ICON

Chapter 1 

    Paul J. Cushing sat in his office, deep in thought about the impact of the merger of the CIA, FBI, Secret Service and twelve other organizations under one heading: the Department of Homeland Security. Sure, the theoretical synergy of so many different offices sharing information would have been great but Cushing knew all too well the mavericks, some of them in his own office, who always set out to make their own mark. Earlier, someone leaked information that the Secretary of Defense had helped to start a defense espionage unit back in 2001. Rumsfeld, one of those mavericks who made Cushing antsy, had been unhappy with the CIA and decided an independent unit would be necessary for the war on terror.  Arrogant and brusque, he announced his intentions:

     “We need to circumvent the red tape, cut through all the bullshit put out by the extreme liberal left.   One way to do this is to form this new group.  We will call it the Strategic Support Branch.

    “This group includes linguists, interrogators, and technical specialists along with the recently empowered Special Operations Forces.  They, according to some, had been operating in Iraq and Afghanistan since the start of the war in 2003.  According to the leaked information, General Robert E. Miers, chairperson of the Joint Chief of Staff, declares the focus of this information is on emerging target countries – Somalia, Yemen, Indonesia, Philippines and Georgia.  This closely guarded secret group will report directly to me.

    “Two of our main goals – set back in 2003 and 2004 – were to give combat forces better information about their immediate enemy and to find new tools to penetrate and destroy the shadowy organizations such as Al-Qaeda, which pose global threats to U.S. interests in conflict with little resemblance to conventional war.  

    “The purpose is that this group is subject to fewer legal constraints.  It involves new interpretations of Title 10 of the U.S. Code, which governs armed services, and Title 50, which governs, among other things, military intelligence.  Under this title, all departments of the executive branch are obliged to keep Congress fully informed of all intelligences activities.  The law exempts traditional military activities and their routine support.  

    “In other words, the CIA has one set of restrictions and oversights and the military has another. The original program was funded in the fiscal year-oh-five budget under the name Humint Augmentation Teams. We later changed the name.  The chairperson of both the House and Senate Armed Services Committees supported the programs. One senator stated these intelligence programs were vital to our security interests and he was in favor of these programs.”

    After the announcement, Rumsfeld contacted Cushing at the CIA.  He wanted a small-specialized group for a particular mission.  Paul knew many good men had retired from the CIA with impeccable files: Greco Mohammed was one.  Yes, he had retired two years ago and had moved to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil to live with his nurse, Maria Altos, the woman who helped bring him back to health after the mugging on the streets of Rio. The mugging was a setup by the desk clerk of the Copacabana Palace Hotel.

    Cushing and Greco maintained the slimmest of contact since the events of two years ago. Cushing’s private plane was used, in 2005, to carry the remains of Greco Fassoud the noted terrorist to Rio for burial in a private cemetery.  In fact, Greco Fassoud and Greco Mohammed were the same. Greco Mohammed had slowly recovered from his injuries suffered in Mompox, Colombia.  Cushing sent a security coded e-mail to “the bird of prey.”   

“I know you are enjoying the surf at Copacabana and Ipanema beaches.  I have a unique job that requires your expertise as a linguist.  You will be in charge of the group. This group will have six people: you and three others plus two guides. I will allow you to choose from a list of people that I will give you.  I really need your help.  It is a dangerous mission.  If you are captured you may even be tried for treason.  It will create an international crisis. The United States, of course, will deny any knowledge of your existence.  Let me know of your decision.”  PJ

    Greco was really enjoying his life in Rio.  The first time, since he lost Jo, his first wife, he was happy and life now had real joy with Maria. She was a great nurse; an outstanding friend and he dearly loved her.  He had long ago told her all his past life and his involvement with the CIA, Al Qaeda, MS13 and the drug dealers of Colombia.   He no longer looked over his shoulder nor did he have to stay one step ahead of those he dealt with and still yet another step or two ahead of the CIA who always was searching to kill him.  His CIA tenure took on near-mythic status.  Greco Fassoud, the universally hated Al-Qaeda who answered only to Osama bin Laden, had died from wounds received in a shootout at Mompox between CIA agents and drug dealers. His files with the CIA were sealed and stamped closed.  The reason given was deceased: body unrecoverable.   

    He promised Maria that no secrets would ever keep them apart again. At times, he was like a boy, giddy with the warm intimacies he shared with his beautiful Latin bride. Still, as profound as his love for his beloved nightingale had grown, he could not escape the embrace of his genuine love for his country. Sometimes, a silent cue from Maria – a touch on his shoulder or a slight brush against his cheek – signaled that she was acutely aware that, as deep as their love had become, his love of national duty and respect transcended every other emotion.  Greco often wondered if Maria was genuinely satisfied with what he could really give her emotionally as her best friend.        

    Maria still worked at the hospital.  She had so much to offer to her patients, as Greco had discovered so intimately during those tenuous days of recovery a couple of years earlier.  While she was at the hospital, he spent the mornings on the beach, walking, running, giving his body a chance to recover his “fighting” condition.  For toning his arms, he usually carried two dumbbells weighing ten pounds each.  His biceps were nearly as impressive as they were during his Texas college days.

    The injuries he suffered nearly took his life and, without ever letting Maria know, he wondered if he could ever recover to the physical condition he had when he worked on the “project.” Getting back to his old self revived those dormant yens for the tightrope action. After twenty-three years of out-maneuvering his quarry day in and day out, Greco seemed like the antithetical candidate for an office job. The daily workouts restocked his adrenalin. Today’s workout was particularly satisfying. He could feel and see the results of his efforts. Returning to their apartment, ensconced in a government compound, Greco showered, donned his cotton terry robe, and sat at his laptop, secured courtesy of prudent government officials, to check his email. He smiled when he noticed PJ’s communication.        

    This is exactly what I need. 

    However, for the moment, Greco knew that the hardest part of his mission, at the outset, would be to win Maria’s endorsement. He quickly shot a response to Cushing:

    “I am deeply interested but I want to talk with Maria before making any decisions.”   GM       

    Greco anxiously awaited Maria's arrival.  Because their house-cleaner and cook had the day off he prepared dinner for them and even set a candle on the table and chilled their favorite Chardonnay.  Maria was always punctual and she arrived home at exactly six p.m.  As usual, he met her at the door, kissed her long, and announced he had prepared their evening meal.  She was tired but hungry.  She washed her hands and sat down at the table.   He lit the candle and poured her a glass of their chilled wine. The meal seemed hardly a challenge for him. He settled on an appetizer Sopa de Palmito (cream of palm heart soup), Stroganoff de Camarao (shrimp stroganoff) for the main course, and Merengue de Morango (strawberry meringue) for dessert. The stereo was playing their favorite music from among Brazil’s most celebrated guitarists and composers – Luiz Bonfa. Two of Greco’s favorites were “Menina Flor” (The Gentle Rain) and “Perdido de Amor” (Almost in Love) and nothing would be complete without their favorite song “Nos Dois”  (Us Two), which featured Luiz Avelars on the keyboard and guitarist Richardo Silveira.

    He had rekindled his youthful, romantic ways.  Attentive as always, he asked Maria for details about her day. He enjoyed listening to her talk about her work. Rarely had he seen anybody feel so consistently rewarded by the trials, challenges, and achievements of work. Good or bad days, Maria truly loved her career. When they had finished their candlelight meal and their wine, he told her he had something important that he wanted to share.

    For the first time this evening, Maria frowned. Greco could see in her face that she was suspecting the worst. He silently slipped the printed email to her hands. As if she barely finished reading the first sentence, she started to pepper Greco with questions. He did not know. All he kept saying was that he wanted to talk with her first before finding anything else about this new assignment. He repeated, three times, that he understood her hesitation about the clandestine nature of his work. And, then, as if it really was needed, he told Maria how much he loved his country. And, after all, he could not sleep knowing that a global war could throw hundreds of millions lives into catastrophic disruption. In fact, the war could end civilization for many nations.

     Their conversation continued far into the night.  

    Maria’s concern could not be hidden.

    “Oh, Greco, I was so afraid when you left Rio to go to Cartagena. Then the man who attacked you in your room.”

    “Yes, Maria, I understand. It is for these reasons I stand strongly committed to my country.”

    Maria was a bit irked at Greco’s formal tone.

    “Greco, I know and understand your love for your country and I would love to be an American, too.  When I was kidnapped and finally learned of your near-death experience from the shooting in Mompox,  I lived through so many nightmares worrying about you.”

    “I know, Maria. but my country calls for me and I cannot ever ignore that.”

    “But, Greco, if I lose you … ?”

    “You won’t lose me.  I will come back.  I love you so very much.”

    “I love you, too, but without … I don’t think I could survive.”

    He waited a long moment in silence.

    “Maria, please read the email again.”

    They discussed the possibility of his being captured and tried as a spy.  Fresh as the concerns seemed now, Greco always had faced that possibility. As much as she tried to obscure the fact, she knew his heart was in his work. He certainly was good at what he did.  She saw the restlessness every day and she knew that eventually he was going to go back to his work.  She just did not know when.  She loved him so much she would have followed him to the ends of the earth if only he had asked her. And, Greco knew the huge sacrifice that his wife would offer, confident that her love was extraordinary in its genuine nature.  

    “I know that your heart is set on being of service to your country.  Above all else, I want you to be happy.”

    Greco steeled his internal emotions. Her gifts would have been incomprehensible to the rank and file modern-day skeptic of virtually every other relationship.

    “I want you to be happy as well.”   

    He knew she wanted him to marry her and he had never proposed or even hinted marriage.  For a moment, he studied her face, looking for the slightest of physical cues.

    “What do you want to do with your life?”

          “What do you mean by what do I want to do with my life?  I am a nurse and I thoroughly enjoy being able to help. Ever since I was a little girl, I always wanted to be a nurse. ”

          “I mean what are your goals in life, your ambition?  Where do you see yourself in the next twenty years?”

           She glanced at him and quickly looked away. Her azure eyes scanned the ceiling as if it were a clear, sunny day where those fluffy cumulus days become the stuff of carefree daydreams. After about fifteen seconds, she turned back to Greco.

    “I would like to become a U.S. citizen.  I want to marry, settle down, have some children and have someone who loves me and wants to spend as much time as possible with me.”

           “Maria, I truly understand your hopes, dreams and desires.  Over twenty years ago, I too, had those same desires and I stood helpless by a bedside and watch my dreams slip into eternity.  A big part of me died that day.  The ashes of those memories turned cold and I became just as cold and distant. My biggest fear always has been losing someone I love and I could not bear that prospect with you …”

    Suddenly, Greco choked up. He paused, collected himself, and took Maria’s right hand.

     “Maria will you marry me?”

          “Of course, Greco, you know I will.”  

    She grabbed Greco, hugged him as tight as possible, and kissed him repeatedly. Tears streaked her soft cheeks.

      “You have made me so happy!  I can’t wait to begin making arrangements.”

         “Then let us plan this wedding as soon as possible.  I will email P.J. and ask for at least forty-five days before I take this job.  I’ll also ask P.J. to get the necessary paper work, so we can get you on the fast track for citizenship. We’ll get this done as quickly as possible.  INS will issue a proxy making you an American citizen.”

          Greco immediately e-mailed the request and PJ started moving as soon as he finished reading the email. For Greco, PJ knew he could set the wheels into motion so that everything would be in order within forty-eight hours. He emailed Greco and advised him that all of his requests had been approved.   Just as quickly, he would send the names of the men he would suggest to Greco for the assignment.  

    This time, they would be going into North Korea to log the location of two suspected nuclear laboratories and the scientists working at those sites.  Undoubtedly, the United States government would deny all connections should Greco and his team be discovered. Carrying no identification, they would be working under a new branch of government that reported directly to the Pentagon.  While the group would be working under the Strategic Support Branch umbrella, the mission would be named “ICON” International Covert Operations Nuclear.  In the event the mission failed, the United States government would refer to the group as overzealous mercenary rogues, or “soldiers of fortune.”   

    Greco had no questions. His response to PJ was one word.

    “Agreed.”

          The next day, Maria went to the hospital and requested a sabbatical leave for at least one year.  She did not want the hospital to suspect anything except that Greco was an employee of an oil company. She constantly feared that drug dealers, soldiers for hire, and others would put him instantaneously on their hit list if they found out he was alive. The administrator knew how hard Maria worked and when she told him that Greco had proposed to her the night before and she had accepted his proposal, he granted her request without any further questions.

          She went home, feeling exuberant and triumphant.  The next day, she called the Archdiocese of Sao Sebastiao do Rio de Janeiro.  It would be a Roman Catholic wedding.  She called Cardinal Archbishop Eusebio Oscar Scheid. Since he had baptized her as a baby, she wanted him to handle the wedding ceremonies.    

    Cardinal Scheid beamed with satisfaction.

    “Has Greco ever been married?”

          “Yes.”

    Maria’s eyes reflected her sudden worry.

          “Well Maria, you know, I cannot perform the wedding ceremonies if he is divorced.  The Church will not recognize the marriage, nor can we ask the blessing of God on such an action. It is a very short notice to petition the church for an annulment, that is if you want it granted in the next few weeks.  These actions, sometimes, takes months to get approval.  They could also be denied.”

          He saw the disappointment in her face. However, Maria suddenly brightened.

    “Oh, I forgot to tell you his wife is deceased.  She passed away over twenty years ago.”

    “That’s one obstacle resolved. Oh, Maria, before I forget: What is his relationship with the Church?”

    “His relationship with the Church?

    “Yes.”

    “Well, he converted to the Church from the Islamic faith over twenty years ago when he married Jo, his first wife.”

          “Oh, in that case I will be happy to pronounce my blessings and the blessings of the Church on you both.”

         She called the florist and arranged for flowers, orchids and red roses to decorate the church and the reception area.  She went to see her dressmaker.  Angelina Facenda, the tailor, was very happy for Maria. She took her measurements and said it would take about two weeks for the dress to be ready. It would be white “A-Line” design with a sweetheart neckline and pink floral appliqué around the bottom of the gown. The bridesmaids would wear pink strapless full-length Georgette dresses and a dark rose ribbon bow at the natural waistline with pleats in the front only. Maria called her three best girl friends -- Estrella Gorden,  Erika Fuentes, Elize Corazon – and asked them to be bridesmaids and they rushed into the shop the same day to have measurements taken for their respective dresses.

    Meanwhile, Greco knew that his family would require more than simple, one-word assent that he gave to PJ. Suddenly, his mind reeled with scores of questions. His family would want to learn and know everything about Maria and how they met. Of course, the first challenge would be to help them deal with the shock that their beloved son, in fact, is very much alive.   His mother had a light heart attack when she learned of his death.  Greco worried about her physical condition if she knew that he was alive and getting married. At the time, the CIA told Greco’s family he was dead and his body was unrecoverable but they were still searching for him.

Chapter 2

    It was a beautiful, bright sunny mid-March afternoon in Detroit but the forecasters indicated a fast-moving late spring cold front with possible sleet and snow.  The FedEx man at the Mohammed home surprised the elderly woman. For more than two years she had dreaded answering the door since that dreadful day when two CIA men, dressed in black suits, informed them that her son had died.  He had lost his life in South America and his body was unrecoverable.  She was shocked that her son was not only working for BHP Petroleum, but that he also was a CIA agent. The protocol for information and notification was much like a witness protection program as much to provide a safe harbor for Greco’s family as it was to give him the effective cover he needed.    

          The news sent her to the hospital for a few days.  Dr. Benadina, the long-time family physician, had previously diagnosed her with heart disease, warning her to be as careful as possible.  She had suffered cardiac arrest and he gave her some glycerin tables to place under her tongue to use as necessary. Her husband had also purchased a portable defibrillator for emergency use.

          On the second ringing of the doorbell, she went timidly to the door.  She opened the door to the deliveryman.

    “Is this the Mohammed's residence?”

    “Yes it is.”

    She looked lost for a moment.

          “Are you Mrs. Mohammed?”

         “Yes I am.  How may I help you?”

          He handed her a single package – a FedEx overnight letter.

    “Please sign here.”

          She took the package, signed her name, thanked him and closed the door.  Walking back to the kitchen table, she scanned her memory furiously for any name of anybody in Rio de Janeiro who would be sending her a package. Her mind darted rapidly back and forth, settling on the notion that perhaps someone had crucial information about the whereabouts of her son’s remains. She prayed using one hand to work her prayer beads as she carried the FedEx package to the kitchen.  

    Allah, please, I beg grant me some closure on the loss of my son.  

    She sat down at the kitchen table, illuminated by bright sunshine streaking through the window. She gave up her composure and tore at the package, glanced at the contents, and rose from her chair. She reached for the windowsill above the sink and grabbed a bottle, struggled to open it with trembling hands, and finally placed a glycerin tablet under her tongue.  

    Had this been a terribly cruel joke?

    She barely recovered herself when she reached for the phone and called her husband.  

    “Papa, close the shop now and come home as quickly as possible and bring Rafael and Al Sheik with you. Please hurry.  I need you now. Please!”

           “Mama, Mama, what's wrong?  Talk to me!”     

          “I can't talk now!  Come home quickly.” 

          He heard the receiver drop with a thud on the floor and then the line went dead. The urgency of her tone, the near frantic call for help made him think of the worst possible case. He had never heard such fear in his wife’s voice.

    He always has been the calm one in the family, the optimist who nevertheless knew that his wife would never exaggerate physical pain or trouble. Maybe she was suffering another heart attack.  The doctor had warned them, after she barely survived the shock of getting the news about her son’s mysterious death, that she might not be able to sustain another deep, emotional bolt of news affecting her family.

            Fortunately, there was just one customer left in the bakery and he was just about finished. Mr. Mohammed followed him silently, opened the door, and immediately flipped the sign to “Closed. Please come again.” He pulled the shade down, locked the door, went into the back and told his sons Rafael and Al Sheik that something apparently bad had happened. Maybe it was Rebecca, their sister. She was working in Ann Arbor as a student teacher in one of the biology labs at the University of Michigan while she was finishing up her studies for a doctorate in molecular biology.  The two sons removed their aprons, washed the flour residue from their hands, put on their jackets, rechecked the locks of the front door and, with their father, walked out the back door. Silently but with quickstep efficiency, they finished the routine by securing the three dead bolts on the back door, got into the 2005 Ford Explorer. They lived close to each other, no more than a few blocks apart and they always rode to and from work together.  The trip was about ten minutes without traffic or closer to thirty in heavy traffic.         

    Fearing the worst, they rushed into the house, shouting her name.

    “I'm here in the kitchen.”  

    The three men appeared to be overcome with relief. Her husband spoke.

    “What's wrong?   Mama, what's wrong?”  

    One of the sons noticed the prayer beads on the floor. They knew something extraordinary had happened. Since that terrible day in 2005, she always had her prayer beads in hand. Now, she was crying and kneading her hands as she always did when she was nervous and upset. She tilted her head toward the letter lying on the kitchen table in front of her.  Her husband, his hands trembling as badly as hers, picked up the letter and read it.  His face flushed red and then tears choked his voice as he turned to his sons.

    “Your brother is alive!”

          His wife stopped crying and looked up at her husband.

    “Greco is alive?! Are you sure? Are you sure that this isn’t a cruel joke?”

    Rafael took the FedEx package, looked in the pouch, reached inside, and removed twelve plane tickets. His eyes grew wide.

    “Look! Here are twelve round-trip tickets on American Airlines to Rio de Janeiro.”

    His brother, Al-Sheik, grabbed the tickets and counted them out loudly.

          “This is incredible. Twelve tickets?! The children are in school. How can we take them out of school and take them to Brazil?”

    He looked at his father.

    “What shall we do?”

    The tears had been replaced with the urgent, planning tones of a professional travel agent. Rafael clicked his fingers.

          “I know. We will call Fayeeda, the woman who worked at the nursery school.”

          The mother chimed in.

    “Which woman? They have several women working there.”

          “You know, the widowed lady that lived with her parents over on Cain Street.”

          “Who?”

          “You remember the elderly couple killed a few months ago in the car and train crash.  They were the ones who ignored the train crossing signs at Luther and Seville Streets.

          “Oh, now I know who you mean. Why is she not working?”

          “After a group of teenagers set fire to the nursery school, she has been unable to find work. Besides, she can drive the older kids to school, pick them up, look after the little ones and prepare their meals.”

     Rafael smiled broadly.

    “Good idea. She can stay at our house and look after things until we return.  We need to call her and, yes, Rebecca, she will be so excited.”

          Al-Sheik pulled his cell phone out of his right pocket.

    “I’ll call Fayeeda now and then Rebecca. It’s four o-clock now.”  

    Fayeeda picked up the phone on the first ring. Al-Sheik told her the adults would be traveling to South America and they would be gone for a few days at least – possibly as many as five. She was very pleased to help out and assured Al Sheik that she would take good care of the children.

          Al Sheik thanked her and hung up. The call had lasted barely three minutes.  He turned to Rafael and his parents.

    “Fayeeda said there’d be no problem and she will be happy to care for the children. I’ll call Rebecca. I bet she is still at school. What I am saying? She’s always there.”

          When the operator at the University of Michigan directory assistance center at the research park answered she said, “University of Michigan, how may I direct your call?”

          “This is Al Sheik Mohammed. May I speak with Rebecca Mohammed in the research center?”

          “Is this an emergency?”

          “Yes this is her brother and it is somewhat of an emergency.”

    Al-Sheik had to muffle his giggles.

          “Please hold. I’ll put you through to the lab.”

          The phone rang four times.  A man who sounded like a very young student answered.

    “Lab, yes?”

    “Yes, this is Al-Sheik Mohammed. May I speak to Rebecca Mohammed?  It is an emergency.”

          “I'm sorry. She just stepped out but she should be back momentarily. Can I take a message or would you like to hold?”

          Al-Sheik sounded impatient.

    “I will hold.”

          He tapped his fingers incessantly on the kitchen countertop.  After about forty-five seconds – what really had seemed like an eternity – he heard a click and his sister’s familiar, optimistic voice came on.

    “Hello, this is Rebecca Mohammed.”

          “Becca, this is Al Sheik.”

          “Hi! What’s up?”

          “Becca, I have incredible news.”

    He clearly was relishing the theatrics of the moment.

    “Greco is alive.”

          Becca fumbled with the phone, almost dropping it.

    “I can’t believe. Al, are you sure? Please tell me.”

          “No, Becca, I’m telling you the truth, so help me Allah. Greco is alive and he has sent us plane tickets to Rio de Janeiro.  Not only that. He is getting married.”

          Becca almost laughed out loud.

    “You're kidding me”

          “No, Sis, I am serious. How soon can you come home?”

          “I’ll be there later this afternoon. I just have one more test that I am running. It will – or should – be finished in about twenty or thirty minutes and then I can leave.”

          “Okay. We will be waiting here for you.”

          Al Sheik-called his wife while Rafael called his. They both said they were over at their parents’ house and would be a little late getting home. All three families lived within a few blocks of each other.

          Becca finished her lab test in thirty minutes and she immediately left campus, walking toward he car. The sunny, mild weather had given way to the typical Michigan early spring expectation. The cold front had moved in and the freezing rain mixed with the snow and it would make driving hazardous, especially in her little MX6 hardtop. Her hands were still shaking from the shock of her brother’s call. After she started the car, she reached over in the glove box, removed her ice scraper, got out of the car and began to clear the rear window and, then, the front windshield.  Despite the dreary, windswept cold rain, she felt exhilarated at the double-strength joy of the news that Greco was not only alive but he was going to be married again. Rebecca dearly loved her late sister-in-law and believed that any woman Greco would fall in love again would be just as special.

          She had received permission to take a few extra comp days, thus she would have a five-day leave.  She normally stayed on campus and would go home only on weekends but this trip home was going to be extraordinarily momentous.  She left the campus research center parking lot around five-thirty p.m.  The freezing rain and sleet mixed with the snow flurries was definitely going to aggravate the usual rush-hour chaos. If she was lucky, she would be there at seven-thirty.

          Traffic was blocked in both directions as an eighteen-wheeler had jackknifed on US-23. The tractor cab had broken loose from the trailer, flipped over on one side, slid across the median and had blocked the eastbound traffic.  The truck also had collided with two SUVs and only one lane of traffic was getting though.  The trailer and other debris were blocking the traffic also in the eastbound lanes.  The state highway patrol was letting traffic go in one direction at a time with officers flagging the stopped traffic going in the other direction. When she finally approached the accident scene she noticed a sizable corps of fire trucks, ambulances, numerous police cars and the county corner's vehicle with its blue lights flashing.  The police were doing their best to keep the traffic flowing in both directions. There were several bodies covered with sheets.  Rebecca counted three.  

    Then she saw a smashed SUV.  It appeared that the tractor-trailer had jackknifed on the slick roads and the SUV had run into the trailer as it skidded on its side.  The SUV looked like an accordion that had failed to open.  The wreck did remind Rebecca to be more cautious on the slick roads.  She finally got on to I-94 eastbound. The state maintenance crew had sanded the interstate and the traffic between Arbor and Detroit traffic was flowing more smoothly, a bit of a surprise considering the unexpectedly nasty weather.  

         She arrived home about seven-thirty p.m., only about thirty-five or forty minutes later than expected. Unlike visits home of the last couple of years, she could barely move fast enough. She quickly locked her car and, hurrying into the house, she paused, only long enough to remove her snow boots and her jacket and hang them carelessly in the hall closet.  

    Rebecca smiled at the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. It was a song that had been all too rare. Suddenly, it was like the days when she would be coming home from grade school. The memories of gingerbread cookies, cakes, and pies flooded back instantaneously. Unlike her mother, whose culinary expertise had always been the talk of the neighborhood, Rebecca thought little about cooking. She guessed it was the mess generated by flour and countless ingredients and she never enjoyed cleaning up and washing dishes, a chore she always tried to avoid during her teenaged years. Now that her father and two brothers operated a bakery, she always was happy to be a willing taste tester and little more.

          “Hi, everybody. I'm home.”

    Rebecca was still walking through the hall to the kitchen.

     “What is this about Greco being alive and he is getting married as well? Who is it? Who is it?”

          Both brothers hugged and kissed her on the cheek. Then she knelt down beside her mother seated at the kitchen table.  Both women burst into tears.

     “Oh, Mama, I'm so happy for you.  I know how you’ve grieved over the loss of Greco and how much you had wanted him to marry again.  It’s unbelievable. It’s a miracle. You never lost hope or faith. Mama, we are all so proud of you.”

    Rebecca was hardly as religious as her mother or of any other member in the family. In Ann Arbor, she experimented with all types of spiritualism, shopping around, never finding the right practice to suit her own restless needs.

          Rebecca remembered how her mother cried every day for the last two years. Holidays and weekends were difficult times and Rebecca often made easy excuses to avoid being at home as much as possible. Yet, she secretly admired her mother’s seemingly unshakable faith even while she held back chastising her mother for thinking the implausible that Greco was, in fact, still alive. There was a bittersweet tone to the triumphant news.      

    “Oh, Papa, I’m sorry. I saw Mama and forgot about everyone else for a moment.     She laughed heartily.

    “But you are my favorite dad.”

          He gave a mocked look of condescension and laughed.

    “Well, you are my favorite daughter.”

          Both hugged each other long and she noticed that her father was struggling to hold back tears.

    “I'm your only daughter and you are my only dad.”

          For the next couple of weeks, everyone in the Mohammed household was busy, packing and planning and getting ready to go to Rio de Janeiro. The university granted Rebecca’s request and gave her a thirty-day leave. The calendar in the kitchen took on renewed importance. Each day, Rebecca ceremoniously marked off the days, symbolic of everyone’s anticipation for the departure date. 

    Finally, travel day had arrived. Al-Sheik and Rafael, along with their wives, had secured their normal babysitter to stay with the children until they returned.  They rented two taxicabs to take them to the airport.  They confirmed their seats, checked and received clearance to carry their mother's defibrillator on board, and their bags went through security clearance. Soon they all boarded the plane to Miami and connected with a 763 in Miami, more than anxious to go.

    Greco had decided that both brothers would officiate as best men and all the Mohammed men would be sporting tuxedos designed by John Galante and highlighting a  six-button notch tailcoat white with satin covered buttons and lapels with shoes -- jazz oxfords by After Six.  Completing the ensemble were winged-tipped collar tuxedo shirts with matching pleated adjustable waist trousers. Everything had moved with dizzying efficiency. Greco’s skills as a master planner were unsurpassed by any relative.  The family chattered loudly in the cabin, speculating about every imaginable detail surrounding their new in-law. There was the occasional comparison to Jo, his first wife, but the discussion switched back quickly to Greco and how he would appear, along with his new bride.     

    They would have the wedding in the sanctuary of the church, in a small chapel nestled in the courtyard with hand-carved double doors.  Above the door archway, a lead-stained window depicting the wedding at Canaan in the Bible allowed light from the outside to shine directly on the couple being joined in matrimony. Each side of the chapel was adorned with three leaded windows depicting several religious scenes from the New Testament. The reception would follow in the church courtyard. The large pavilion in the courtyard had seen many church activities but never a wedding reception. A large banner proclaimed “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Greco Mohammed!” waved in air above the wedding cake.  It would be the ideal site for the dancing featuring music by a string quartet and the festivals following the wedding.  The group knew many of the couple’s favorite songs – “At Last,” “From This Moment,” and “I Can’t Help Falling in Love.”

     A place was setup for the musicians and speakers were mounted on trees. They even brought in a TV crew for a closed circuit broadcast that would record the complete festival. The reception area was surrounded by tall palm trees along with the jutoba or Brazilian cherry trees that dotted the courtyard. Beautiful IPE Branco trees lined the pavilion and the white flowers -- Tillandsia Cyanea --  infused the air with a spicy clove fragrance.

          In the meantime, Greco had received a list of recommended men to take with him for the mission into North Korea:  photographers, scientists, and communication specialists, all experts in their own right. Everybody was fluent in Korean, even Greco who had a gift for nailing the naturally sounding dialect, the ideal cover should anyone ever be separated or if they needed to retreat to South Korea either as a group or individually.  Greco would choose three men from the list of twelve, a “deep bench” thoroughly trained in all aspects of espionage, weaponry and hand-to-hand combat.  The project code name would be “ICON,” with all information funneled directly to the Pentagon and to the CIA concurrently.      

    The days preparing for the wedding flew by almost too quickly to savor them properly.  The dressmaker fitted Maria and her three bridesmaids in their gowns.  One of the bridesmaids’ sons would be the ring bearer, entrusted with an exceptionally crafted jewelry piece from H. Stern's world headquarters on Rua Garcia D'Avila in Ipanema.  This was no ordinary ring purchasing experience. Customers would go to the third floor where receptionists would greet them and give them headphones for an audiotape player broadcasting an orientation about the jeweler in their native language. The audio was a self-guided tour explaining the entire operation from mining, gem-cutting, gem identification, valuation, and silversmithing to jewelry marketing. The specialists work behind bulletproof glass partitions but customers still are close enough to watch their every movement – whether it’s diamond sawing of rough gem material or performing and faceting with a jamb-peg on a diamond lap.  The wooden pegboard has about twenty-four rows of six or seven notches each to position the dop. The jewelers regularly amaze customers with their instincts carefully cultivated by many years of experience in which no mechanical faceting heads are ever used.  The beautiful oval and marquise hand-cuts are works of art in their own right.  

    After the tour, Maria chose a beautiful marquise-cut diamond weighing two carats. For each side of the diamond, she chose half-carat topaz stones, the blue matching her eyes.  The jewels were to be set in white twenty-one-carat gold.  Greco enjoyed watching Maria’s child-like excitement at the whole process. The rings would be ready the next day. Her excitement, however, was the gift that already had manifested itself before her eyes, a handsome, brilliant man who just also happened to be an excellent dancer.

          That night, Maria could not sleep restfully. Her dreams of her wedding punctuated her nighttime state. She heard bells and visualized walking down the aisle on her father’s arms. The next morning after breakfast, Greco and Maria returned to Stern's and picked up their wedding rings.  The rings fit perfectly. Of course, they offered Greco some Brazilian coffee, which he politely declines.  It was just too strong and too sweet for him.      I will never make a good Brazilian because I just do not like their coffee.

          Greco and Maria called the Copacabana Palace to make arrangements for his family who’d be staying four days.  Greco was surprised and even a bit irked that no one at the hotel remembered him but then he reminded himself that the desk clerks and the courtesy bus drivers were obviously different from when he stayed there two years before.

          Greco had purchased a 2005 BMW 330Ci convertible for Maria as a wedding present.  They were driving it to the airport.  Maria would have to learn to drive more defensively, especially if she was coming to the United States.  They waited outside the ground transportation exit for his family.  They saw the huge jumbo jet as it landed two hours earlier.  Greco knew that going through customs would be an arduous process.

          Greco’s heart beat more rapidly as the moment of meeting his family drew close. And, after waiting forty minutes, the ground transportation exit doors burst opened and his parents, his two brothers and their wives followed by his sister Rebecca appeared, each carrying a piece of luggage.

          Greco began waving his arms and shouting.

    “Mom, Dad. Over here!”

          Maria joined in.

    “Mr. and Mrs. Mohammed. Over here by the cars.”  

    The reunion was what Greco had anticipated. Tears, hugs, more tears, more hugs. Quick shot appraisals of Maria. However, Greco looked around, thinking more people should be here. He sounded noticeably disappointed.

    “Where are my nieces and nephews?”  

    Rafael and Al Sheik replied almost in unison.

    “We left them home with a babysitter.  The older ones are in school and the youngest ones would make it cumbersome for the wedding.”

           “Why? I haven't seen them for ages and I know they have grown so much.”

    Rafael spoke authoritatively.

    “Rosa, the baby, is now walking some and she is a little cranky. She is cutting some teeth and, really, we couldn't take the kids out of school but you will see them soon.”

          Al-Sheik handed over five unused plane tickets to Greco.

    “Oh, before I forget. Here are the tickets we didn't use.”  

    Maria was so happy she was crying. Rafael and Al-Sheik were laughing and teasing their brother.  Rebecca grabbed Maria’s right arm.

    “Welcome to our family. Isn't Greco a mess?  He's my big brother and I just love him to pieces.”

          “Yes, but now he's becoming my mess as well and I, too, love him to pieces.”

          “Greco is such a romantic.  When I was small, I can remember him coming home and bringing me some candy and he was always sending Mama flowers and cards, especially if he could not be home on those special days.  He always sent orchids. They are mother’s favorite flower.”   

    Maria blushed a bit.

    “Yes, Greco is a romantic.”

          Greco introduced Maria to his mother, who was wearing her burka. She put her pudgy arms around her new daughter in-law.

    “I know you are a great woman. For years, my son wasn't interested in anyone.  Even girls I tried to introduce him to, he ignored.  I am so happy for Greco and for you. Welcome to our family.  You will always be loved.”

          Greco's mom looked at him, tears washing her face, prominently strained and wrinkled from a long period of grieving.

    “Oh, Greco, I could never believe you were dead as the men from the government agency told me. I just could not accept the things they told me.  I prayed and prayed and I am so relieved.”

          Greco explained the barest essential information of his disappearance and protection. Even with his family, he knew that it was best to keep everything at a high general level of detail.

    “Please keep the secret within the family.  I'm sure there are still some who would welcome the opportunity to make my murder a reality.”

          He had already reserved one large van for his family and their luggage.  It actually took the van and the large courtesy van from the hotel plus their car for the entourage to drive to the Copacabana Palace.  Greco asked the reservations manager to give them rooms where they could view Sugar Loaf Mountain as well as the bay area.  When the family was finally settled in their hotel rooms, Greco and Maria went home, four hours after his family had arrived.  They would be coming back that night for a family reunion and private dinner at the Cipriani Restaurant where Maria and Greco had first dined together.  

    The live band was playing samba and rock and a special area near the dance floor was marked as reserved for the Mohammed Family.  Marie danced with his brothers and his father. Greco danced with his mother, his sister and Maria.  Everything in the Cipriani restaurant was elegant and the family enjoyed the wine and the superb Italian cuisine.  It was two-thirty a.m. before the family finally quit partying.  Greco graciously and generously tipped the band (far more than his customary twenty-five percent) and thanked them for staying so long. Greco and Maria went home, and the rest of the Mohammed family exhausted but happy and excited went upstairs to their rooms.  

    The next day the family enjoyed the day at the Copacabana beach.  They were able to have some of the cooking staff from the hotel come to the beach and serve them lunch.  They stayed out in the sun too long and some of them were sunburned. Tempted by the rare moments to enjoy a sliver of summer away from the raw wintry days in Michigan, Rafael suffered a sunburn on his shoulders and nose, Rebecca got a light sunburn on her nose and forehead, and Al-Sheik had a first-degree sunburn on his legs and arms. By evening, they were all very tired and they went back to their rooms.

    On the third day they completed all the miscellaneous items in final preparations for the wedding.  The tuxedos Greco ordered fit with only minor changes to the hem of the trousers. Meanwhile, the women went to the stylists. The family also enjoyed the jewelry shops, finding amethyst earrings for Rebecca.  Greco purchased a gem-encrusted jewelry box for his mother, a lavish display of rubies and sapphires with gold plated two-toned metals. Rafael’s wife, Sari, purchased a simple, elegant bracelet of semi-precious stones.  Al sheik’s wife, Annan, purchased a natural pearl necklace.

    On the fourth day, at nine forty-five a.m., the church bells pealed at the start of the wedding.   The sanctuary of the church was marked for seating of family and invited guests, one hundred twenty-five in total. The groom's family, of course, was seated to the right of the Father's hand and the bride's family to the left of the Father's hand. 

      The archbishop stood in front of the altar and, at the start of the Handel prelude music, the groom and his two brothers entered the sanctuary from a side room on the archbishop's right. Once the men were in position, the archbishop motioned slightly for the congregation to stand and the organist began the Wagner Prelude from Lohengrin, the famous Wedding March. The family and guests stood to face the aisle – a sea of broad smiles – and then through the large Gothic doors came the flower girl, one of Maria’s nieces who was just barely six years old, strewing flowers along the path to the chancel.  The ring bearer followed her. Greco was captivated by the sight of Maria, meditating that she indeed was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. She even seemed more beautiful than Jo, his first wife. Maria's elderly father, in his seventies but with a confident step, escorted her on his arm to the chancel in front of the altar. 

          Two small boys followed, holding up the train of her wedding gown, which seemed like a large, graceful wing.  The bridesmaids held up the front flank of the procession smiling as radiantly as Maria.   Once Maria and her father reached the front, the march stopped, the last chord still reverberating a bit in the sanctuary.

    “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

    Maria’s father spoke clearly. She was his only daughter.

    “Her mother and I.”  

    Maria kneels with Greco at the altar.

    “Dearly beloved, marriage is a civil as well as a religious institution.  We are gathered together here, in the sight of God and in the face of this company, to join this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony.  Marriage is honorably and not to be entered into lightly, but reverently, discreetly, soberly and in the fear of God.  Into this holy estate, these two persons present, come now to be joined.  If any person can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let he or she now speak or else hereafter hold the peace.”

          After a silence of about ten second, the archbishop looked down at the couple.

     The archbishop turned to Greco who repeated the words as they were spoken.

    “In the name of God, I, Greco, take you, Maria, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death.  This is my solemn vow.       

          The archbishop turned to Maria who repeated the words as they were spoken.

    In the name of God, I, Maria, take you, Greco, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death.  This is my solemn vow.”

          The Archbishop looked again at Greco.

    “What token do you bring that you will faithful perform these promises?”

          Greco's best man took both rings from the little ring bearer and hands one of the rings to the archbishop who then blesses it.  He hands the ring to Greco as he prepares to place it on Maria’s finger.

    “I, Greco Mohammed, take thee, Maria Altos, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance.”

          The Archbishop now turns to Maria and repeats the questions heard a moment earlier. He blesses the ring, hands it to Maria who prepares to place it on Greco’s finger. She repeats the vow taken a moment ago by her new husband.

    “You may now kiss the bride.”

          Greco gingerly lifts Maria's veil and kisses her gently but passionately.  Maria is crying, desperately trying to keep her composure.  He holds her right hand as they rise and they take a candle to where the Unity Candle is placed. A nun is singing Ave Maria with an unforgettable reverence. The light from the candle symbolizes Christ as the light of the world.

          The archbishop then serves them both, communion.  The flashing, of many cameras were silent reminders that pictures memories were being made.  It was a happy occasion for family and friends.  The archbishop presented Mr. and Mrs. Greco Mohammed to the congregation which erupted in applause and stomping feet. The noise had barely settled when he announced a reception held in the courtyard.  

    In the courtyard pavilion, Greco and Maria cut the exquisite cake baked by the executive pastry chef at the Copacabana Palace. It was a four-tier cake and on top were two figurines of the couple in traditional wedding apparel.  The arch above the figurines was accented with three white-candied wedding bells decorated with pink-candied orchids.  Each tier of the cake was decorated with candied-colored orchids and faux pearls.  Maria gently fed a bite of the confection to Greco who returned the gesture. Contrary to that brash custom of smashing cake into each other’s face, the newlyweds evidently maintained their gracious, dignified states. They personally served the wine and wedding cake to guests and family members, a rare but appealing gesture.  It was late in the afternoon when the wedding reception was completed and the entire wedding guests left.   Greco and Maria went home as husband and wife and the exhilarated but exhausted Mohammed family returned to the hotel.

            The next morning was not easy emotionally, especially for Greco’s mother. After the long period of grieving, she was hardly satisfied that she had only four full days with Greco and Maria with whom they all fell in love with so quickly and unconditionally. They went to the airport to see Greco's family fly home to Detroit.

    All the way to the airport Greco’s mom and dad kept insisting they must come to Detroit and spend several days. His mom’s insistence on seeing grandchildren was relentless.  They all laughed.  His father asked, “Son, what are you going to do now? Go back to BHP Petroleum?”

     “Dad, I’m not exactly sure. I know that Maria wants to move to the U.S. and I’m thinking about retiring and, maybe because of my tenure with the government, I may take a position in Washington.” 

    “You know you are always welcome to come and live in Detroit. I can always use another set of hands in the bakery.  Right now, we have about all the work the three of us can handle and then I’m also thinking about opening up another shop.”

    “Dad, I really appreciate the offer.  Maria and I have a lot of paperwork and documents to fill out but I’m sure by October or November we will be in the United States and I promise that we will be seeing you before the end of the year.”

    Tears welled up in both their eyes when they waved goodbye as his parents, brothers, their wives and his sister boarded the huge jet.  They watched quietly the jumbo jet as it pushed away from the gate.  They only left the airport when the plane began to move toward the runway.

          Greco and Maria were exhausted after the whirlwind speed of the last three weeks. The next week, they just simply enjoyed each other's company.  They did take time to write thank you notes to all their guests.  They enjoyed their wedding photo album, ensuring that copies were dispatched quickly to Detroit for his parents to enjoy. And, as newlywed couples start to do, they thoroughly explored their individual likes and dislikes. Yet, most of all, they spent most of the time watching the video of their wedding over and over again, evidence that this was no dream.

 
Chapter 3

            Greco examined the backgrounds of the twelve men. They were all qualified; they were young and strong, they were men of war.  Each was deeply qualified in the use of firearms, grenades, explosives, C3, C4, IEDs, and other weapons of warfare.  They were extremely skilled in espionage work, computer coding, linguistics, cultural customs, and photography. However, espionage and photography were the most important criteria in selecting the three candidates. He chose Sgt. Eric Mack, Sgt. Billy John and Sgt. Leyton Wesley.  Though they were young, all three were essentially veterans in their portfolios, currently stationed in the Eighth Army Division at the Yongsan base in South Korea.  They were single so if any were lost in the mission, there would be no children to suffer the lost of a father.    

    Greco wanted to discuss his selections with Cushing, P.G. Schoonmacher, Army and Joint chief of staff; B.L. Brownly, acting Secretary of the Army and Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld.  He e-mailed a short message to Cushing:  

    I have made my selections and I would like to meet with you, the Army Joint chief of Staff, and the Cabinet members for Defense and Army.               

    Rumsfeld’s office scheduled a meeting for June 15.  Greco and Maria left their apartment in care of the cleaning staff member until they returned which might be several months.  They arranged with United Airlines for a flight May 15. The flight departed GIG (Rio de Janeiro) and would arrive in IAD (Washington Dulles) early the next morning.

          Maria did not want to change planes so that is why Greco chose United Airlines Flight 85, the only flight departing with one stop but without any plane changes.  He booked them into first class – one way – not knowing when they would return. They would need time to find a furnished apartment in Georgetown with sufficient security cover. To have Maria's paperwork with the INS cleared would be simple. They would go before the judge and have a private swearing-in ceremony.  P.J. had asked the President to grant immediate citizenship to Maria Altos Mohammed.  The president agreed and expedited the red tape, just as has been done for a select group that often includes diplomats, athletes, and other notables, to assure that citizenship would be granted without delay.

    Maria was excited as she packed for an indefinite stay in Washington D.C.  Yes, it would be almost two weeks before they would leave.  She wanted to be sure that she had everything they would need. They celebrated their first month anniversary April 11 with dinner at the Cipriani Restaurant in the Copacabana Palace Hotel where they had their first date.   

    She loved Greco so much, thrilled that he had asked her to marry him without much prodding on her part. Both ordered Risotto di Zucca Profumato al Rosmarino, the chef’s signature dish. Greco was happy, too, and, as they ate dinner, he hired a string quartet to play some music tableside. He then presented Maria with a dozen beautiful long stemmed red roses.   That night passed so quickly; Maria could never remember a time when she was happier.  Maria called the hospital where she had worked so many years and told them she was resigning effective immediately.  They were sad to lose her but happy she was married and going with Greco to the States.       

    They drove the new BMW convertible to the airport where they made arrangements to ship the car to the United States. The shipping cost was nearly two thousand nine hundred dollars, a cost Greco felt reasonable to ensure the BMW arrived in prime condition.  They gave emergency phone numbers and names to the caretaker.  They arrived at the airport, picked up their first-class tickets, and checked their luggage through to Washington Dulles Airport. They also secured a receipt for the shipment of one automobile by freight, which would take at least one week to arrive.  Greco checked their seat numbers – 2A and 2B – one row behind the bulkhead seats on the left side of the plane so they would be able to see Sugar Loaf as they departed.

          Greco and Maria laughed as they both removed their shoes and placed them on the security belt.  Greco sat on the floor to put on his shoes and then helped Maria fasten the ankle straps on her shoes – a pair of peep-toe pumps, cream-colored with basket weave sides, and with beautiful bow detailing. Almost like giddy college students on vacation, they walked hand in hand to the departure gate where they would be boarding the Boeing 767 in ninety minutes.  Energized equally by the adrenaline of their separate expectations and the passion of their deep love, Greco and Maria stayed quiet for a few moments. Greco was happy that he no longer would need to be a double agent. Greco Fassoud was dead; no one looking for him.  He was Greco Mohammed.  As he sat in the waiting room chair, he did not hear the gate agent announce their flight was ready for boarding.  Maria excitedly shook his arm.

    “Greco, come on. It’s time for us to board the plane.”

            They took their seats after placing their carry-on bags in the overhead bin.  The flight attendant had taken Greco's jacket, attached a seat ID tag, and hung it up for him.   The flight attendant asks if they would like something to drink before take off.  They both ordered a glass of champagne. It was Veuve Clicquot.       

    They had just finished their champagne flutes when the attendant advised the plane was ready for departure. After the flight attendant went through the usual routine, the flight captain announced they were fourth in line and would be ready for departure in about ten minutes.

          Maria was too excited to sit still. As a newly minted American citizen, she would live in the capital of the most powerful nation on the planet. As the jumbo jet rumbled down the runway picking up speed for the takeoff, Maria thought about the type or size of an apartment, sign of a realized dream of living in America. As the flight lifted into the air, Greco looked to the window.

    “Look, Maria. Sugar Loaf. Isn't that a beautiful site and there is the Christ the Redeemer Statue.”

          Shortly, the flight attendants entered the various cabins to announce the location of the exit doors. They explained how to use the oxygen masks if necessary and the seat cushions for flotation devices if needed, which would be highly unlikely.

          The flight attendant in the first class cabin came back with glasses of champagne for them and asked their preference for the evening meal.  The main entrée would be grilled lobster tail and steak, or fish.  They both chose the surf and turf. As they sipped their drinks, they discuss the type of apartment they both desired. What area of Georgetown they wanted to live in.

     “Maria, what type of apartment do we want? Do you want a ground floor or upper level?”

    “I was thinking maybe a studio type but with two bedrooms.”

    “Why would we want two bedrooms?”

    “Well, if we ever have guests.”

    “I was thinking maybe we should just stay in a hotel until I get back from this overseas trip.  I shouldn’t be gone for more than sixty to ninety days and probably closer to forty-five days.”

    “Possibly but what if we have a baby? Wouldn’t we want an extra bedroom for the baby?”

    “Sure, I never thought of that.”

    “Maybe a condo would be nice.”

    “Okay, sweetheart, while I am on this mission you look in the papers, talk with some of these apartment locators.  When I get back then we can decide.”

          Soon the flight attendant asked them to pull out their tray tables as she handed each of them a hot hand towel.  The flight attendant placed clean white cotton tablecloths on the tray tables and then proceeded to set their tray with regular china, quite elegant for a flight. Certainly, this was at least nicer than the flight Maria had taken to Bethesda, Maryland two years ago when Greco was injured. Then, she was flying in the main cabin, certainly not in first class.  The food’s remarkably appetizing appearance intrigued Maria.     “I've heard so much about the bad food and service on airlines but this is excellent.”   

    Greco nodded as he chewed a cube of his New York strip steak.

    “But everyone doesn't fly first class. Most of them fly in what I call the 'cattle car.'”  

    They both enjoyed a second glass of red wine that made them both sleepy. Soon they turned out their overhead lamps, leaned their seats back, which turned into compact beds and went to sleep.  Maria dreamt about babies while her husband was dreaming the tactics of his new assignment. They slept until the attendant awakened them to return their seats to upright positions in preparations for the landing in Miami.  The flight took the normal six hours. Marie looked out the window and caught the first glimpses of America as Mrs. Greco Mohammed.

    The flight had one hundred seventy-eight passengers in economy and fourteen in first class. They saw seven leave first class, and a few from coach.  Greco said, “Since we have a layover here in Miami let’s take our boarding passes and get off and stretch our legs.”

    “Good idea, I’ve never been in Miami.”

    Greco gently squeezed Maria’s right hand.

    “Oh, Greco I’ve been thinking about our apartment.  Since it’s going to be temporary I think you are right. We should live close to the government area.”

    “We can live any place you like and I think it’s a good idea to live close by.  When your car arrives in about firty-five days and I get back, if you like, we can look a little farther out in the suburbs.”

    They browsed a small gift shop.

    “Look at these cute little salt and pepper shakers made in the form of an airplane, may I get them?”

    “Absolutely, Maria. These will be the first things you can point to as the first items you bought in the USA as Mrs. Greco Mohammed.”

    “Nice, sweetie. I like them.”  

    Greco and Maria returned to the plane for the final leg of the trip to Washington D.C.

            They were both ready for the egg omelets, breakfast sausages and hot coffee.  It was not Brazilian made coffee but Americanized coffee. After breakfast, they talked again about the type of apartment they wanted in Washington D.C. 

          As just under two hours passed, the flight attendant announced they would be landing shortly at Washington Dulles International Airport.  He asked the passengers to stow their tray tables, make sure their seats were in the upright position and their seatbelts securely fastened. It was the usual routine for air travelers.

          Soon the big jumbo jet set down on the runway and the engines roared as the captain put them into reverse to slow the plane.  Greco knew the jet significantly outweighed the 747-400 series with its maximum payload coming in at about eight hundred thousand pounds.  The 767 was a remarkably smooth ride. After the usual end-of-flight ritual, Greco and Maria heard the most important detail. Luggage would be at United Airlines baggage carousel 4B.

          As Greco and Maria walked up the jet bridge, again they discuss their apartment needs.  Since Greco would be gone for a long time – forty-five days total, with about thirty for the mission and the rest for traveling and debriefs – he wanted her in a safe place, if there was such a place. He used his cell phone, called apartment locaters, and made an appointment for the next day. A rental agent recommended to them The Melrose located at 2430 Pennsylvania Ave. Washington D.C. 20037. The telephone number was 202-955-6400 and the fax number there was 202-955-5765.  It was the place to stay until they could locate a satisfactory apartment.   

    The rental agent peppered Greco with several questions not pausing for any responses.

    “Do you want to buy a home or rent an apartment? Would the apartment be furnished or unfurnished? Did you desire an apartment with all the bills paid?

    Greco had listened intently.

          “We want the best security area possible and a furnished apartment.”

    The agent paused for a moment to see if Greco added anything else. Greco said nothing. The agent spoke after a few seconds.  

    “How about 10:30 tomorrow morning?”

    Greco smiled at Maria.

    “That will be fine.”

          They picked up their luggage, verified the claim tickets, as many of the pieces of luggage looked just like theirs. Maria looked nervous.

     “What are the security guards doing with the dogs?”

          “They train the dogs to smell drugs and explosives. Those dogs are among the most essential parts of airport security. Someone easily could carry those items in their luggage.”

          Greco picked up a hotel guest phone and called the “Melrose” directly.  The hotel advised him the Melrose shuttle bus should be at the airport. As soon as they stepped outside the ground transportation level doors, the doors to the Melrose shuttle were open. They walked on board and placed their bags in the luggage racks.  Four other people had already boarded the bus.  Soon the driver, who apparently been checking the tires, came inside the bus, closed the doors, welcomed them to the Melrose declaring it was the only place in Washington D.C. to stay when in town.  It was about forty-five minutes before they arrived at the hotel; traffic was heavy. 

    “There is so much history, Maria, that I want you to see.  I want you to see the Smithsonian Museum, a tour of the White House, The Ford Theatre where a great President, Abraham Lincoln, was assassinated by John Wilkes Booth and many more places.”  

    The bellman came out, placed the individual's luggage on the cart, and wheeled it inside to the check-in counter.  Greco asked and received a non-smoking three-bedroom suite on the seventh floor, Room 722.  As the bellman hung their garment bags and placed their luggage in the closet, Greco and Maria looked at the Capitol and Pennsylvania Avenue below.

    Greco tipped the bellman with a ten-dollar bill. He turned to Maria, hugged her deeply.

    “Oh, Greco, I am so happy.  This is a lovely room and to be here with the most wonderful man in the world … Well, I can’t even find the right words. It’s just all so …”

    Greco’s instincts always seemed spot on. He kissed Maria deeply, more so than he had with any other woman before.

            After a long night’s travel, both were exhausted.  They undressed, showered and went to sleep quickly in the king-sizes Texas bed.   They awoke in the early afternoon.      They dressed and because it was such a lovely day, they went up to the rooftop terrace for a late lunch and some chardonnay wine, which Greco really enjoyed. The hot, humid days had yet to settle in. The temperature was in the mid seventies, perfect for lightweight clothes and a simple sweater.    

    Greco directed Maria toward D.C.’s signature landmarks: the Pentagon, White House, U.S. Capitol, Ford's Theatre, Lincoln Memorial, The Korean Monument, and Vietnam Veterans Memorial.  Maria’s awe was rightly deserved. Rare was any location where so much history was represented in a compact area, every one of these landmarks within a three-mile radius.

    Greco sounded fatherly in his tone.

    “Make sure you always take a cab wherever you want to go. I know how much you like walking when the weather’s like this but please promise me you’ll always be alert. Remember what happened in Rio?”

    Maria touched Greco’s cheek softly.

    “And, just because this is the United States, don’t think we don’t have our fair share of street criminals. The muggers and pickpockets are just as ruthless as they are back home. And, please, don’t fall for the lines by homeless people begging for money.”

          Maria listened intently. Words really weren’t needed. The moment was perfect as it was.

    As they sat on the terrace, the sun was setting against a clear sky. It was still early enough in the spring that the humid haze had yet to appear. The sky’s color palette was tinged with pale pink evidence of the radiation cooling typical in April. They talked of many things.

    “Maria, I’ve been thinking since I’m going to be gone for a couple of months and you are not familiar with the city that we should rent a place here in the hotel.”

    “That’s okay with me.”

    “It eases my fears. The reason I think so is because it provides better security than trying to locate an apartment for you to stay while I’m gone.  When get back we will look for something in the Georgetown area or perhaps around the Ft. Meade area in Maryland.”

    As soon as the apartment issue would be resolved Greco would be meeting with the government officials. To the original list, Cushing added John Coltharp, the newly designated head of Homeland Security.

    The mild evening scene accentuated the romantic mood on the rooftop terrace.   The “rooftop band” was playing some soft jazz but it also took requests. Greco requested they play three of their favorite songs: “I can’t help falling in love with you,” Barry Manilow’s “Could it be magic?” and  “Wonderful Tonight” by Eric Clapton.  He tipped each member of the band with a twenty-dollar bill.

         Greco took Maria’s right arm.

    “Mrs. Mohammed, may I have a dance with you?”

          Maria laughed coyishly.

    “Why, Mr. Mohammed! I am so pleased you asked me.  I would love to have this dance with you.  Are you a good dancer?”

          “Not really. I think I have two left feet but I promise not to step on more than one foot at a time.”

          The good-natured mockery of the scene lightened the mood. Greco’s long list of talents included dancing, thanks to several years of lessons during middle and junior high school. Greco took her by the hand and led her to the small dance area. Maria had, somewhat extraordinarily, filled in the hole of his heart. Her delicate beauty reminded him of Jo but then Maria was remarkable in her own right.  She had accomplished the unimaginable of which Greco had been certainly since the morning he came to in a Rio hospital room. Her blue eyes shined, her caramel-colored face was radiant and her perfume -- Pure Silk -- was bewitching.  His shattered life had been pieced together, seemingly stronger than what he had experienced before. The devastation of losing Jo so early had been repaired expertly by Maria’s instincts.

           Later they both left and went to their room, laid out their casual clothes for the next day.  Then they went to bed.  They received their wake-up call promptly at eight a.m.  

    Greco called the hotel restaurant and asked for two complete orders of Virginia honey-baked ham, short stack of pancakes, orange juice and coffee to be sent up.  Twenty minutes later, just as both finished showering together, the trays arrived. Quick to cover themselves modestly, Greco and Maria slipped on the cotton-rich white robes over their nude, still wet bodies. A tall, thin young Hispanic bellman quietly and efficiently laid out the breakfast trays at the dinette table. Greco signed for the bill, adding his customary twenty-five percent gratuity. Maria still was fascinated by Greco’s effortless system of calculating the gratuity. He never pondered the amount for more than a second or two.

The hungry couple sat, anxious to celebrate their first breakfast in the United States as husband and wife.  Maria looked at the food for a second and then looked Greco in his eyes.

    “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you not sleeping well?  We definitely have been going at a hectic pace.  Maybe you need to get more rest?”

    “No, it’ s not that. I’ve … I missed my period and I may be pregnant.”

    Greco could hardly contain himself in his chair. He started talking in a rapid pace.

           “Maria, that is great. We will select a doctor for you. We will arrange for the delivery at Bethesda Hospital. Well, I mean Walter Reed as they now call the hospital. But I will probably always refer to it as Bethesda Naval Hospital.”

          Once they finished their breakfast, some thirty minutes later, Greco and Maria went to the spacious, flower-bedecked atrium lobby to meet the leasing agent, a pleasant-enough lady whose demeanor belied her strict, no-frills appearance with a neat ponytail, glasses, and a pouty mouth. She took them to several apartments and though they were nicely furnished and the prices were reasonable for Washington D.C., between just one thousand four hundred and one thousand eight hundred dollars a month.  After two days, they had yet to find anything suitable, certainly ready for them to move from the Melrose.   

    Greco and Maria talked with Daniel D. Schoen, general manager at the Melrose, forsaking for a six-month, renewable lease on a two-bedroom suite.  The negotiations were effortless. They got a six-month lease with the option to renew another six months at the same rate.

          The next day they took a cab to Walter Reed to meet with an OB-GYN, who would oversee Maria regularly during the rest of her pregnancy.  Dr. Rosa Reed was a civilian doctor who wanted a career at Walter Reed so she applied and was accepted in 1994.  She was in her late forties, efficient in her work and yet endowed with a good bedside disposition. She told Greco and Maria she had delivered perhaps a thousand babies in her eleven-year career at Walter Reed. Without delay, she confirmed the happy news:  Maria was five weeks pregnant and she might be carrying twins. Dr. Reed waved her hands cautiously as Greco and Maria practically jumped out of their chairs.

    “I am not positive at the moment but we will know for sure after your next visit. which will be three weeks from today.”

    On the way back to the Melrose, Greco and Maria continued speculating about the possibility of the twins being fraternal or identical. Greco talked about daughters while Maria said it would be great to have a son and a daughter.    Greco was excited but he tempered Maria’s premature exuberance.  Greco told Maria that whatever the result would be, they would be happy that one or two babies would be as healthy as they could be. Maria already speculated on names. Caught up in the moment, Greco joined in, offering his preferences.

    Maria said, “If it’s a girl I like the name Madison or Elise or maybe Priscilla. What do you think?”

    “They are all nice names. However I like the name Elise but add Maria to the name.  Make it Elise Maria.”

    “That’s nice! I like that, too,” Maria said, with a beaming smile.

     “Well, I think that it flows well off the tongue. What about some boys’ names?”

    “What do you think about Antonio or Dominic or maybe Xavier or Xavier Mohammed?”

    “Well, Xavier means bright and Dominic, I think, means, ‘belonging to God’.  I like Dominic because he is God-given.”

    “I like all the names but I think my pick would be Dominic. Yes, I choose Dominic.”

    Hopefully, many of the questions – and not just a name for the baby – would be answered before Greco was in the midst of his forthcoming mission.

      The next day, Greco confirmed the meeting with Cushing: Tuesday, May 15, 2007, ten-thirty a.m. at the Pentagon.  P.J. would send a car for Greco that would bring him and Maria to the CIA headquarters.  Maria could stay at CIA offices while he and Greco went to the meeting at the Pentagon. The meeting was highly unusual even by the extraordinary protocol standards for such sessions at the Pentagon.

          Greco contacted the general manager of the Melrose and requested the lease contract changed to a two-bedroom suite, which was expedited while Greco was on the phone.

         On the [date], a clear spring Tuesday morning, PJ’s black limo pulled into the Melrose welcoming area. When they arrived at CIA headquarters – a roughly forty-five minute drive covering the eight and a half miles – Greco and Maria were ushered into PJ's office.

          P.J. greeted Greco, carefully studying the woman. She looked strangely familiar to the CIA director.

          “Oh sorry, PJ. This is my wife, Maria.”

    PJ snapped his fingers on his right hand.

          “Yes, yes, I remember meeting her three years ago when you were in the Walter Reed Hospital.  Mrs. Mohammed, it is nice to see you again and I appreciate you loaning us your husband for this project. May I call you, Maria?”

          “Yes, you may. I remember you very well.”

          “Great. Just call me PJ.”

         “I appreciate that.”

          “Maria, Greco and I will be gone perhaps until late in the afternoon.  We have a cafeteria.  Let me show you our cafeteria.”

    P.J. led them to the elevator.  He pushed a button marked “BL.”

          Maria tried to stifle a chuckle.

    “What does BL stand for? Breakfast and lunch?”

          P.J. and Greco both laughed.

    “No, it means below level.  The kitchen and the cafeteria are located five stories below ground level.  It is, a complete food preparation unit with a large walk-in freezer and pantry capable, if necessary, of feeding twenty-five hundred people for up to one hundred twenty days.”

          Greco looked a bit wide-eyed. He had spent so much time on projects of the utmost national security that he missed the seemingly mundane amenities of the headquarters of his employer.

    “Wow, P.J., even I did not know this existed.  Of course, the only times I was here it was strictly in a meeting in your office.”

          Both got the quick nickel tour of the facility, which impressed them. Everything, of course, was classified information.

          “Okay, I'm sure I will be fine. This is a wonderful facility.”

          “Well, this area was created that if a nuclear holocaust or a broad terrorist attack were to take place, the president, vice president and cabinet officials, including the Supreme Court Justices, would be housed here. On this same level in the opposite direction of the elevator are sleeping quarters, bathroom and shower facilities for men and women.  We have a connection to the White House and sidewalk elevators to quickly move the officials to this area, if necessary.” 

    PJ turned to Maria said, “While we are gone if you like history …”

    Maria said, “Oh, I do. I do.”

    “ I will have my secretary first take you to lunch and then onto a tour of our National Cryptologic Museum which houses our narratives and archives illustrating intelligence gathering practices since the 1940s.  It will probably take you two to three hours to tour that facility.  Then, perhaps a stroll down the CIA Museum corridor and you can see some of the artifacts we have gathered over the years most since 1945 to the present.  Unfortunately, the Museum is not open for public tours because it is located in this building.”

    The gravity of Greco’s new assignment was beginning to sink into Maria’s mind.