The Old Enemy by Henry Porter (reading a book txt) 📗

of Middle East Studies at the University of Texas at Austen. Harry Lucas would be in the chair. A note at the bottom of the page stated that witnesses might be added.

They waited for twenty minutes before a young man appeared from the curtain behind the chair’s position and placed papers on Lucas’s desk. Other staffers materialised with papers and one or two representatives took their seats. Harry Lucas came out and sat down, consulted two staff members with his hand over the microphone. There was no sign of Warren Speight. Anastasia knew he would take the seat immediately to the chair’s left. Lucas spoke.

‘We have some problems with the weather this morning, ladies and gentlemen. We are waiting to hear from Ranking Member Speight, who is on his way from the airport, and from the witness Dr McNeill, who is delayed for the same reason as he. I am sorry to have to tell you that the other witness, Alison Carney, appears to have had an accident. I’ll get back to you in fifteen.’ He rose and left.

‘McNeill never got on the plane, and I believe that Carney is Frank Toombs’s partner,’ whispered Zillah to her.

The public seating areas were still almost empty, as were the three rows reserved for members of Congress. Samson, Naji and the German nationals being brought by Ulrike would not enter room 2172 until Anastasia had been called as a witness. They waited, Anastasia’s trepidation rising by the minute. She hadn’t struggled like this since receiving therapy for the PTSD that followed her kidnap and the loss of her baby, both of which she had blamed on herself in the mangled thought processes of that time. As she had spiralled deeper into depression, so deep that a smell, a noise or a word would set off panic and result in aggression aimed at Denis, he’d found a clinical trial for the use of MDMA – ecstasy – for trauma sufferers, and he had moved heaven and earth to have her enrolled. Just three treatments of eight hours, in which she lay wrapped in a light blanket between a male and female psychologist, had brought about a miraculous change. Apart from the insight into her own mind, she realised its great potential for all those refugees suffering from PTSD that the Aysel Hisami Foundation sought to treat. She and Denis had been trying to find a way of legally using the Schedule 1 Controlled Substance.

Thus she distracted herself thinking of the foundation and consciously recalling what she had experienced in those hours, and in a few minutes she had regained a measure of calm and, more importantly, purpose.

Lucas and Speight came in together and sat down. Lucas said they would have to abandon the morning’s planned session, but that not all was lost. He looked around.

‘I understand that we do have a witness in the room who can help this committee’s deliberations. Would Mrs Anastasia Hisami please stand up and be recognised.’

Anastasia rose. ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Lucas. ‘I am going to put it to the members present that we call you forward.’ He looked along the benches and received several nods from both Democrats and Republicans. ‘Please come and take your place,’ he said.

She went forward with the bag and sat down at the table, propping it against her chair. She placed her hands together, briefly noticing the dreadful state of her nails, and nodded to Lucas.

‘I want to draw the committee’s attention to the fact that you lost your husband just forty-eight hours ago, and that you have agreed to continue, as far as you are able, giving the evidence that Mr Hisami was providing when he and Mr Steen began to sicken from the poisoning that killed him and was almost certainly a contributory factor in your husband’s passing last Friday evening. I first wish to convey the condolences of the committee to you, but also to state our gratitude that you have chosen to return so soon and support the democratic process that we all believe in. I thank you, Mrs Hisami, for that.’

So far, Speight had only looked up from his papers once and he hadn’t acknowledged her during a brief sweep of the room, where there was now much activity. Journalists were competing for seats while photographers took up positions on the floor in front of her. TV cameras were being set up left and right. If there had ever been any doubt in her mind, she now knew that every word she said would be on the record.

Harry Lucas held up a hand to suggest he would not start until everyone had found a seat and the slight hubbub had died down. She looked round and saw Samson and Naji enter. Samson was having a word with one of the officers and pointing to the front. The officer was shaking his head. He left Naji with Zillah and took one of the chairs on the aisle three rows behind her. She saw Ulrike shepherding a group of five people, two women and three men, including Herr Frick, into the back row.

She occupied herself by taking the copies of her statement from the bag, laying them face down on the table in front of her and squaring them off neatly.

‘Settle down,’ said Lucas to the room. ‘I am now going to turn it over to the Ranking Member for his opening statement.’

‘Thank you,’ said Speight slowly, and looked up from his papers. ‘I want to associate myself with the chair’s remarks. I was saddened to hear of your husband’s death, Mrs Hisami, and I endorse the chair’s sentiments about the courage you show in coming here so soon after. Yet I feel bound to warn you that the process of democratic inquiry is not always kind, even in these woeful circumstances. I must press you on the matters we were addressing when that shameful attack took place. You understand that?’

She nodded but felt her hands suddenly grow cold, a sign of