Page 251 of Whisper
At night, he slept in the cup of Dawood’s left hand, cradling his face in the hollow of his palm. Sometimes he traced Dawood’s veins, the muscles in his arm. Kissed his wrist, and imagined what their future would look like.
Together. They would be together, and that was all that mattered.
It was the afternoon, seven days after September 11. Kris held Dawood’s hand, watched the rise and fall of his chest. Physically, he was getting better, slowly. The medications the doctors were using to keep him sedated were being weaned back. Everyone was waiting, wondering.
Would he wake up?
Knocks sounded at the door. Kris and Dawood had been given a private suite, VIP level, and CIA guards traded shifts with DC police. No one could just stop by, just turn up. Even Mike and Tom had to be cleared three times before they could visit.
Kris turned his bleary gaze to the door.
George and Ryan hovered at the opening.
Both seemed condemned men, like they’d lost something irreplaceable in the last week, something they didn’t know how to live without. Ryan was half in and half out of himself, like he wanted to escape reality. Escape himself.
Kris knew that feeling.
George led the way into Dawood’s hospital room. He had a brown folder in one hand, and he held it out to Kris as he stopped at the foot of Dawood’s bed.
“This is from the CIA, Kris, and as you’re Dawood’s legal next of kin…” He trailed off, shrugging.
“Last I heard, Iwasn’this next of kin.”
“June 26, 2013, you became his next of kin.” George slid both hands into his pockets, looked down. “United States versus Windsor. The Supreme Court struck down Section 3 of the Defense of Marriage Act as unconstitutional. Which meant the CIA, and the entire federal government, recognized same sex marriages from that moment forward.” He swallowed. “I watched the case, and I thought about you. And Haddad.”
“Little late for us, don’t you think?”
“Not anymore.”
He opened the folder. Papers tumbled free, across Dawood’s legs. A USB drive landed on the sheets.
“A recording of what happened in the warehouse. Between Dan and Dawood. You were there, too. It seemed right, giving you a copy. So you could know… what happened.”
He flipped open a folded sheet of heavy paper, cream linen, with the CIA seal embossed at the top of the page. A letter from Director Edwards.
Officer Dawood Haddad,
You have the gratitude of a thankful nation for your dedicated service, your commitment to excellence, and your many, many sacrifices over the years. While we cannot turn back time, we will do everything we can to make your sacrifices right.
From a grateful nation,
Director Ken Edwards
“Haddad is a hero. The papers, the news, everyone has the story. He was undercover within al-Qaeda for years, working to prevent their largest attempted strike on American soil since nine-eleven.”
Kris frowned. “That’s not entirely true. What about Dan?”
George’s gaze pinched. “Dan… died tragically a few days ago in a traffic accident.”
They were going to bury it. Bury it and hide it forever, a secret that would never see the light of day. He shouldn’t be surprised. The CIA buried their skeletons, their secrets, deeper than they buried their dead. Part of him was disgusted, wanted to be sick. But he’d been a part of those secrets they’d buried. He’d been a skeleton in their closet. “And Noam?”
“Mossad has officially denounced him and has labeled him a rogue element and called his actions criminal in the extreme. That’s the classified version. The unclassified version is he, too, tragically died in a motor vehicle accident.”
Kris closed his eyes.
“We dredged the Potomac in the middle of the night. Brought up the SUV. There was a dead body full of shrapnel and enough plastique explosive to put a fifty-foot crater in the National Mall. Kill thousands. When Haddad drove that SUV off the bridge, he shorted out the circuits in the homemade timer. He saved everyone’s life.”
The dead body. Dawood’s partner.
