by Brian Drake
Tanya stopped the car where indicated. She and Raven exited. They looked at each other. Relief washed over Tanya’s face. The tension of the last hour had faded. He smiled at her. “Right to the front door,” he said.
They followed the Japanese woman into the embassy. In her heels she matched Raven’s height. She had long black hair straight down her back and sharp features. Her dark eyes remained suspicious. Raven couldn’t do anything about her attitude for the time being. He was still suspicious too.
In the lower level of the building, Eva Yoshino put them in a conference room and departed. They sat at one end of the long table and waited.
Russell Dillon arrived ten minutes later. He wore a sweater over a white shirt and jeans. Bald head, stubbled jaw. His wedding band looked scuffed. Taking a seat, he said to Raven, “I don’t know who you are, but you must have some influence to have Langley get me out of bed.”
“I’m sure it’s been a long day,” Raven said. “But this is important.”
“I heard.” He addressed Tanya. “Start talking.”
Tanya repeated her story verbatim. Dillon didn’t take any notes. Raven added the part about the killers at the casino. Dillon promised to investigate the incident. “We’ll see about getting the police to stand down. Agency personnel can collect the bodies.”
Raven nodded.
“Miss Jafari,” Dillon said, “your story caught the attention of the top brass back at Langley. They want you on a plane to the US tomorrow. They will debrief you at our Blue Ridge black site.” To Raven: “Know of it?”
“I’m familiar.” It was a secret facility in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. There, the CIA housed high-value enemy combatants they didn’t want held overseas. Disguised as a park ranger station, an elevator led to the underground lair. There was no other word for it in Raven’s estimation.
“You’ll stay here tonight,” Dillon said, “and a chopper will pick you up on the roof in the morning. It will take you to a private airfield where you’ll board a jet for home.”
“She’ll need clothes and things,” Raven said.
“And you?”
“Nothing. I’m not going.”
“Yes, you are,” Dillon said. “They want to talk to you, too.”
Raven scoffed. “I’m only the delivery man.”
“Hey. A day or two in the US won’t hurt.”
Raven opened his mouth to protest but Dillon cut him off.
“Non-negotiable, Raven.”
Raven let out a sigh.
“The CIA thanks you for your cooperation.”
Raven grunted.
Dillon rose from his chair. “I’ll show you to your rooms. Eva will take care of your clothes in the morning, Miss Jafari.”
“And shoes.”
Dillon glanced at her bare feet. “Of course.”
“Wait,” Raven said.
“What is it?”
“Considering the attempt on Tanya’s life, she should give you her information now. You know in case we don’t make it.”
Tanya blanched.
Dillon looked at her. “Well?”
She hesitated, but said, “I agree. I have pictures on my cell phone I can share.” She opened her purse and took out her phone.
“Let’s go to our ops center, then,” Dillon said. “We can plug your phone into a computer there.”
Raven walked behind the pair as they went down a hallway. He should have guessed the Agency would want his input. He didn’t see why they couldn’t ask him questions over the telephone while he lounged on his deck, though.
Say goodbye to R&R.
But with any luck, he’d be back in a day or two.
The embassy accommodations weren’t terrible.
Raven’s room might as well have been a small hotel room elsewhere in the city. Bed, bath, window overlooking the embassy courtyard. He closed the drapes. The view was worthless in the dark.
He splashed water on his face and decided his teeth could go one night without Colgate. Wouldn’t be the first time.
He took off his shirt. A locket dangled from around his neck, nestled in the center of his chest. The scuffed sterling silver piece was always with him. He leaned his palms against the dresser and looked at his face in the mirror.
All he’d wanted was a rest. Now he was mixed up in another caper. He hoped it indeed only took a day or two. He had not chosen his path in life, but it had been handed to him by a cruel mix of tragedy and fate. The only link to his past life was the locket. He never talked about what it contained, but it motivated his crusade.
With a deep exhale, he removed the locket and placed it on the dresser with his Rolex and wallet.
A knock at the door.
He opened the door a crack.
Tanya stood in the hallway. She looked nervous.
“You okay?” he said.
“Let me in, the guards are watching.”
Raven stepped back. She slipped into the room. He shut the door.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You’ve already started. Too late to go back now.”
She folded her arms and turned away. “I’m a traitor.”
“Yeah.”
She laughed and turned back. “But doesn’t that make me—”
“What? Bad? You told me yourself one death was too many. The Islamic Union may have turned you into a fighter, but they couldn’t erase the one thing, deep down, we all have.”
“Which is what?”
“A sense of humanity. What’s right, what’s wrong.”
She shook her head. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I saw people being oppressed and attacked and wanted to do something.”
“Out of love for somebody else?”
“Right.”
“You never told me what happened to your boyfriend. The one who recruited you.”
“He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He died while I was at the training camp.”
“What happened?”
She shook her head. “Never mind. It was a mission. He didn’t come back.”
“Uh-huh.”
Her eyes became teary. “Once he was gone, there was no reason to stay. I thought I needed retaliation. Now I don’t know what I need.”
“A new start.”
She wiped her eyes. “You asked for suggestions on how we can settle our differences. I don’t have any. But I hope to figure out another way. War is not the answer. Both sides have done enough killing and we’re nowhere closer to an understanding than when the shooting started.” She wiped her eyes again. “Is it easy? Starting over?”
“Not at all.”
She forced a laugh. “You’re not very good at making me feel better.”
“I’m not sugar-coating, either. You’re going to have a hard time adjusting, but if you deliver what you promise, the Americans will help you make a new life.”
She tried to smile but couldn’t. “Ahmad and I talked about our new life. It didn’t turn out very well.”
“Second time’s the charm?”
She moved her eyes up and down his chest.
He said, “We shouldn’t—” and she grabbed him and kissed him long and hard. He pushed her away.
“Tanya.”
She appeared shocked. She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t—”
“It’s all right.”
“I was afraid you hated me,” she whispered.
“You deserve a chance.”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“It’s not a weakness to need somebody.”
She wrapped her arms around him and held tight. “Don’t abandon me, Sam. I’ve lost too much already.”
Raven let out a sigh as he squeezed her back. He knew what it was like to be frightened. To have nobody on your side. She’d come to him because she knew he’d have sympathy for her plight. She trusted him. He’d done his best to break her down, f
ind the lie behind her story. She hadn’t cracked. The assassination attempt clinched it for him. She meant what she said. He owed her his best effort at protection and getting her to the United States. Because of her the CIA would end the Islamic Union’s wanton killing.
In a sense, he and Tanya finally were on the same side.
“I won’t leave you,” he said into her ear.
She squeezed him again, then let go. She reached for the locket chain around his neck. “What’s this?”
Raven lifted the locket from under his shirt. “A reminder of why I fight.”
“What’s in it?”
“It’s my secret,” he said. “It wouldn’t mean anything to you anyway.”
“Try me.”
He put the locket back. “Good night, Tanya.” He held the door for her, and Tanya went out. She didn’t look back.
6
The picture on the wall-mounted big-screen showed a woman in a full hijab. Her exposed face was turned toward the camera. The face stood out among the others on the screen because it was white, and the rest of the faces belonged to men.
Clark Wilson stood with his arms folded, his tie slightly askew. His watch showed a little after six p.m. Stockholm was six hours ahead of Langley, and the daytime Agency staff were clearing out, overnight staff arriving. It was going to be a long night.
He stood off to the side of a long conference table. He’d spent most of the day behind his desk and welcomed the chance to stretch his legs. Two other people, older than him, sat at the table and examined the screen with him.
Christopher Fisher, Deputy Director of Operations and Wilson’s boss, frowned. “It’s almost too good of a picture.”
“You think it’s staged?” Wilson said.
The other persona at the table, Layla McCarthy, Fisher’s assistant, shook her head. “Why stage this? She’s been unknown to us since we learned she took over. This doesn’t help her at all.”
Fisher let out a breath. “Something isn’t right.”
“Tell me,” Wilson said.
“How did she not see the camera?” Fisher said. “She’s almost looking straight at the lens.”
“Maybe this Tanya person,” Layla said, “caught her at the right moment.”
Wilson watched Fisher. He was a veteran paramilitary officer who took the desk job at Langley when he hit his mid-40s. Ten years older now, the gray was starting to show in his thick black hair. He had a rough face, like the surface of a rock. Wilson didn’t doubt the man’s intelligence. He hadn’t earned the job through political shenanigans. He’d earned the seat through hard work and field achievements still classified.
“I don’t like information,” he said, “handed to us on a silver platter.”
“Take the win, Chris,” Layla McCarthy said.
She was in her mid-40s with short blonde hair and bony fingers. Her red nail polish matched her lipstick. Like Fisher, she’d risen through the ranks after years in the field. A rumor around the office said she’d lost two toes after being injured in Iraq. Nobody had the guts to ask her to take off her shoes.
“This is too easy.”
Layla turned to Wilson. “Did we run this through facial recognition?”
“The Francesca Sloan name Jafari gave us checks out,” Wilson said. “British subject. Wealthy family. Met a Pakistani man in Berlin while visiting on a tourist visa. Took off with him to the Middle East.”
“Did we analyze the background?”
“We did,” Wilson said. “The green hills behind her and the partial lake over her shoulder are in the Sind Province of Pakistan. It matches information we have on an IU training camp in the region.”
“Date on the photo?”
“It’s almost twenty-four hours old.”
“Late husband’s name?”
“Tamal Alvi,” Wilson said. “One of our paramilitary teams took him out two years ago. She took over command six months later.”
Tamal Alvi, the founding commander of the Islamic Union, made the Most Wanted list of western intelligence after an attack in London’s underground, killing 150 commuters, and a bombing at a mall in Nairobi, which left over 200 dead.
Wilson added, “Everything checks out, Chris. Jafari is on the level.”
“I wish we had a little more,” Fisher said.
“She’ll give us more,” Wilson said. “This is only to prove she has something to show us. She’s not a low-level gofer. If this is a hint of what she has, we can stop guessing about the IU and put facts on paper.”
“If nothing else,” Layla said, “we have a picture for the file. We can add her to the terror deck.”
The “terror deck” playing cards became a novelty for coalition forces during the 2003 invasion of Iraq. The cards allowed troops to identify wanted members of the Hussein regime. The cards continued, updated frequently with new “most wanted” targets as old ones were captured or killed.
“Where are Jafari and Raven now?” Fisher said.
“They’ll leave at eight a.m. their time,” Wilson said. “They’ll land here about two a.m.”
“You’ll be there to meet them?”
Wilson let out a breath. “Yeah.”
Fisher continued to examine the picture. He shrugged. “Okay. I guess we’ll know more in a few hours.”
“Chris,” Wilson said, earning a look from the DDO. “What are you thinking?”
“I think this might be a penetration attempt.”
“They’re giving up a lot if it is. I’m with Layla. It doesn’t make sense for them to sacrifice this much to try and get somebody on the inside.”
“And once she’s at Blue Ridge,” Layla said, “what can she do?”
“Too much,” Fisher said. “We have six other prisoners there. She can catalog every face. She can note our security. If they find a weak spot, they can stage a rescue attempt.”
“You’re reaching so far you’re going to pull a muscle, Chris,” Layla said. “Better see your doctor.”
Wilson said, “We only have one other IU prisoner, and they know he’s in our custody already.”
“Right,” Fisher said.
“The murder attempt Raven described,” Layla said, “and the killer she named, prove they’re not sending cannon fodder to bring her back.”
“Jafari would be dead,” Wilson said, “if Raven hadn’t been there.”
“I’m aware, thank you,” Fisher said, “of Sam Raven’s abilities.”
“You’re outvoted two-to-one,” Layla said. “I say we go forward with the debrief and see what else she can tell us. She’ll for sure tell us more than what’s-his-name.”
“Omar Talman,” Wilson said.
Capturing Talman, a junior commander in the Islamic Union, had been a recent CIA success story. To learn more about the Islamic Union and its activities, including the identity of the White Widow, the Agency had placed a high priority on capturing any member of the command staff. Talman was the obvious target. He moved throughout Europe coordinating with field units.
The CIA team tasked with bringing in Talman had caught the man in Madrid, along with a two-man IU cell. The cell members had been killed in the fight while trying to cover Talman’s escape. Their effort failed. Talman was brought, in chains, to the Blue Ridge facility and currently sat in a small cell with only a toilet for company.
“Not even advanced interrogation has cracked Talman,” Layla pointed out. “If Jafari is volunteering, she’ll be a wealth of information. We’ve never determined how the Islamic Union gets its funding. Maybe Tanya can tell us, and we can close them down top to bottom.”
“It’s a nice idea,” Fisher said.
“If you don’t like this,” Wilson said, “let’s keep the picture and throw Jafari to the wolves.”
Fisher shook his head. “Stay the course for now,” he said. He picked up a remote control from the table and aimed at the TV. He pressed a button. The screen blinked out.
“What if,” Wilson offered, “Raven can get more out
of her?”
“Go home and get some rest, but I want you back here as soon as they’re in the air,” Fisher said. “Call Raven on the plane.” He and Layla stood up. “Ask him to start the debrief. Maybe then my gut will tell a different story.”
“Okay,” Wilson said.
The glamorous life of a spy.
Wilson shook his head. At least he didn’t have a boring job. He hoped extra coffee kept him going when the time came to meet Raven. He wasn’t getting any younger, and his body didn’t like late nights or early mornings any longer.
The CIA was on the verge of taking a major terrorist leader off the board, and he wanted to see the operation to completion. As he followed his superiors out of the room, a surge of excitement pumped up his attitude.
Rest? Who could rest at a time like this?
7
The sleek Cessna Citation Latitude soared over the Atlantic.
The insulated cabin blocked out most of the engine noise. The low drone of the jets existed only in the background. Tanya Jafari found herself tuning out the noise as she and Raven played gin.
With leather seats on either side of the cabin, and a high ceiling, the cabin was narrow. The high ceiling allowed Raven to walk without hunching, which he appreciated. Tanya, shorter than him, had no such worries.
They sat facing each other with a folding table of polished wood between them. Plates of snacks provided by the flight crew sat off to the side while they focused on the cards.
The crew contained two pilots and three security personnel. A stern-faced flight attendant saw to their needs with a pistol on her hip. Two paramilitary security officers, also armed with handguns, were there for emergencies. Near the cockpit, in a closet, hung three Colt M4 automatic carbines. Tanya felt very secure with the personnel and hardware aboard.
Prior to leaving the embassy in Stockholm, Raven had accompanied Eva Yoshino, the other CIA rep, on a short shopping trip. They purchased clothes and needed items for Tanya and made a brief stop at Raven’s houseboat for what he needed. He’d collected clothes and his Nighthawk Custom Talon .45 auto pistol. The flight attendant confiscated the gun as they boarded. Tanya asked him how he liked being de-fanged. He wasn’t worried. The pistol waited in the closet with the M4s. He’d know where it was if he needed the weapon.
