Connect the Dots

by Denise Robbins

  He sucked in air as his lungs constricted in shock. Charley had seen torture. He could not imagine such a beautiful woman, both inside and out, enduring that kind of vision. Jake ached to touch her, hold her, show her beauty, wipe away the ugliness, but if he did, she would never finish. She needed to talk it out.

  “The other half was a proposal to extinguish torture.” She whipped around and faced him. “I mean who in their right mind thinks it is okay to waterboard a prisoner, or to deprive them of sleep? I mean would you be able to think coherently after standing for fourteen hours straight. Where—” Charley tapped her head. “In some idiot politician’s brain, did he decide that you could get accurate and valuable information from a detainee that way? Wouldn’t you just naturally tell the jerk across the table from you anything you thought they wanted to hear to save yourself from being drowned to death? And exactly where has it been proven that any intelligence collected in that manner has been completely accurate and saved lives?”

  She took a deep breath and continued. “Have those politicians been waterboarded, been through sensory deprivation? I have. Don’t tell me it doesn’t suck and you don’t think you’re going to die. Drowning is said to be one of the worst forms of death. Do you know why?”

  She waited a beat and answered. “Because you know it’s happening, you fight and struggle, but there is nothing you can do. Don’t tell me that is not torture.”

  Jake whistled low. Charley was on a roll. She took a deep breath and exhaled.

  “I’m sorry. It just burns my butt that for some reason our politicians cannot seem to understand what our mothers knew before they were born.”

  Jake’s brows lifted.

  “That you gather more bees with honey than vinegar.”

  Jake chuckled but when Charley shot him a death-ray glare, he covered his mouth.

  “If that is not good enough for them then just read the Army Field Manual. It outlines very clearly what can and should be used as interrogation techniques, what is effective and what is not.”

  Jake held up his hands, halting any further tirade and got to his feet. “This is not anything new. This is a longtime debate that for whatever reason the politicians and the CIA, no offense, have managed to circumvent for as long as I can remember.”

  “Yes.”

  He stepped to her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and peered into the depths of her blue eyes. “Then why would that be the cause of someone harassing you and killing Kyle?”

  THIRTY-SIX

  “It isn’t.” Not directly anyway.

  Jake pushed her back at arm’s length. “Then what is?”

  She moved away from him, paced a couple of steps then returned. “Black sites.”

  “What the hell is a black site?”

  “I don’t know much myself but I am going to find out.” Charley strode past Jake, picked up the computer and deposited herself on the sofa with the laptop on her thighs.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like? I’m going to find out why someone murdered Kyle, why they want me out of the picture.”

  “You think it is related to black sites?”

  She gave a curt nod.

  “So I’ll ask again. What is a black site?”

  Irritated, Charley looked up at Jake then explained. “A secret prison.” She held up a hand, palm out. “Look. That is about all I know. With all my trips—”

  She broke off, remembering Ocalan and the resigned look on his face when she left him, when he referred to a black site. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she continued. “With all the things that have been happening, I forgot about this.”

  Charley turned her attention back to the screen.

  “You just now remembered? You just now mentioned it?” Jake stormed around the room, blustering and swearing and she ignored him. “How did you find out about it?”

  “An email from Kyle and Oc…” She closed her mouth. No matter what she still respected her job.

  “Kyle? I thought he was dead.”

  “He is.”

  The room became quiet.

  She looked up and saw Jake standing there, tapping his foot against the floor, his arms crossed in front of him. Fury rolled off him in waves as he glared at her.

  “An email came from Kyle days ago, right before I had to go overseas. The only words in the message were ‘black site’. It was kind of weird it took so long to get it,” she told him looking back at her computer. “Kind of like it had been intercepted and then sent on.”

  She typed in the search keywords and hit the enter key.

  “Damn it, Charley!” He grabbed her arm and made her jostle the laptop, causing her to drop it.

  “How can you be so nonchalant? Your life is in danger! Can’t you see that? You cannot do this alone!”

  Now she was pissed. She stood, got toe-to-toe with him, and jabbed his chest. “Listen here, Bubba! This is my life.” She jerked a thumb back at herself. “Got it? Mine. This is my job.” She aimed an index finger at the toppled computer. “Got it?”

  She turned her back on him and bent to retrieve her laptop. With the computer tucked under her arm, she faced him.

  “I have been doing this for a longtime, Jake. I am not used to sharing anything. Can you understand that? I am the gosh darn CIA for heaven’s sake. It is my job to collect intelligence, not give it away.”

  Silent, he nodded.

  “You cannot expect me to change just because you profess to love me.”

  “But…”

  “Or because my life is in danger. It has been for weeks. Waldo warned me not to tell anyone, not even my own boss. Do you know how that feels?”

  He shook his head.

  “I have worked for Grayson for ten years and would never have thought twice about confiding in him.” She inhaled and let it out slow. “Now, I think I can, but I cannot afford to be wrong. I have to put this puzzle together.”

  Jake reached out and touched her, cupped her cheek in his rough hands. “Do you have to do it alone? Can I help you connect the dots? Please, Charley, I need to help you.”

  The plea in his voice and eyes made her answer, “Yes.”

  He tugged her into his arms and planted a hard kiss on her lips. “Bubba? Did you call me a Bubba?”

  She could not hold back the laugh. “Yes, well, you acted like one.”

  “Well, golly, gee, ma’am.”

  She smacked at his chest. “Shut up.”

  “You told Waldo?”

  Charley answered with a shake of her head. “Not really. He figured it out when he helped exterminate a bunch of bugs someone left in my old place.”

  “Argh.” His grasp on her waist tightened and she watched Jake fight the urge to rail at her again. He succeeded.

  “How can I help?”

  “I need a table and a pad of paper and a pen.” Jake took off to do her bidding as she continued. “You can help by talking it through with me. I may be wrong.”

  Jake came back into the room, lifted the laptop from her hands, and propelled her into the kitchen where he set the things she asked for on the table and pulled out a chair for her. Then he took a seat next to hers.

  “Tell me, what you do know about the black sites?”

  “According to what I read on the internet, the secret prisons have not been closed down. They are used to torture confessions out of suspected terrorists.”

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  “Believe me, if it’s as bad as the websites made it sound then it goes way beyond waterboarding. Grab that pen,” she instructed him, pointing at the black ballpoint near the notebook.

  He obeyed. “Shoot.”

  “In three separate boxes write Kyle, black sites, and OA.”

  He did as ordered. “OA?”

  The look she gave him probably scared most men. He smiled. “Not going to tell me?”

  “You only need to know that he was a detainee.”

  “Where?”

  “Armen
ia.” She snapped her fingers, but he was already ahead of her and jotted it down. A nasty little thought niggled at his spine. He had been in Armenia. Had that been a secret prison?

  “Draw a box for OG and connect it to Armenia and to OA.”

  “OG? Another detainee?”

  “Yes.”

  “You went to Armenia twice? Must be a lot of Armenian terrorists.”

  Charley spun and stared at him. “Neither were Armenian residents. Neither were they arrested in Armenia.”

  “Huh?” Jake scratched his head. “How is that?”

  “They were transferred there.”

  “For what reason?”

  Both her eyebrows jerked up as if to say, “Hello, what have we been talking about.”

  “It is illegal for the government to hold prisoners in isolation in secret prisons in the United States without charging them with a crime. The little paperwork I receive is a Summary of Evidence memo, which lists the suspected terrorist’s transgressions and not much else. The CIA, on the other hand, has pretty much free reign. They, we, since I am a member, do not have to follow the same rules as the military. Although I choose to follow the Army Field Manual, many others do not. People have rights in the US. In other countries, the US would hold no responsibility for their human rights.”

  Jake whistled.

  Charley slapped her forehead. “That is why the CIA places the terrorists against the US overseas.”

  “Suspected terrorists.”

  She looked at him and smiled. “Exactly.”

  “Isn’t there a law against this?”

  “UN-CAT. That’s the United Nations Convention Against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment. All NATO members and even wannabe NATO members have signed it.”

  “Add Georgia to that diagram as well.” She switched topics and had him confused for a second.

  “Georgia?”

  “That was where Kyle was stationed.”

  “And he’s dead.” Jake’s mind leapt. “That picture. You think that is a prison in Georgia?”

  Charley bit her lower lip, apparently contemplating an answer. He wanted to give her a good shake, but resisted. Instead, he helped her out.

  “You already figured that.”

  “Yes.”

  “What else?”

  “Draw lines between Kyle to Georgia.” She stopped. “Let me do it.” Charley took the pen and paper and he watched her connect the squares to each other. From Kyle to Georgia, OA to Armenia, Armenia to black sites, black sites to Kyle.”

  “Does that mean there is a black site in Georgia?”

  Charley peered up at him from the notebook, the pen clenched between her teeth, chewing on the cap.

  “It would make sense and follow the pattern. But then…” She trailed off and wrote some more.

  She inclined her head and added another square, VG, then connected that to Georgia. “He said black hoods.”

  Charley hadn’t been talking to him, but he asked anyway. “What?”

  She peered up. “Huh?”

  “What about black hoods?”

  She shook her head and he ground his teeth. He wanted to respect her job, her sincere effort to protect her work, but he did not care for all the secrets.

  “You know who you’re missing on that paper, don’t you?”

  “Who?”

  “You.”

  Damn! He saw fear and realization dim her bright blue eyes.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Jake kissed the back of her head then swooped her up in his arms. “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. Maybe a good night’s sleep will provide some more clarity in the morning.”

  “Is sleeping really what you have on your mind?” She grinned at him, nipped at his ear as he went up the stairs.

  “Woman, you keep that up and there will be no sleeping.”

  Charley chuckled, laid her head against his shoulder and squeezed. She had not planned to do any sleeping. She had some investigating to do, but until Jake fell asleep, why not indulge.

  * * * *

  Despite her well intentions of not falling asleep, the indulgence of mad, passionate sex with Jake took its toll. After a brief respite, Charley awoke and without a sound, she slipped out from under his heavy forearm and the covers, and slid fluidly to the floor, snatching the shirt and sweat pants Jake had lent her.

  Wanting to hurry, she stepped quickly and quietly down the stairs then hurried into the clothes. In a matter of minutes, she gathered her belongings, and exited the kitchen door into darkness, Sig-Sauer in hand.

  “No sense being an idiot.” If someone wanted her dead then they would have to work for it.

  At her barn door, she refused to look at the remains of her old farmhouse, punched in the passkey, and slid inside. With the door shut and locked behind her, Charley blew out a sigh of relief. Safe!

  Needing to find out if she had been right before Jake woke up and found her missing, Charley moved with purpose, opening the bags, bringing the computers to life and lining up her work. On one table sat a scanner. She lifted the lid, took the photo of Kyle out of the plastic bag, and placed it onto the glass panel of the scanner, shut the lid and pressed a button.

  While the scanner did its thing, she connected the digital camera to another computer and brought up the image of the man who had broken into her house, and zoomed in on his hand. When the photo was ready, the machine beeped, and she went over to another computer to pull up the image of Kyle.

  With the two images up on side-by-side monitors, Charley finally sat in her desk chair, pulled herself up close to the desk, planted her chin on a fist and stared. Her gaze flicked back and forth between the two screens as on each one she zoomed in and out, panned left to right, up and down. Something was there. She just knew it. Leaning back, she blew out a frustrated breath, and pointed at the man dressed in black.

  “I know it’s you, Big Dick. All I have to do now is prove you were there.” Charley pointed to the other picture, the one of Kyle.

  She angled her head, tilting it to mirror Kyle’s body then moved her head closer to the screen. As she did, she touched the mouse, clicked a few times and zeroed in. Not on Kyle but the cement slab floor.

  “Were those hooks?” Charley wiped a hand over her face. “Was that a prison cell?” Where? How? Kyle never went to any of the detention centers. He did not have clearance for access. Charley sat up with a jolt, fear and pain flooding her senses.

  “Unless someone took Kyle in as a detainee,” she mumbled. She shook her head not wanting to believe it. “Who?”

  Back to Big Dick. She knew he was the one who broke into her room. She knew it in her gut when she drilled down to see the hand on the black clad man. On his pinky finger, he wore the Military Intelligence insignia made of a gold metal dagger, point up, a gold heraldic sun composed of four straight and four wavy alternating rays surmounted by a gold heraldic rose, the petals dark blue enamel.

  Okay, so maybe she could not be one hundred percent positive, but Dick Grande was the only person she knew who wore the insignia ring on his right hand pinky and not a ring finger. There was one way to prove she was right. She would have to confront him.

  Not giving her an opportunity to second-guess herself, Charley fished her cell phone out of her bag and dialed Grayson.

  “Hello.” She almost cringed at his sleep-muddled voice, but then recalled all the times he had woken her from a sound sleep and stiffened her spine and her resolve.

  “Hello, Grayson.”

  “Charley? Do you know what time it is?” Her shoulder slumped at his sharp tone.

  “Yes, yes I do. It’s important.”

  “It damn well better be,” he growled, obviously not a morning person.

  “I want an interrogation room and an hour with Dick Grande in the hot seat.”

  “Argh. Are you out of your mind? You are already treading on thin ice and my butt is hanging out there with you. Are you trying to drown us both?”r />
  His anger, palpable through the phone line, reached out and slapped at her. Well, too bad for Grayson. If he wanted to save her sorry butt and his then he would do as she requested.

  “Grayson, please, listen to me.”

  Charley relayed the events of yesterday to her boss. Then she added how they potentially tied into Kyle’s death.

  “You see, I think it was Dickhead who was here.”

  “How can you be so certain?” He finally spoke after listening without interruption.

  “I’m not one hundred percent positive, but…” Charley spun in her chair, faced the computer with the image of the black clad man on it, and tapped a few keys. “I’m emailing you the image I captured of the intruder so you can see for yourself why I think Dick Grande is involved.”

  She waited a beat then heard Grayson at his keyboard on the other end of the phone. “When you pull it up, zoom in on the right hand. Do you see it?” she asked with nervous anxiety.

  Her answer was a clear and distinct whistle. “I’ll arrange a debriefing with Dickhead—” Grayson cleared his throat. “I mean Dick Grande.”

  Charley gave a small chuckle. Grayson really was one of the good guys. Why had she ever doubted it?

  “How soon do you want to do this?”

  Charley bit her lip, looked up, and contemplated how long it would take to go get some clothes and then be someplace where a driver could pick her up. Her first daunting task would be to get away from Jake, her self-professed bodyguard. Oh, joy.

  She checked her watch and counted. “Have the driver meet me in front of Waldo’s Pizzeria in Concord at one.”

  “You’re the boss,” Grayson said before he hung up.

  Not wanting to waste any time, Charley got to her feet and started gathering her things together when a noise outside caused her to halt. Snatching her 9-millimeter off the table, she eased her way to the door and waited. The alarm would sound if anyone tried to get in from the outside. If that did not scare them off, the weapon she held aimed at the door would do the trick.