by Lisa Harris
“Keep harassing you? Am I the kind of person who harasses you?”
He gave me a look. The you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look. “Of course, you are. When it comes to wanting answers, you’re relentless.”
After he placed Omer’s gun on the foyer table, I followed him down the hallway and into the kitchen.
Ben’s townhouse wasn’t the typical bachelor pad. It was beautifully decorated, well-kept, and full of expensive furniture. Even so, I knew it paled in comparison to the house he grew up in.
To his credit, Ben seldom talked about his family’s wealth.
When he did, it was usually in a disparaging way, as if it were a source of embarrassment to him.
That was the impression I got the first time I visited him at his townhouse, and he told me his mother’s interior designer had decorated the place and chosen all the furnishings.
At the time, I wanted to ask him why he’d allowed his mother to decorate his place if he hated his family’s money so much, but I also had conflicted feelings about my own family relationships, although both my parents were deceased, so I decided to let it go.
“Would you like some coffee?” he asked, pointing over toward his coffee machine.
I walked over to the granite island in the middle of the kitchen and took a seat on one of the barstools. “Yeah, I could definitely use some.”
“I’m surprised you were able to get a flight out of Oklahoma this morning. I didn’t get the call about the congressional debriefing on Invisible Target until late last night.”
I shrugged. “Everything just worked out.”
He placed a steaming mug of black coffee in front of me and then walked over to the counter to fix himself a cup.
After placing a coffee pod inside the machine, he asked, “So when are you going to tell me what you’re doing in my neighborhood?”
“Sounds like somebody besides me wants some answers.”
“Sounds like somebody’s avoiding the question.”
I raised my hand. “Okay, I’ll tell you what happened.”
“And I’ll decide if I believe you or not.”
“What’s not to believe? I decided to drive over here so we could have lunch and talk about our debriefing.”
“Why didn’t you just text me and tell me to meet you somewhere?”
“I tried, but you never answered me.”
“Yeah, I was at my physical therapy session this morning.”
I quickly added a few details in case he decided to check his phone to see when I’d texted him.
“As soon as I drove in your neighborhood, I saw a guy pointing a gun at you. You know the rest of the story.”
He stared at me a few seconds without saying anything.
I took a sip of my coffee. “It’s your turn now. Tell me about this Omer guy. Did I detect a Turkish accent?”
He turned around and adjusted a setting on his coffee machine.
“That’s right. Omer’s related to Faraji Hanim, the Turkish cleric.”
“You know Faraji Hanim?”
There was a smile on his face when he turned around. “I guess you could say that. I’m dating his daughter, Kamila.”
That was easy.
Chapter Six
Ben brought his mug over to the kitchen island and sat down on the stool across from me. I figured he was waiting for me to start asking him questions about Kamila Hanim, so I did.
“You’re dating Kamila Hanim? How did that happen?”
“She’s a physical therapist at the Benchmark Rehabilitation Center. Of course, I didn’t know her father was Imam Hanim when I met her. Their therapists don’t give out their last names, but after spending so much time with her, I asked her to tell me.”
He smiled as he shook his head. “She refused to give it to me. Naturally, that made me curious, so I decided to find out on my own.”
“Don’t tell me you got into Benchmark’s personnel records.”
“No, but I did unlock the cabinet where Kamila keeps her purse and looked at her driver’s license. Once I saw her last name was Hanim, I understood why she didn’t want me to know.”
He took a sip of coffee. “I’m sure you know the Turkish president is accusing Imam Hanim of instigating the recent coup attempt against him, and he’s insisting the U.S. extradite him to Turkey.”
“I’m aware of that.”
Ben shook his head again. “That’s not gonna happen. You know President Evren would execute Hanim as soon as he stepped foot on Turkish soil.”
“I’m sure you’re right. So what happened after you found out your therapist was the daughter of Imam Hanim? Did you make up a story so you could tell her you knew who she was?”
“No, I wanted Kamila to tell me herself. I thought she might be more comfortable doing it if I told her I was a senator’s son, so I asked her to go out to dinner with me one night. We had a great time together, and at the end of the meal, I told her I had a confession to make, and that’s when I told her Senator Mitchell was my father.”
“Did that surprise her?”
He nodded. “She didn’t have a clue. After we talked for a few minutes, she told me she also had a confession to make, and that’s when she told me she was the daughter of Imam Faraji Hanim.”
“I’m sure you acted appropriately surprised at her news.”
He smiled. “Of course, I did. We ended up going back to her apartment and spending the rest of the evening talking about what it was like growing up with a famous father.”
“I’m assuming you told her you worked for the Consortium.”
Like me, when Ben joined the CIA, he’d been given a cover story to mask his true employer. The Agency called this false employment story an operative’s Career Legend.
A Career Legend could be anything from working for the State Department to working for a newspaper to working at a think tank—any type of career that required a lot of international travel.
Both Ben and I supposedly worked for the Consortium for International Studies (CIS), a think tank in College Park, Maryland.
I held the title of Senior Fellow in Middle Eastern Programs at CIS, and Ben was listed as a Fellow in International Relations.
“Yes,” Ben said, “the first day we met, I told her I worked for CIS, and now she treats me like I’m an expert on international relations, even though she knows a lot about the subject herself. It’s a little embarrassing how much she praises my expertise.”
“It sounds like the two of you have gotten pretty close.”
He picked up his empty coffee mug and took it over to the sink. “You’re right. In fact, I think I’ve fallen in love with her.”
“You just met Kamila a few days ago. Don’t you think it’s a little too soon to know that?”
I knew I’d said the wrong thing as soon as he turned around and folded his arms across his chest. “You sound like the Senator. He told me the same thing.”
“You told your father about Kamila?”
“I wanted my parents to meet her, so, yeah, I told him about her. The Senator said it wouldn’t be a good idea for him to be seen with her because he was about to hold hearings in the Senate Intelligence Committee on what’s happening in Turkey.”
“He might have a point there.”
“Maybe, but when I suggested Kamila and I have lunch with my mother instead, he nixed that idea too. I admit I got pretty angry with him, and even though he denied it, I got the feeling he thought my mother wouldn’t approve of Kamila.”
“What about Kamila? Has she said anything about taking you to meet her parents?”
Ben’s shoulders relaxed as soon as we got off the topic of his father. “Oh, yeah,” he said, walking back over to the island, “she was anxious for me to meet her family. That’s why we drove over to Great Falls last Saturday night to have dinner with them.”
Imam Faraji Hanim lived with his family on twenty-four acres of wooded property outside Great Falls, Virginia. The land had once been a Muslim youth c
amp before the Imam converted it to a gated compound for his own personal use, although I knew he retained the guest cottages on the compound to house some of his followers.
Although it was his personal residence, the media still referred to the land as Camp Tamal, the Arabic word for contemplation.
I was somewhat alarmed to hear Ben had visited Camp Tamal.
I figured the compound was under constant surveillance by FBI agents, and if they happened to spot a CIA guy entering the compound they could misunderstand his intentions.
There was also the possibility agents from any number of foreign intelligence services were watching the compound.
In fact, it would surprise me if they weren’t.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Ben said.
“What am I thinking?”
“You’re thinking I shouldn’t have visited Camp Tamal.”
“Pretty much. In my opinion, it wasn’t a wise move on your part.”
He shook his head. “Believe me, I took precautions.”
“What kind of precautions?”
“I wore a baseball cap and sunglasses so my features couldn’t be identified on camera, and I also rented a car for the day so no one could run the plates on my vehicle.”
“How did you explain your rental car to Kamila?”
“I told her my SUV was in the shop.”
I nodded. “I’m glad you took precautions.”
He looked down at his feet for a second. “Well, maybe I didn’t take enough precautions.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Omer was still able to find me.”
When Ben saw I was about to respond, he held up his hand.
“Don’t bother asking. I’m about to tell you everything you might ever want to know about Omer.”
However, before Ben had a chance to tell me about Omer, we both received a green alert from the Agency on our cell phones.
It was from the scheduling office at Communication Services.
The green alert was to let us know what time our COIG session with members of the Senate Intelligence Committee was scheduled to take place.
“Looks like our debriefing session is set for ten o’clock tomorrow morning in the sixth floor conference room,” I said.
“I don’t know if you know this or not, but I’ve never participated in one of these congressional oversight sessions with members of Congress before. Is there anything I should know?”
“I’ll tell you everything you need to know as soon as you tell me about Omer. I’m guessing you met him at Camp Tamal.”
“That’s right. I met him Saturday night when Kamila invited me to join them for their family dinner.”
He paused a second. “Omer is Kamila’s older brother.”
“Kamila’s older brother? You must not have made a very good impression on him.”
He smiled. “You mean because he pulled a gun on me?”
After I nodded, he said, “We clashed from the moment Kamila introduced us. Personally, I think it’s a case of a big brother protecting his baby sister.”
“Is that what Omer told you when you took his gun away from him? Is that the reason he followed you?”
“No, he accused me of trying to get his father extradited to Turkey, and then he said I’d lied to him about who I was.”
“Don’t tell me Omer was accusing you of being with the CIA.”
“No, he really meant Kamila had lied to him. She didn’t tell her family I was related to the Senator. She just told them I was one of her patients at the rehab center, and I worked for a think tank.”
“Why didn’t she tell him you were related to Senator Mitchell?”
“Kamila said if her father knew I was related to the Senator, he’d spend all evening talking about the situation in Turkey. She did say she planned to tell them I was the Senator’s son eventually, but she just wanted her family to get to know me first.”
“But Omer found out you were related to the Senator?”
Ben nodded. “Like I said, Omer was suspicious of me from the very beginning. I suppose I should have anticipated he might look me up on the CIS website. It says right there in black and white that I’m Senator Elijah Mitchell’s son. From there, Omer jumped to the conclusion I was pursuing Kamila in order to spy on the Imam.”
“How serious was Omer when he pointed the gun at you?”
“Not that serious. I’m pretty sure he was just using it to warn me to stay away from Kamila and his father.”
“He seemed pretty angry when he drove off.”
“He didn’t believe me when I told him I didn’t want his father extradited to Turkey.” He smiled. “He was also a little upset I wouldn’t give him his gun back.”
“How will you handle this with Kamila? Do you plan to tell her what happened with you and Omer?”
Ben looked away for a moment. “I suppose I’ll have to.”
“I’d definitely recommend it.”
He shook his head. “Things have gotten kinda complicated.”
“I hate to complicate things even further, but you need to tell Carlton about what just happened with Omer Hanim.”
“Do you think that’s really necessary?”
“Yes, I do.”
“But he might decide he needs to tell the DDO, and then things will get really messy.”
Yeah, I was counting on that.
The DDO, Robert Ira, was not a man to be trifled with. That fact was abundantly clear to his enemies as well as his friends, although he had more of the former and fewer of the latter.
In my tenure at the CIA, I’d had several run-ins with Deputy Ira.
None of them had been pleasant, but I always walked away from those confrontations knowing more about the man than I had before.
In my book, that was always a plus.
Carlton knew the DDO much better than I did.
He was also much better at dealing with the man.
I figured the two things went hand-in-hand.
This was also true of other people.
I knew Carlton much better than Ben knew him—Ben had only transferred to the Middle East desk a few months ago—and I was absolutely certain once Carlton heard about Omer’s skirmish with Ben outside his townhouse, he’d follow Agency rules and report the encounter to the DDO.
Carlton prided himself on following the rules, and one Agency rule clearly spelled out a division head must report any hostile contact an employee had with someone in a domestic setting.
Occasionally, Carlton took a detour around the rules, but that was only in order to do what he considered best for his operatives.
In this case, since the incident involved a weapon, I figured he’d consider it in the best interest of his operative if he informed the DDO about Ben’s face-off with Omer as soon as he heard about it.
In doing so, Carlton would have to tell the DDO about Ben’s romantic interest in Kamila Hanim. Once he heard about Ben’s relationship with Kamila, I had no doubt the DDO would immediately summon Ben to his office to discuss it.
As I envisioned it, the result of that meeting would mean Ben’s relationship with Kamila Hanim would be over.
Such an outcome would surely please the Senator, along with certain members of the Hanim family.
I couldn’t deny there would be an added benefit for me as well; Ben wouldn’t consider me responsible for causing the breakup.
That blame would fall squarely on the shoulders of the DDO.
The more I thought about this scenario, the better I liked it.
“Yes, Ben,” I said, “you should definitely tell Douglas about what happened with Omer, and I’d suggest you do it immediately.”
“I guess you’re right. I’ll talk to him before our debriefing tomorrow morning.”
“Speaking of which, did Douglas tell you Jennifer Sanders will be attending the debriefing?”
“Jennifer’s coming to Langley? No, he didn’t mention that.”
Perhaps it was only my i
magination, but I thought I heard a note of interest in Ben’s voice when he mentioned Jennifer’s name.
He pointed at my empty coffee mug. “Want another one?”
“No, I’d rather we go get some lunch now.”
“Sounds good,” he said, taking my mug over to the dishwasher.
After placing the cup inside, he asked, “Do you know where Jennifer’s staying while she’s here?”
There was no doubt about it.
I definitely heard a note of interest in his voice.
But, wasn’t he in love with Kamila Hanim?
Chapter Seven
wednesday, june 19
When I walked into CIA headquarters a few minutes after nine o’clock, I didn’t immediately head for the conference room on the sixth floor where the COIG debriefing was scheduled to take place.
For one thing, I was too early.
If I got there before ten o’clock, I’d have to make social chitchat with the Agency staffers in charge of setting up the room for our ten o’clock debriefing.
It wasn’t that I minded talking to Agency support staff—I actually preferred talking to them instead of the suits on the seventh floor—but the truth was, I didn’t like making social chitchat with anyone.
I never had. Evidently, the socialization thread on one of my DNA strings was either missing or seriously messed up.
But, that wasn’t the only reason I didn’t head up to the sixth floor.
As I was walking into the building, I decided to stop by Carlton’s office on the fourth floor and have a chat with him.
Primarily, I wanted to tell him about the talk I’d had with Ben. I also wanted to let him know Ben was coming to speak with him about Kamila Hanim.
When I entered the reception area outside Carlton’s office where his secretary, Sally Jo Hartford, had her desk, I immediately noticed there’d been some changes in the room’s décor.
For the past ten years or so, the reception area had been decorated in various shades of dark forest green and burgundy.
