“Evelyn, I’m sorry. I can’t understand why you are so against Democracy.”
“You are flying in the seventh sky, Mr. President.” Evelyn Carter also smiled, yet her smile to Jimmy Carter was ironic somewhat, “You were born on 1st October 1924. It is 1977 December. How old are you? Fifty-three years. Aren’t you?”
She couldn’t grow up ever.
“My dear child,…”
“Don’t child me ever. I’m twenty eight already.”
“Sorry, I had forgotten that you aren’t eighteen, your friend, Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg, is eighteen. You are twenty eight now.”
“Mr. President, I wasn’t born yesterday.” Evelyn Carter said smiling herself now.
“Of Course, doubtlessly. You are Miss America now.”
“Thank you. Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg is my friend, even while she is ten years younger than me, because she is mentally mature already.”
“Hey, what do you mean?” Evelyn Carter plunged at him, smiling of course.
Because of the early morning traffic, Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, was running somewhat late.
She was Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance.
Normally, this was a relatively short ride from the Department of State to the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia.
In his absence, his secretary, Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, had to do what he couldn’t do himself.
It never happened before so much.
Certainly, she must have her own persons in the White House, as well as in the Jimmy Carter administration.
Who are they?
But then she warned herself:
Shah Muħammad Rezā Pahalvī is a thoroughly westernized person.
How is it possible?
Is he shrewd enough to have some hidden goal behind it nobody understands?
In their opinion, Shah Muħammad Rezā Pahalvī was right in westernizing the country.
It was in the interest of the people of Iran.
An Utmost Ultramodern thoroughly westernized secular Muslim country.
What a tragedy, India is now an Utmost Ultramodern Secular country having Hindu majority.
Dr. Åārifah Mustafā’s driver did her best, but the traffic was intense every mile of the way.
Ultimately, her driver took the limousine through the Dolly Madison entrance to the CIA headquarters.
A guard with a clipboard routinely entered Dr. Åārifah Mustafā’s name.
He was already informed of her duly authorized coming there.
Once deposited in front of the blocklike glass and concrete building, Dr. Åārifah Mustafā stood to straighten out her excellent green suit she went inside the foyer.
The walls and columns, all marble, were formidable as ever.
The walls carried fifty-two small stars carved into them.
Every star of them represented a CIA man that lost his life in the service.
The CIA motto etched in a wall made Dr. Åārifah Mustafā inexplicably uneasy:
‘YE SHALL KNOW THE TRUTH AND THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE.’*
As Dr. Åārifah Mustafā crossed it, on the floor, she was once more conscious of the CIA emblem: a circle bearing a star on a shield and the bold lettering CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY/UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
At the far end of the foyer, two guards signaled Dr. Åārifah Mustafā up the flight of stairs that led to the badge room.
Dr. Åārifah Mustafā was still required there to obtain her identification badge.
She was annoyed somewhat.
There were five lifts waiting.
One was CIA Director’s private lift.
The four others were for the rest of the persons.
Dr. Åārifah Mustafā used one of the four.
It took her to the seventh floor nonstop.
The seventh floor had CIA Director’s penthouse office.
Once inside the vast office Dr. Åārifah Mustafā could make out that the others were already there.
He was seventh White House Chief of Staff.
Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf’s name was recommended for the post.
But it was under consideration.
Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf was therefore on probation somewhat, requested to hold the post.
But in his opinion, there wasn’t any necessity to appoint an aide to such a post.
After all, Dick Cheney was on this post until 20th January 1977.
It was vacant since then already.*
Yet, the meeting was not less important.
It could easily be understood as it was organized at the CIA Headquarters.
She put her briefcase.
“You are on time.” Smiled Lily Turner.
Neither had she wanted ever to know it.
Being duly authorized by Stansfield Turner, the Director of CIA himself and having the same surname ‘Turner’ as the Director himself had, Dr. Åārifah Mustafā assumed Lily Turner being someone in his relations as well as legally authorized to represent him in such cases as the present case was.
It wasn’t her headache as well.
She remembered all the three of them enjoyed sex with the great Durgesh in the White House Guest Accommodation itself.
Evelyn Carter was also there with them.
What a great sex miracle Durgesh was.
He fucked all the four in several sex positions nonstop for a whole week.
It brought all the four of them closer to each other.
Lily Turner sat seductively.
It was included now in her nature.
Absently, Lily Turner shuffled the papers before her.
“Ved Nagar,” she announced, and with that, the meeting came to order, “I understand, Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, that you and Nafīsah Salmān are briefing Evelyn Carter,” she noted her wristwatch, “―in an hour. Does Evelyn Carter have any idea of what’s at stake here?”
“What Mr. President can do?” Lily Turner explained. “Valéry Giscard d’Estaing, the President of France is also visiting USA at the same time.”
“I’m unable to understand why Durgesh visits USA at the same time when our President himself can’t pay proper attention to him.” Dr. Åārifah Mustafā commented.
“Hey, Durgesh is our friend. Let Soviet Union worry about it. Why should we?”
Lily Turner smiled cunningly,
Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf laughed triumphantly.
It was December 1977.
She didn’t want to debate on Svarūpé Avasthānam once more.