Atterley looked directly into the camera. “I would like to welcome Dr. Samir Basara, professor at the London School of Economics, popular lecturer and writer on what he claims will be the coming economic destabilization of the Middle East. Thank you for being here with us this evening, Dr. Basara.”
In a crisp upper-class British voice, Basara said, “It is my pleasure, Mr. Atterley.”
“Dr. Basara, the terrorist attack on the TGV and the resulting large loss of life, as well as the failed attacks at JFK and Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City this past Wednesday, has come as a tremendous shock to the world. Do you believe these attacks were related, though no one group has yet claimed responsibility?”
“Yes, I do. I also believe the failed bombing attempt in New York has only fueled their hatred and resolve.” Dr. Basara turned his head to look into the camera. He was darkly handsome, Kelly saw, and he looked very intense and intelligent. “Unfortunately, I fear these attacks may leave the United States and the Continent and move here to Britain. I believe it possible that Saint Paul’s may be the terrorists’ next target, or Westminster, or some other important symbol of our history. They seem to be targeting whatever they can destroy that we ourselves might see as defining who we are, and that includes our churches. For them, destroying our holy symbols means destroying our civilization itself.” Roland Atterley hadn’t expected Basara to leap to the guts of the situation so quickly, without his expert guidance. He wanted to ask him why an Algerian Muslim would care so much about Western cathedrals, but naturally, he didn’t. He saw Dr. Basara was looking quite comfortable, sitting a bit forward in his chair, resting his hands lightly on its arms. It was time for him to take back control. “If you are right and these attacks continue, the economic consequences might be more far-reaching than the attacks of Nine-Eleven. Dr. Basara, are you concerned your predictions might cause undue alarm, even panic, in this country?”
Basara nodded, his face serious, his demeanor solemn as a hanging judge’s. He had the look of an aesthete, Sherlock thought. “As well it should, Mr. Atterley. No sense tripping all over ourselves to avoid saying the obvious. In the short term, we must tighten our security measures, do our best to find the fanatics responsible. But that is only a partial solution. Much of this hatred is fueled by our own actions, our own omissions. I have argued for years that the key to fighting terrorism is to remove its economic causes, and that means providing more economic opportunities for our own disaffected Muslim minorities, and even more critical, providing far more focused and abundant economic aid to those governments we can work with in the regions of the world that are the wellsprings of this hatred for us.” He looked down at his fisted hand. “Until then, I have no hope we can put all this behind us, that we can, in fact, ever achieve a meaningful and lasting peace.”
There was a moment of stark silence. Roland Atterley cleared his throat but managed not to roll his eyes. “Some, shall I say, of the more enlightened members of our society—”
Cal’s cell buzzed “Born Free,” which got him an incredulous look from Kelly.
“McLain.”
“Savich. Tell me exactly what you guys are up to, Cal, and don’t even think of leaving anything out.”
“We’re hunkered down for the night now in the house the FBI picked out for us in Brooklyn, watching some big-time Arab economist on the BBC expound on why we’re all responsible for the terrorist attacks.” He paused. “Don’t worry, Savich, we ain’t gonna let anything happen to Sherlock tonight. All is good.”
“I’m depending on you, Cal. Keep her safe.”
“Has MAX made any progress on finding Hercule?”
“No luck yet with that name online or on the deep Web as either a moniker or a nickname. We’ll keep trying.”
When Cal punched off, he looked at Sherlock, who’d been waiting for him to hand over his cell. He grinned at her, shook his head. “Your husband only wanted to remind me my neck’s on the line if anything happens to you. So let’s take great care, all right?”
Kelly laughed. “Well, I guess a husband who’s your boss at the FBI is better than a hysterical civilian cursing us for keeping you here, Sherlock. Sorry, Cal, the interview’s over and we missed the big wrap-up. Lights out in five minutes, everyone. Cal, alas, you get the sofa. There are blankets in the hall closet and I even saw a couple of pillows. You can take the bathroom first, Sherlock and I are going to share.”
Showering with a woman brushing her teeth not two feet away was a new experience, but Sherlock really needed that shower. As she washed her hair, she prayed a very simple prayer. Keep me and my family safe.