and the protruding tongue—was a dog, panting in the throes of death.
The ants had attacked en masse. Devouring the dog alive.
Horrified, Gretchen was transfixed.
She was fascinated by the idea of the sheer terror of knowing that you could be helpless to battle the consuming force that is slowly killing you.
She ran home with the image seared in her mind.
“Gretchen! Help me! Gretchen!”
The flight attendant touched her shoulder.
“Please move your seat forward. We’re landing in Casablanca.”
Relief.
Casablanca’s Mohammed V International was not busy when Dr. Sutsoff arrived. She had time for a light lunch, a salad, cheese and tea. She checked her encrypted e-mail for a status report from her support team.
“All is ready. We await your arrival, Doctor.”
Good, she thought, boarding her connection, a 737 operated by Royal Air Maroc. During the six-hour flight, she read over her files and napped until images of her brother, her mother and father drove her from sleep.
When she was fourteen, her parents had sent her to boarding school in Lucerne, Switzerland.
“It will be hard,” her father said, “but the Lucerne boarding school is one of the best. It’ll give you a solid foundation for any college.”
Gretchen’s perfect grades had attracted the attention of Harvard, Berkeley, Oxford and La Sorbonne in Paris. The only thing she loved more than her studies was getting letters from Will. She often traced her fingers over his cheerful handwriting. She could hear his voice, see his smile.
Hi Gretchie,
Have you discovered the cure for everything yet? Guess what!? Since we moved to Vridekistan, football, or what they call soccer in America, is my new passion. It’s the biggest sport in the world, you know! Dad takes me to games. Vridekistan’s team could qualify for the World Cup. They have a match coming up against the powerhouse team from Iran. It’s going to be historic! Dad’s got tickets and says we can all go when you come home to visit next week. Say you will come! It will be loads of fun!
Love, Will
He made her laugh.
Of course she would go to the game. But she doubted her mother would go. Gretchen could understand her father’s interest in football. He enjoyed sports. But she could not envision her mother, the refined pianist, among the hordes of sports fanatics. That’s why Gretchen’s jaw dropped when she agreed to go.
“It will be exciting. A chance for a family outing,” her mother said.
The match was held at the national stadium, a monstrous multitiered facility with a capacity for 102,000 spectators. The game was critical to the country’s spirit, according to the president, who declared a national holiday. The newspapers reported that officials were expecting huge overflow crowds and Gretchen’s father insisted they leave hours before the start.
Traffic jammed the streets to the stadium, so the family abandoned their cab, joined the crowds walking to the stadium and managed to get to their seats ninety minutes before the match started.
The colorful pregame events energized the fans. Emotion electrified the air. Thunder exploded when the national team took to the field. A few seconds passed before Gretchen realized it was fanatical cheering. Flags waved everywhere amid the oceans of people, and battle hymns were sung in unison while the Iranian players were jeered and bombarded with rotting fruit. The mass of humanity roared with such intensity the entire stadium trembled. Gretchen saw unease cloud her mother’s face.
Will was enraptured and he joined the chanting, which did not relent, even when the match started.
The first half of the game was controlled by Iran, which had scored two goals. A man sitting near Gretchen and her father was also listening to the game on his radio and said there were reports of huge crowds, maybe another 250,000 people, surrounding the stadium. They were angry the national team was losing and were demanding entry to the game.
Police had locked all the gates.
“It’s madness.”
Inside, the disappointed stadium crowd tossed trash onto the field, forcing stadium crews to turn hoses on the unruly sections.
Gretchen heard her mother shout into her father’s ear.
“I have a bad feeling,” she said. “I think we should leave now.”
“I was thinking the same,” he said, then shouted to Will and Gretchen. “This place is getting dicey. We’re going to make our way to the exit, now.”
“But, Dad!” Will protested.
“Now, Will!”
The family threaded their way toward their gate. It was difficult because every inch of the stadium was crammed. They were about halfway to their exit, south gate 48, when the national team scored its first goal, igniting