Reconcilable Differences

With this slow return of her sensibilities came a feeling of uneasiness. Fright. Why? She strove to remember. Then the horror of it swept through her as leering images of Robert and Ali bin Muzzar swirled around in the muddled confusion of her thoughts like demonic specters.

The need to scream rose within her and a responsive spasm racked her spine. Overwhelmed with panic she opened her eyes. The scream froze in her throat, but this time it wasn’t drugs that prevented the outburst; it was stunned recognition. She stared into the eyes fixed on her. Those beautiful, compelling brown eyes she remembered so well, had imagined before she passed out.

“Dave,” she murmured softly.

There was shocked recognition in his eyes as he stared back at her. Was he all part of the same hideous nightmare?

“Manning, your wife’s awake,” he said, and moved away.

She’d know that voice anywhere—and that same hard tone he’d used the last time they’d spoken six years ago.

Trish closed her eyes and felt the salty sting of hot tears on her cheeks.

When Trish next awoke, the effects of the drug had worn off fully, and she became aware that she was in a helicopter about to land. For several minutes she remained lying still, trying to distinguish in her mind what had been real and what had been part of the nightmare.

She jerked up to a sitting position and looked around when she recognized Dave’s voice. But what was happening? What was he doing issuing orders to a huddled group of men preparing to disembark. Could she still be dreaming?

She closed her eyes and pinched herself hard. It hurt and she opened her eyes. He was still here. She hadn’t imagined it. It was true. Dave was here. Close enough to touch.

Shifting to her knees, she felt a thousand needle-pricks in her arms and legs. Now there was no doubt. She wasn’t still dreaming, that was for sure. The pain was too intense to be imagined. She started to get up to shake it off.

“Ma’am, it’s best you remain seated until we touch down,” the man who sat beside her said.

“Where are we?”

“Rheinmein Air Base, ma’am, in Frankfurt, Germany.”

“Germany!”

Their voices attracted Dave’s attention and he glanced over to them. “Trouble, Addison?”

“No, sir. Mrs. Manning is awake and wanted to know what was happening.”

Outside the plane, crewman swung the door open, and several of the men jumped out. The revolving red light of an emergency vehicle flashed through the opening and someone outside handed a stretcher into the helicopter.

“If you lie down, ma’am, we’ll get you out of here.”

“I don’t need a stretcher,” Trish said. “I’m fine, now.”

She moved to the door, and as she tried to step down, her knees buckled. She fell forward into Dave’s outstretched arms.

For a hushed moment they stared into each other’s eyes, and she fought the urge to fling her arms around his neck and never let go.

“Mrs. Manning, there would be less chance of your getting injured if you would lie down on the stretcher,” he said.

“I’ll be fine. I just have to shake off the numbness.”

Dave released her, and joined the squad who were piling into a military vehicle. Addison led her to a sedan, assisted her in and then joined his squad. Robert and two other men climbed in after her.

The car pulled out and the military vehicle followed behind. They drove to a building located right on the base.

Once inside, Trish was taken to an office where two men and a woman were waiting.

“How do you do, Mrs. Manning,” one of the men said. “Please sit down.” He nodded to the woman and she turned on a machine.

The woman identified herself, announced the date, time and location, and then said, “The following is an interrogation of Patricia Diane Manning. Present are Agent Roger Reteva, Agent William Moore, and Mrs. Patricia Manning.”

To Trish’s further surprise, the woman followed it with her father’s Georgetown address. Why would these people know her father’s address?

“Mrs. Manning, I’m Agent Reteva,” one of the men said. “And this is my associate William Moore. We’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“Who do you represent, Mr. Reteva?” Trish asked.

“I don’t think that’s germane to the issue, Mrs. Manning.”

“I’m afraid I do. If you expect me to answer any of your questions you will have to answer mine first.”

The two men at the table exchanged meaningful glances. “We’re with the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States, madam.”

Trish gasped in surprise. “The CIA? What is this all about?”

Reteva’s lips curled in a slight smile. “That’s what we are trying to find out, Mrs. Manning. Your name is Patricia Diane Manning?”

“Yes.”

“Your maiden name was Patricia Hunter, and you’re a citizen of the United States?”

“Yes, I am,” Trish replied. “Will you kindly tell me why I’m being interrogated?”

“It is our understanding you were a house guest for the past two days at the home of Sheik Ali bin Muzzar. Is that correct, Mrs. Manning?”

“Yes.”

“Was this a business or personal visit, Mrs. Manning?”

“I was told it was a business trip,” Trish said. “Although, the sheik and my husband were classmates at Harvard University. It has been my impression that they have maintained a friendship since then.”

“Were there any other guests present at the time?”

“Yes, a Mr. Colin McDermott.”

“Had you met Mr. McDermott previously to that time?”

“No,” Trish said.

“Was Mr. McDermott also a Harvard classmate of your husband?”

“I have no idea.”