and he says to her, “I’ll be there shortly.” I have seen this
scenario many times, however we cannot place him at the crime scene at the time
of death. The evidence is crystal clear, ballistics, prints, etc.”
“That means the third person has no involvement, I presume,” the Admiral
says. “Who is he, anyway?”
“A person named Talal Ahem, an Iraqi chemist, presently unemployed.”
“I have met this man, Talal Ahem. He is a friend of Hakim Mahdi,
boyfriend of the deceased’s daughter?”
“Yes, Admiral. He was the one with the limo, when I got there.”
“Yes, I know him as well. He’s the nephew of Ibrahim Mahdi, an Iraqi
billionaire, here for cancer treatment. I wouldn’t think these two boys would
have anything to do with this,” he admits to himself aloud.
“Well, it seems you know these people. Now I have something else for you,
Admiral, and this is most strange. When I conducted my examination at the
scene, I noticed signs of tears on the cheeks of the deceased; the medical
examiner confirmed it. The examiner says this man was in a blissful state of
mind when he took his own life. I find that very difficult to follow. Yet the
autopsy confirms that; as you read in the report they found traces of serotonin in
his bloodstream. On the other hand, there was plenty of adrenaline in his
bloodstream also, which means this man had been quite unhappy and angry
before coming to the state of blissfulness, as the examiner put it.”

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In Turbulent Times

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Mrs Starkey was unaware of this. When Michael returned about an hour later, she thought it was her husband. She rushed to tell him not to take his coat off but to go up to the MacLir house, the name the large stone house still bore from the family of Caitlin Carrick, whose ancestors, the MacLirs, had built it in the nineteenth century.
‘Michael, it’s yourself back again,’ she said in surprise. ‘Is Dr Starkey at your place?’
‘No, Mrs Starkey, but we need him up there badly.’ Michael’s voice was trembling. A look of distraction agitated his face. ‘Something’s wrong, Mrs Starkey. Caitlin’s yelling and screaming, and Mother Ross says the baby isn’t coming out right. For God’s sake, where’s the doctor?’
‘I don’t know, Michael.’ Mrs Starkey was worried now herself. ‘He should have been here ages ago. Wait and I’ll phone again.’
All Michael could hear was Caitlin’s screaming. It pierced his ears like a torture. It made his heart pound and brought sweat to his forehead, mingling it with the rain. He moved his weight from one foot to the other. He clenched and unclenched his huge fists. ‘Please come, Dr Starkey. Oh my God, please, please come.’
Mrs Starkey appeared at the inner door again. ‘Something’s happened to the doctor, Michael.’ Her voice too quivered with worry. ‘He was visiting the Collinses in Carraghlin and he left an hour and a half ago. They haven’t heard from him. They suggested that I phone the police in Carraghlin, but even before they finished talking, the phone went dead.’
‘Must be a line down,’ Michael said.
‘Could be there’s trees down too,’ said Mrs Starkey. ‘The road’s probably blocked.’
Fear speared Michael’s heart. He felt the blood gush out. It filled his stomach, and he felt nauseated. ‘Mrs Starkey, I must get help for Caitlin,’ he shouted. ‘She’s in agony. This birth is going to kill her, like her own birth killed her mother.’
‘Calm yourself, Michael. Calm yourself. That’s no way to be talking. Caitlin’s in good hands with Mother Ross. Dr Starkey himself hasn’t delivered more babies than she has.’
‘But Mother Ross is frightened now herself,’ cried Michael. ‘She can’t handle this. She told me so. Where does Dr Chapman live?’
‘He’s in Ballydun usually,’ Mrs Starkey replied. ‘But he’s away in England till the New Year. Dr Murray in Lisnaglass is looking after his practice. It’ll take you an hour or more to reach him on a night like this. And I can’t telephone him.’

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The Circle

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have to do now is carry on one day at a time. I’m sure we’ll manage. If you are
concerned about money, don’t worry, we’ll find our way.”
“I don’t worry about money, mother—not at all. I’m just trying to see life
without Dad from now on. It will be hard to adjust.”
“We’ll manage, you’ll see. Just be careful and take care of yourself. Hakim
appears to be a very good man and I know he’s to come into a lot of money. Your
father told me all about it.”
“Why did Dad look into Hakim’s life, Mom?”
“Well, honey, that was your father.”
Later at around six, Hakim tells Jennifer he wants to go see how his uncle is.
The limo will take him to the Sheraton Hotel and from there, when he’s done
with Ibrahim, the driver will drive him to his apartment. Cathy gets up also and
says goodnight to Emily.
“Don’t forget to call anytime, remember?”
Helena also says goodnight and leaves.
“I’d like to go with Hakim, Mom. Are you going to be alright?”
“I’ll be just fine, honey. Go, I’ll be just fine. Talal may stay for a while to keep
me company. You just go.”
Hakim is ready to go, when Talal whispers in his ear, “I’ll stay for a while to
keep Emily company, okay?”
“Are you going to be okay?” Hakim asks, looking at Talal.
“We’ll be just fine. You guys go and see Ibrahim. Say hi to him for me.”
They walk out to the limo and Rassan sits in the front with the driver and
Hakim with Jennifer sit in the back. Fifteen minutes later they arrive at the
Sheraton. They find Ibrahim in his suite happy because he’s out of the clinic and
because the chemotherapy hasn’t given him any negative side-effects, so far.
“Hello, my uncle, how are you?”
“I’m fine, my dear boy. What is this about Jennifer’s dad?”
“He is dead, sir. The police are doing their work now; we’ll hear from the
medical examiner in the next little while,” Jennifer says.
“Oh, my dear, oh, I’m so sorry,” he opens his arms as if ready to hug Jennifer.
She takes the opportunity and falls into his arms. Ibrahim is a bit surprised by
this; however, he knows that this is customary for North Americans, and he hugs
the young woman. Hakim smiles. His uncle is very fond of Jennifer, and that
pleases him a lot.
Ibrahim is already prepared for his return home and Rassan is making the
flight arrangements for as early as tomorrow. Mara will be most happy to have
him home with her.

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The Unquiet Land

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Two doors opened off this part of the landing. One led to Caitlin’s room. The other had led to Nora’s room, but Nora was married now and had a home of her own in the village. Caitlin and Nora, night and day, his sisters in all but blood.
The priest turned sharply to the right and followed the landing alongside the stairwell to the front of the house. The old, brown wood of a large cupboard glowed in the lamplight. The door of the bedroom to the right of the cupboard stood half-open, and heavy, catarrhal breathing rasped in the dark interior.
Old Finn has feasted well and sleeps like a king, thought the tired priest. Better not disturb him.
The priest turned to the door of the bedroom to the left of the cupboard. His old room. The room in which he had lived as a boy, laboured over his books with the patient Caitlin, grew to be a man, a young, raw man, dedicated to God. Was the room the same as when he had left it? Yes, it would be. Nothing ever changed here. Tonight, or what was left of the night, he would sleep again in the old iron bed with the patchwork quilt. Nostalgic remembrance pierced the priest’s heart. The blood drained out into his belly and down into his loins. The hot blood chilled and made him shiver. The hair rose on the nape of his neck.
Seven years ago last September. Seven momentous years. Seven long strides from aspiring youth to zealous priest.
He turned the handle, and the door opened without a sound. He stepped inside, pushed the door shut behind him, and walked with silent tread across the polished wooden floor to the bed. He set the lamp down on the dresser.
“Caitlin,” he said in involuntary surprise.
She lay in a cloud of eiderdown. Gleaming even in the dark, her black hair trailed across the pillow, across the shoulder of her green-flowered nightgown. Her arm lay outside the shiny green covers. The priest leaned forward and touched the cool back of her hand. The body turned. The black cirrus stirred on the pillow.
Caitlin, the priest thought. My God, what a beautiful woman you are.
He had come unwittingly to the wrong room. Caitlin had given up her own old room and moved in here for some reason. Yet little beyond the bedclothes had changed from the way he remembered it. Caitlin had changed, though. She looked more mature and even more beautiful. Having seen her, he felt he had to talk to her.
“Caitlin,” he whispered.

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