I was tracking through Iran doing an op-ed piece on the situation of the rebels militia group against the Iranian government. I've been here for two weeks in secret. I'm dressed in a full burka and down dress. I have a pen and my journal taking notes of the building fire I see blazing before me. I write everything down that I see. I've already used half of my journal and I have another two weeks left on this trip.
A group of men shriek by me with a platoon of guns on the back of their truck. Their heads are covered, so I can't make out any features. I wonder if this is the sort of thing that Trevor experienced in his time in Afghanistan. Tomorrow marks four years since his death. I receive texts and calls and emails asking when I'm coming home. I just write back soon and I can't talk when I'm here.
I wake up the following morning to loud sirens outside my door. I look at the time and jump to my feet. I have been staying in the basement of a couple's home. They have no idea that I'm an American journalist. I studied Persian language and writing for a year before I left. I studied their culture, their history, and everything in between. My olive toned skin and dark hair and eyes allow me to pass undetected, especially when I wear a full burka covering. The wife of the man who allowed me into his home came running down.
"We must get out of here, now!" She yells to me in Persian.
"What is going on?" I yell back over the sirens.
"Americans." She says. Her face pales as she says the words out loud.
We run out of the house and see three trucks run through the streets with American flags flying on the back. Above us are American fighter jets soaring in the sky. A few helicopters fly low over the town's buildings. One of the helo's touches down in a nearby field. One of the men run up to me and ask me if I'm April Fogherty.
"I do not know who that is, sir." I say to the man.
"Are you from here?" The soldier asks me.
"I come from the west. I am staying here for a while." I answer back.
"Come with us, please, ma'am." The man says while taking my arm.
The couple yell after me. But I wave to them that I will be okay. I get into the truck with the fellow soldiers and remove my burka when I am a safe distance away from the town.
"What the hell, man?" I shout at the soldier before me.
"I'm sorry to pull you out, ma'am. But we were under orders to retrieve you and bring you to the American Assembly to give a briefing to the president of the United States." He looks back out at the passing buildings as we race to the government building.
I feel like my head is spinning. I never thought I would ever have to use the code and be taken out of assignment. Especially not by the president, himself. An hour later, we arrive at the American Assembly building. The soldiers walk me directly into a room where a single computer sits on a ratted desk. I sit down in the chair and am immediately greeted by President Clark.
"Good morning, April. I am President Clark. I have asked you here so that you could tell me directly about the things you have seen in your time in Iran." He is so poised. His blue suit matches the white and blue tie he is wearing. "I understand that you keep very detailed notes when you journey to the places you go." He scratches his white beard.
"Sir, it's an honor." I can hear my voice shaking. I clear my throat. "Yes, I can do that. Um-" I opened my journal to the first day. "On the first day-"
"No. I can read your journal myself. I just want you to tell me what you've seen." He interrupts me. He looks urgent.
"Uh... yeah okay. I'll just refer to the journal to stay on task if that's alright?" He nods and folds his hands together.
"I wasn't sure what to expect when I got here. I got here after the woman was killed by the morality police. I saw the crowds of people gathering in the main city. Police were dressed in riot gear and throwing smoke bombs and tear gas into the crowd. Everyday there was another person being killed. A mother, a teenager, a son, a father. There have been 26 deaths in just the two weeks that I have been here. I stayed with a couple under the pretense that I was fleeing the moral police from a false claim, and they let me stay undetected in their basement. I have seen beheadings, stonings, hangings, and rifle killings every day in under 14 days. I have seen rebels burning buildings, women burning burkas and then being taken away by the morality police. I have seen women getting raped in public, in front of groups of people who are too scared to do anything. Sir, I thought I have seen evil. But not until I came here."
"Do you think that an American military presence would do any help to this rising situation?" He shifts in his chair.
"Honestly, sir, I think it would make it worse. When the guys came and got me today, the people of the town I was staying in were terrified. Now, I understand that you want the militia and the Iranian government to be scared, but I don't think that will be the result." I put the journal back in my sack.
"Hmm." He twiddles his thumbs. "I'm having you put on the first flight out. You are to report to me and only to me when you arrive in D.C. Thank you, Mrs. Fogherty."
And just like that the president of the United States hangs up on me before I even had a chance to object. I just sit there in disbelief. The man who escorted me into the building opens the door and escorts me outside to a small plane. I board the plane and we land in Germany four hours later. I text my mother that I am on my way home.
"Thank goodness! I can't wait to see you!" My mother texts back to me. Then I receive another text that reads, "I have some news I've been wanting to share with you but haven't been able to get a hold of you in over a month. When you land, come home."
I text her back that I have to immediately report to the White House, and then I will come over when I'm able. She sends back a series of question marks.
I board the plane, and it is a 16 hour flight to D.C. I walk out of the airport and am greeted by a group of men in suits with ear pieces. I get put into the back of a black car. There is a car in front and behind the car I'm sitting in. Every car has their lights on and we make it to the White House in record time from the airport. The driver pulls the car into a private courtyard behind the main gates of the White House. I get out of the car and the men escort me into a room just off the courtyard.
I get put on an antique couch with the most exquisite pattern on it. It is peach colored with images of Japanese cherry blossom trees over the back of the couch. I stand and admire it, then slowly sit back down on the couch. I wait for twenty more minutes until the door opens. The president walks through the door.
"Good evening, Mrs. Fogherty." He extends a hand. I take it. "I will just get straight to business." He sits down on the white antique arm chair diagonal from the couch I sat on. "I would like to look at your journal. I don't want anything published until me and my people have the time to examine the contents and decide what I should do about this situation in Iran." He folds his hands in his lap.
I reach into my sack and hand him my journal that I have written extensively in over the last two weeks. "Sir, if I may?" He nods. "The 'situation' as you call it, is much more than that. It is like a war zone over there. But adding more troops to it is just going to cause an international incident. If not, the next world war. And sir, things like this can happen in house. I think this is a fight we need to let happen in Iran and only Iran. The only way I think we should involve ourselves is if other nations get brought into it and we are asked for help."
President Clark just chuckles to himself. "I'm impressed. I mean, I've heard a lot about you, but you are far more impressive than I was expecting." My cheeks flush as he continues, "I want you to work for me."
"Wait, what?" He just nods and smiles at me. "How would that work?"
"Well, you're a private citizen." He crosses his left leg over his right and leans back in the chair. "Therefore, you will have more freedom if you were working for me. But, you can't tell anyone that you work for me. I will ask that anything you write down, everything you see is directly reported to me here, in this room. I also want all of your previous journals from your previous works. You will go where I tell you to go, you will record everything you see, and then you will come back here. To everyone else, you will be arriving home two days later than reality. That way, you stay safe from the public eye, and I stay safe from slander."
"And if I say 'no'?" I stand up.
"You won't." He stands as well. "Here." He hands me a brand new smart phone. "There are three numbers in this phone. An encrypted number that goes directly to my landline in the oval office, the head of security in the secret service, and the General of the United States Marine Corps. These are the only numbers you are to dial only in emergent situations."
"Thank you, sir." I shake his hand, and head for the door. Three men escort me back to the car and drive me to my mother's house.
I get escorted to her front door. When she answers the door, the two men turn and leave. I hug my mom tightly and we walk into the house arm in arm. When I walk in, I see a man sitting on her couch.
"Good evening, miss." He stands and extends a hand for me to shake. He has a thick English accent. "My name is Jacob. Jacob Eastman." He smiles at me.
I look between him and my mother as I shake his hand. My mother walks next to him and grabs his hand. "I'm April. Nice to meet you. But who am I meeting exactly?" That's when I see it, a diamond ring on my mother's ring finger. "Excuse me a moment. I'm sorry." I run out of the living room and to the bathroom next to the kitchen. I start breathing heavily as I stare back at my reflection.
I hear a soft knock on the door. "April, honey, may I please come in?" She asks in a small voice. I open the door. "I'm sorry, I've been trying to tell you." She rubs my back and gives my shoulder a squeeze.
"How could you do this?" I start to cry. "How could you betray dad like that?"
"Betray? How exactly am I betraying your father?" She crosses her arms over her chest.
"You're going to marry someone else?" I start to cry. "I don't think I could ever do that to Trevor."
"Oh, honey. You don't think I thought that too? Your father always told me that if anything ever happened to him, he hoped that I would be able to find love again. He told me that there is no reason for me to pine after him when he's no longer around."
"I didn't know that." I said, softly.
"Jacob is a really nice man. I love him. And he loves me." She smiles at me.
We walk out of the bathroom and back to the living room. Jacob stands again as we enter the space. We all sit down together. They explain that they met when my mom went to London for a conference, and they happened to be in the same coffee shop. They talked for hours. She ended up missing the second part of the conference because they both lost track of the time. They saw each other off and on over several months until Jacob proposed to her a month ago.
"So that's why you were trying to get a hold of me?" I ask. I smile at the two of them. Their love seems genuine. Jacob seems like a nice enough man, and I love the way he looks at my mother. The only other man I have ever seen look at her like that, was my father. My heart swells for them. "I'm happy for you both. I'm sorry if I was rude at first, I think I was just in shock."
Jacob just smiles at me. "That's quite alright. Understandable, even. I suppose my son would feel the same if he were in your shoes."
"Oh, you have a son?" I ask in surprise.
"Indeed. He's an artist. Getting very well known these days." He smiles at me again. "We're planning to get married at my family's estate in Manchester. I do hope you're able to join us. We plan to get married next month."
"Why so soon? What's the rush?" I ask, concerned.
"When you get to be our age, darling, you learn to not wait on these kinds of things for too long." They both chuckle and I join in.
This is going to be interesting.