Lady Death

by Brian Drake

  The jet stopped at the end of the runway. The stern-faced flight attendant opened the door and lowered the steps. Raven and Tanya carried their luggage forward. The flight attendant returned Raven’s gun and said goodbye. Two security men remained silent. Raven and Tanya stepped onto the tarmac.

  Clark Wilson waited on the side of the runway. Behind him stood another security crew and two blacked out Suburbans.

  “Sam!”

  Raven and Wilson shook hands. Raven introduced Tanya. Wilson greeted her with a handshake and a “Welcome to the United States”, then escorted both into one of the SUVs. A security officer with an M4 between his knees sat up front while they took the rear seats. The two rear seats faced each other, and Wilson sat across from Raven and Tanya.

  The other members of the security team climbed into the second SUV. The engines rumbled to life and the vehicles began the slow crawl through forest pathways to a road.

  “Nice flight?” Wilson said.

  “She cheats at gin,” Raven said.

  Tanya let out another chime-tingling laugh. “He let me win.” To Wilson she said, “Did my intel pan out?”

  “So far,” Wilson said.

  “Good.”

  Wilson and Raven exchanged a look. It told Raven all he needed to know. The intel might be good, but there were problems at the office. Somebody had doubts. Probably Christopher Fisher. As always, the man needed more information.

  Raven looked out a window. The SUVs moved at around 20 miles an hour through the rutted pathway, the lush forest passing slowly.

  He’d dealt with bureaucracy at HQ same as all field officers. With contempt and creative solutions. He’d more than once gone around the backs of his superiors to accomplish a task. It was one of the reasons he’d left the agency, and the main reason he hadn’t gone back. If he was going to take risks, he wanted the decision to be his alone.

  Tanya said, “There’s more you need to know about Francesca.”

  “I’m listening,” Clark said.

  “Operation Triangle.”

  “Which means what?”

  “I don’t know. She and the other commanders discussed it before leaving for Damascus. It’s one of the reasons she’s going there.”

  “We haven’t heard any chatter about a new attack,” Wilson said.

  “You aren’t aware of how we’re communicating,” Tanya said. “No more open communications. Now we have a different way.”

  “Explain.”

  “Gmail. Messages saved in draft folders. They don’t send anything. Cell leaders have access to a single account and leave messages for others.”

  “You know the account?”

  “They will have changed it by now.”

  “Changing accounts doesn’t delete messages.”

  “Correct, but—”

  “They can delete messages one-by-one,” Raven cut in. “The account will be empty.”

  Wilson grinned. “Nothing is ever deleted in cyberspace.”

  The SUV made a turn and picked up speed. They were on the road now, a winding two-lane road taking them deeper into the mountains. And the CIA’s secret facility within.

  11

  Christopher Fisher’s day began earlier than normal. With Wilson picking up Raven and Tanya Jafari, he scheduled a visit with Jack Rogers, chief legal counsel at the CIA. Layla McCarthy sat beside him in the big office.

  They outlined the operation against Francesca Sloan. Fisher did most of the talking, with McCarthy adding a point now and then. They showed Rogers the picture of Sloan. “More information is forthcoming,” Fisher added when he finished.

  “When?”

  “As soon as Tanya Jafari gets here.”

  They needed Rogers to sign off on a termination protocol. The drone strike had to be “legal”, which meant following the rules of engagement the CIA had set in Syria.

  Jack Rogers sat behind a clean desk with a picture of his family on one corner. In his 70s with gray hair, and a stern face, he’d been the CIA’s chief legal counsel for over a decade.

  “We can’t have any collateral damage,” Rogers said. He sat back in his chair.

  “Are you saying no?” Fisher said.

  “It’s a no as far as a drone strike in Sukkariyeh is concerned, yeah.”

  “But we have a chance to knock out Sloan and her command council,” Fisher said.

  “I understand, but Sukkariyeh is a populated area. We don’t know where she’ll be in the city yet. I’m sure as hell not letting you fire a missile into an apartment building in Damascus either.”

  “What do you suggest, Jack?”

  “Catch her on the way. Middle of the desert. Nobody but the bad guys will get hurt.”

  “And we let the rest of them get away?” Fisher said. “They’ll clear everything out of Sukkariyeh as soon as news of her death reaches them.”

  “I can’t authorize a missile strike in a civilian area,” Rogers said. “You know the rules, Chris.”

  “Break them.”

  “The Senate Intelligence Committee will have my ass if I do. Never mind the DCI.”

  Fisher glanced at Layla McCarthy, who remained silent. Fisher knew he and Rogers would have to present the case to the senate committee too. If he couldn’t get past Rogers, no way were they getting the approval of the committee.

  The “rules” did more to hamper the CIA than help. After the debacle of US involvement to date, nobody wanted more trouble. Nobody wanted to admit Syria existed until the heat settled.

  “Then we get her in the desert,” Fisher said, “and play catch up with the rest later.”

  “It’s the only way,” Rogers said.

  “When can we put this in front of the committee?”

  Rogers checked his watch. “If we hurry, we can catch them in two hours.”

  “If she leaves Damascus before there’s a decision,” Fisher said, “we’re screwed.”

  “Then you better hope she’s a stickler for her schedule,” the lawyer said.

  “Ditto the committee,” Layla added.

  Fisher only frowned.

  Layla McCarthy kept up with Fisher’s quick pace as they walked down the hallway.

  “Hayden and his crew,” Layla said, “can follow Sloan. It will help if we have eyes on her.”

  “It puts them at risk of exposure, capture, or death.”

  “How important is this target?”

  “This is why I like drones,” Fisher said. “But put them on stand-by.”

  “I’ll call when I get back to my desk.”

  “Damn rules of engagement,” Fisher said. “All this ‘mother may I’ is letting the enemy get the upper hand.”

  “Don’t forget we have Raven,” she said. “He’s always good for a cowboy act.”

  Fisher scoffed.

  “What’s your disagreement with him?” she said. They turned a corner and stopped at an elevator. Other Agency personnel passed by. Very few talked. It was too early for talking. Most CIA staffers were introverts anyway, more comfortable with their workstations than people.

  Fisher took a deep breath, then let out a chuckle and shook his head.

  “He beat me at poker once,” Fisher said. “Took a few hundred bucks off me.”

  “Really?”

  “He sat at the table with the smuggest smirk on his face. He made me so mad I blew every hand the rest of the night.”

  The elevator doors rumbled open. They stepped inside. Fisher pressed the button for their floor.

  The elevator started upward.

  “Raven was a good operative, and remains a friend of this Agency,” Fisher said. “I appreciate his work, but he rubs me the wrong way.”

  “If we ask, he’ll do whatever we want.”

  “He can’t be in two places at once.”

  “But we have Tanya. If we miss Sloan in Syria, we’ll pick her up again. She’s on borrowed time no matter what happens.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “And if the Intelligence
Committee tells us no—”

  “Raven doesn’t have any rules of engagement,” Fisher finished.

  12

  The conversation stalled in the Suburban. Raven felt content to look out the window at the passing forest. They were deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains and far from any civilian encroachment.

  Tanya didn’t seem to mind the silence either. Her gaze out the window went far beyond the immediate area. He wondered what she was thinking. He wondered what her life was like before she hitched her wagon to the Islamic Union. He hoped she could make something of her second chapter.

  The road ended at a thick metal gate. An electronic card reader sat atop a steel post. The driver powered down his window to feed a card into the slot. A light on the box turned from red to green, flashed twice, turned back to red. The driver withdrew the card and the metal gate parted in the center, both sides swinging forward.

  “Special card?” Raven asked Wilson.

  “Can’t tell you how it’s made, but nobody can copy it.”

  “Rare metals?”

  “Close.”

  The SUV passed through the gate. Raven looked back. The gate closed faster than it had opened.

  Ahead, the front face of the mountain raised. Part of the mountain had been blasted out to make room for a rising steel door. The SUV passed under into darkness. But it wasn’t dark for long. Rows of lights lit the area, and Raven noticed other vehicles parked nearby.

  “Staging area,” Wilson said. “All vehicles stay here. We’ll take an elevator to the complex beneath the surface.”

  “You aren’t kidding around with this place,” Raven said. The SUV slowed to a stop.

  “Nope. It’s impregnable. Ain’t nothing getting through, no matter what Fisher says.”

  “What is Fisher afraid of?”

  Wilson waved Raven off. The security crew in the second SUV, behind them, opened the doors. Raven, Tanya, and Wilson exited into the cold cavern and stepped onto smooth concrete. Raven took Tanya by the elbow and they followed Wilson to an elevator. The double doors sat within a steel frame. This time Wilson used a key card, and the elevator doors opened. The three stepped inside, leaving the security team with the vehicles.

  The elevator doors slid shut with a hiss.

  “Hermetically sealed,” Wilson said.

  The cabin began its descent.

  “How far down?” Raven said.

  “Classified.”

  Raven laughed.

  Tanya looked at both wide-eyed.

  “Never seen anything like this?” Raven asked her.

  “Once,” she said. “In Germany. My father—” she stopped.

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “I left for more than one reason.”

  Wilson said, “We’re going to the main entrance. You two will be escorted into a side room for scanning. We need to make sure you don’t have any tracking devices in your clothes, or under your skin. You’ll have to hand over your weapons and cell phones.”

  “Okay,” Raven said.

  Tanya said, “Um—”

  “There will be a woman taking care of you, Ms. Jafari.”

  She nodded.

  Raven lost track of how long the elevator had been going down. At least a minute. The cabin finally stopped, and the doors slid open.

  The chill of the white-walled wind bit into them right away. A uniformed duty officer behind bulletproof glass told Raven and Tanya to stop. Wilson used a retinal scanner and his pass card to go through a steel door.

  A door to their right opened, and two more officers in uniform asked Raven and Tanya to follow them. The two men stayed with Raven while a woman took Tanya into a separate room. The men led Raven into an exam room. It was the size of a regular doctor’s exam room, with a body scanner sitting against one wall.

  “Gun and cell phone,” one of the men said.

  Raven handed over his pistol and phone. An officer deposited the items into a large plastic bag.

  Raven kicked off his shoes and stripped. The officer gathered up his clothes and went out.

  Raven stood, naked, in front of the other guard.

  “Now what?”

  “Step into the machine, please.”

  Raven placed his feet on yellow markings and put his arms up as directed. The officer went to a panel and pressed two buttons. Sounds came from the machine. A light shined on Raven’s head. A circular wrap-around apparatus moved up and down the side, shining light on the rest of Raven’s body.

  The machine beeped.

  “You’re clear.”

  “Is this a nudist colony and nobody told me?”

  The officer didn’t smile. The door opened and the other guard returned with Raven’s clothes. He pronounced them clean. Raven dressed again. The officers did not give back his phone or gun.

  “They’ll be kept at the desk,” one explained. “No weapons or cell phones allowed in the facility.”

  “Now I really feel naked,” Raven said.

  The officers guided him out of the room, where he met Tanya and the female officer who had checked her.

  “Are you clean?” he asked her.

  “Squeaky,” she said.

  The two men stayed with them through the check-in process with the duty officer. Wilson assisted on the other side of the glass. The officer gave Raven and Tanya badges to pin to their shirts, which always had to remain visible. They were not allowed to roam without an escort. They leaned into the retina scanner one at a time so the computer could record their eye signature. Finally, the duty officer allowed them beyond the sealed door.

  Wilson took the lead. They walked along a hallway, through a door accessed by Wilson’s pass card, and into a conference room.

  “Where are the other prisoners?” Raven said.

  “Need to know,” Wilson said. “You don’t.”

  Raven laughed again. “Maybe I should rejoin,” he said, “so I can learn all these wonderful secrets.”

  “Is that what it will take?”

  Bottles of water and fruit waited on the table. They needed to start the debrief right away. Wilson picked up a handset from the middle of the table and asked for somebody named “Harmony”. He put the phone down.

  Raven handed Tanya a bottle of water. He took a long drink. A woman entered with a laptop and digital recorder. She set up on the table. Wilson introduced her as Harmony Moyer, their recorder. She wore a smart blue suit with her long hair tied back. Very little makeup gave her a girl-next-door appearance. Confident brown eyes. She didn’t shy away from Raven or Tanya as she shook their hands.

  She’d take notes, Wilson explained, and the conversation would be recorded as well. He asked Tanya to sit. Raven remained standing.

  Wilson said, “We’re going to start with basic questions, and work up to your involvement with the Islamic Union.”

  “I’m not saying a word,” Tanya stated.

  “What?”

  “You get nothing until I get a deal,” she said.

  13

  Fisher didn’t like sitting in front of the Senate Intelligence Committee.

  He understood the need for oversight of intelligence operations. No question there. But he didn’t respect the people assigned as his overwatch. None of the 15 politicians on the panel had ever served in the CIA. Some had never worn a uniform. The Democrat from California, who chaired the committee, had recently walked away unscathed from a major scandal. The FBI outed her personal driver as a Chinese spy. He’d been her driver for over 20 years, yet the matter wasn’t treated as a critical failure. It should have been. The Senator from California liked to run her mouth to show off her importance. She shouldn’t be anywhere near the committee, and Fisher wasn’t the only one who thought so.

  But still she sat, asking questions in turn with the others, staring at him.

  It was easy to compromise the panel despite their security measures. He had no faith in anything he and Jack Rogers said remaining secret for long.

  Fisher and CIA Ge
neral Counsel Jack Rogers made their pitch. They explained the defection of Tanya Jafari and her intelligence on Francesca Sloan. They presented their evidence connecting Sloan to the White Widow alias. Then the panel responded. They put up immediate barriers.

  “She’s a British subject,” one senator said. “We should turn this over to MI6 and let them deal with her.”

  “Islamic Union bombings have killed Americans, too,” Fisher retorted. “We’ve never deferred to another agency in cases like this.”

  “I don’t approve of these drone strikes to begin with,” said another. “The last administration was way too trigger happy. Can’t we poison her food or something?”

  “With all due respect, Senator, getting close to the White Widow isn’t an option.”

  Fisher and Rogers, at a table in front of the raised dais the senators sat behind, had to look up. As if the senators were gods on Mt. Olympus. Ridiculous.

  “What do we know about this Operation Triangle?” another senator asked. “Are you sure it’s real? Or is your informant making it up?”

  “Tanya Jafari has no reason to lie to us, Senator.”

  “On the contrary, she has every reason to lie. She wants asylum. Or whatever she’s asking for. She wants our protection.”

  “Her intel on Sloan has so far checked out.”

  “She gave you a picture,” the jowly politician pressed. He was a Republican from Colorado, the newest member of the rotating panel. “She could have given you any picture. Are you sure it’s this White Widow you’re so scared of?”

  Jack Rogers jumped in. “I’ve reviewed the information our informant gave us. Her background matches what we already know. What we’ve lacked is positive identification.”

  “I’m not asking you, Counselor.”

  Rogers pushed. “This target meets the qualifications for a termination protocol.”

  “It isn’t for you to decide, Counselor.”

  “May we have a vote?” Rogers said.

  “I’m not done—”