by Judith Price
Chapter Twenty- Seven
8:23 Zulu Time—HAMBURG, GERMANY
The elevator bell spoke “twenty-first floor.” Jill’s head lifted from the gaze she had planted on the dark tile floor where she sat waiting. She looked down the sterile hallway towards the elevator. Leila and a tall thin man stepped off. Leila was no longer wearing her sleek boots and no longer hobbling. Instead, she wore what appeared to be Adidas runners that resembled black shoes. Jill knew they were runners because the rubber soles squeaked towards her.
“Sorry it took so long, ma'am,” the man apologized with a glance at his watch. It was 10:23. The thin man presented Leila to Jill.
“Who knew they could run fingerprints that fast. They even found a match for my iris.” Leila sounded impressed. “You must be a VIP here or something,” Leila said to Jill with a no-nonsense stance. For security reasons, most VIP offices in governmental operation centers were on top floors. Leila followed Jill’s gaze to her shoes. “Ah, yeah, while they were checking me out to get this security clearance,” Leila’s finger flicked the new shiny card clipped to her right breast jacket that proudly stated GSG Security Clearance Class 3, “they sent for my things at the Marriott. Real shame, those Jimmy Choos!”
“Follow me, ma'am.” The German guard gestured. Jill stood up and grimaced, her taped ribs still jabbed when she moved. They followed the guard along a glass corridor and into what looked like an interrogation room.
Jill and Leila sat in silence, Leila shifting uncomfortably in her chair. Jill watched her as she looked around the tiny room to see if there was any sort of surveillance. She was paranoid now too. After Mathew McGregor, there was always something- that something tapping on her shoulder, the hair that stood up on the back of her neck. Somehow McGregor seemed to own her. Her senses would never let her rest. The PTSD doctor told her about heightened senses, but today, watching Leila, Jill knew something was not quite right with her. It was Leila’s body language that Jill recognized, that made her suspicious. Maybe it was the security checks that put Leila off-kilter. It couldn’t be the loss of her Jimmy Choos that was bothering her, could it?
A knock on the door intruded on the silence, and the chief walked inside. “Jill … oh, hi,” he said. “Can I have a word with you, Jill?” A glint filled his eyes as he looked at Leila. She was beautiful, after all. “In private?”
Jill looked at Leila and it was clear she wasn’t moving. “I’ll wait here,” Leila said.
Outside in the corridor, the chief opened a file. “I have some intel for you. But I wanted to speak to you first.” He looked at the pages in the file then quickly closed them. “Leila has passed the security checks, but what I am about to tell you is personal. Private, Jill.”
Jill paused and for a brief second she felt relief. “It’s okay; I trust her,” Jill said to the chief. Jill couldn’t help but feel hope when they walked back into the room.
Leila tilted her head as she held out her hand. “I’m Leila Sorel.” She was flirting again, and this time it annoyed Jill.
He shook her hand, holding it a second longer than he should. “Johan, but you can call me chief.” He flipped through some pages and began to read out loud. “Leila Sorel, thirty-two, born American in Freeport, Louisiana. Mother and father Jamaican. Current job, photo journalist for Time.” His robotic voice changed when he flirted back. “Nice to meet you, Leila.”
His face turned serious when he looked back towards Jill. “I see the swelling on your lip has gone down.”
“No worse for wear,” Jill said. “Did you go to that building? Did you find anything?”
“We couldn’t find it. Sorry, Jill.” Johan flipped a page in the file. “We also searched our databases for any gang-type members that fit their description. Chechens, Russians, so far we’ve got nothing. But we did run those names you gave us … David and Stan Brown with Petrovich, and there was a blip.” Jill's eyes widened. She waited for Johan to continue and wondered if they could hear her breathing speed up. He glanced at Leila. She sat serious. “I had to get special authority from the US to access these files and get special permission to share them with you both. They’re highly confidential. But first I need to ask you both some questions, which,” he shot his glance back to Leila, “which is why you are here, Leila.”
Leila didn’t flinch. “I’ll help if I can.”
“Leila, how long have you known David?” He looked at her squarely.
“Ah, about three years, give or take.”
“Have you ever been on assignment with him?” he asked more pointedly.
“A couple, why?” Was that annoyance Jill detected in Leila’s reply?
Johan moved his eyes back to Jill and continued, “Jill, do you know what a NOC is?”
Leila began to shift nervously.
The drip of newly spawned adrenaline began to fill Jill and she said, “NOC as in the NOC you spoke about in your brief?” Johan nodded. “You mean spy?”
Non-official cover is what most countries’ governments called them. Operatives who’ve assumed roles as everyday citizens, but remained in specific locations gathering information for one operation or another. Sometimes the NOC would stay dormant for years before being called upon for duty. Other people would refer to NOC as black ops or covert operations. There were no records of these types of operations except at the highest security levels in each country. It was sort of a gentleman’s agreement, something unspoken. Plausible deny-ability between countries was the spy game. It often called for extensive arrangements that hid the details, the evidence, hiding the fact that the goal or target of such black ops ever occurred. WMD, weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, was one such operation. And if something went wrong, the NOC was on his or her own.
Leila shifted again and was about to say something to Jill. Her hand reached over and she laid it across Jill’s forearm. Her eyes pleaded. “Jill.”
Johan interrupted, “Jill, I said we found out new information, a blip when we ran Stan and David Brown’s name.” Leila looked at Johan knowingly and nodded affirmation to him. Not that Johan needed it. A courtesy was all he offered.
There was no other way to tell her so he blurted it out fast, “David’s a NOC for the CIA,” he paused and looked back to Leila, “and so is Miss Sorel.”
Jill sat back in silence feeling like she'd received another kick to her gut. All she could do was blink, and with every blink played a flashback. She had only known David for just over a year. Late nights, long assignments, the hush between them that simply existed but was never spoken. That’s why her instincts over the past year were like salt and pepper together in one mill. All Jill knew was that she loved him, she’d dismissed anything else. Her instincts were so jumbled she couldn’t make any sort of semblance of them when she was around him. Jill’s shoulders slumped and she exhaled too loud to be polite.
After several minutes it was Leila who broke the silent spell. “David loves you, Jill, he truly does.”
“Stop it, Leila. Just shut the fuck up.” Hearing her words echo, Jill was almost embarrassed at what she just blurted, but what else could she say? What else could she do? Jill grabbed her hair with both hands and leaned her tired head into her palms, elbows perched on the cold table. What was Jill supposed to think? After all, this was her lover, her best friend. Best friends tell the truth … don’t they? Fear and anger circled around in her head and Jill suddenly felt morbidly tired.
“Do you want me to leave you two alone?” Johan asked.
Jill didn’t answer. She didn’t lift her head. Strands of tight short hair pushed between Jill’s fingers and she felt like pulling it goddamn out.
Finally, Johan gave a slight huff, clearly German displeasure. “There's been a sighting of David, Jill,” he finally said. He flipped another page insensitively and before Jill could react he continued, “What gets even more interesting is Stan Brown. He’s David’s current assignment.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jill bolted up and star
ted to pace in the tiny room. Her head was beginning to pound from the confusion. “Where is he?”
“He’s working on an ops. It’s called Operation Silhouette.”
Jill stopped and stared at Leila. Leila’s eyes continued to plead. “What the heck is going on, Leila?” Jill stood with her arms crossed and stared into Leila’s eyes. Blink, goddamn it, you bitch, blink.
Before Leila could answer, Johan held up his palm towards Leila. “Jill.” He paused for a split second then flipped another page.
Jill looked at Leila, then back at Johan. “What else does it say, Johan?” Jill demanded as if she was his commander.
“They think David is in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, funny thing … he left Hamburg a couple of days ago. They can’t be sure, as here it is written that he’s undercover. That’s the latest on him.” Jill and Leila both heaved a breath of relief.
“Do they know this for sure? Can they verify that it’s David who is in Dubai?” Johan shook his head.
“I, ah, I…” Jill stammered. “I need to get to Dubai, chief. Or at least I need to speak to David. I know you said he is still deep undercover. But did the brief state anything about David’s whereabouts or how I can contact him?”
More pages flipped before he confirmed no. “Also, Jill, during the time you were held by those bruisers, I received a call from Eric. FBI. We discussed searching for a man. His name is Zayed Saleem.” He flipped a page. “Zayed Saleem. Age thirty-seven. NOC. Undercover Middle East PRO for Time. Target: Jill Oliver.”
Jill’s jaw dropped and she looked squarely at Leila. “You know Zayed?”
“No,” she insisted. “David mentioned him, but I’ve never met him. What else does it say about Zayed?” Leila questioned Johan.
Johan looked down at the page again and read out loud. “He was extracted from Kushka by special ops for Russian Foreign Intelligence Agency. He was airlifted to Dubai. Neck wound. Prognosis positive.”
“I thought I heard two different Russian dialects in Kushka. Does it say why I was the target?” Jill questioned.
Johan looked back at Jill with an odd look on his face. “Seems like a no-brainer to me, Jill. Whoever is targeting you knew that David was on to them, then of course they'd have had you followed.”
“Then I was Zayed's target for what? To protect me? From the Chechen Mafia? Why?”
“Maybe that’s why David is in Dubai,” Leila interrupted. “To see Zayed.”
Johan shrugged and then continued. “Operation Silhouette,” he read, “suspected to be a front for Al Qaeda. Perps go into foreign countries where there is civil unrest, where a tyrant rules, and go all social network on the country. It’s a new form of terrorism,” Johan continued. “Syria, Yemen, Egypt, Bahrain.” He paused and took a breath. “Iran. We’ve been following this for some time now as have the US and UN. Practically all the original EU five have too. The GCC, Arab League, you name it.”
Jill looked at Leila and identified that this was the first time Leila had heard this based on her posture. Stiff and straight, Jill asked the question anyway. “You knew about this, Leila, didn’t you? You told me that David’s Pulitzer was about Operation Silhouette. What do you know, Leila? I want to know now. NOW!” Jill pointed a finger at Leila, its tip nearly touching Leila’s nose.
“I, ah, I don’t know anything more than what we spoke about, Jill.” There were no excessive blinks, no REM when awake. “David told me this, that’s all I know.”
For a moment the room hushed and all that could be heard was a distant ring of a phone in another room. “Did you know he was a NOC?”
Leila’s eyes lowered. The gentleman’s agreement of a governmental NOC was non-disclosure of information, and Leila again looked around for surveillance. Before she answered Jill, Leila asked. “Are we being recorded?”
Johan confirmed “no,” and continued, “I don’t care about your US government breach. Clearly you two need some time alone so we can continue. There’s a lot to cover yet, ladies. Ten minutes.” His chair chirped as he stood up and closed the door behind him.
Jill was treading the floor, her arm squashed into her armpits, when Leila walked over and attempted to hug Jill. “No, Leila.” Jill stood squarely. Pools of distrust filled Jill’s eyes. She lifted her left shoulder and slightly turned as she repelled Leila, wincing at the pain.
“Jill,” Leila said with reverence. “Jill.” Her voice grew louder. “Please, Jill, please sit down. I’ll explain everything.”
Jill did not move, stubborn as a mule.
“Jill…” Leila thought hard as she trailed off, her head averting downward. “Please, Jill, there is more you need to know about David.”
Those words sliced through Jill and grated against her bones. A look of shock and something unrecognizable shone in her eyes as she slowly took her place back at the table and stared blankly at Leila. Leila sighed heavily. Jill blinked back and then Leila began.
“You familiar with the Patriot Act?” Leila said rhetorically. “Well, it’s not exactly like how it is described in the media. There was more communication between federal agencies, but since the act was introduced, they’ve tightened the screws. Ever since 9/11 NOCs have been under strict NDAs—non-disclosure agreements.” Leila reached over and pressed her hand on Jill’s. “NOCs are normal people that move around, so what better cover than a journalist? Besides, I am not what you would call a mainstream NOC. I'm not trained in field ops. My job is to take pictures. Pictures of what the NOC 's discover. I'm more like an assistant, the photog that takes pictures of crime scenes. Except my backdrop is the spy scene.
“He is a great writer, Jill, and his job is real.” Leila began to sound bothered, but Leila always sounded bothered. “Ya know, Jill, it’s not like he screwed around on you or something. It’s just a career choice. Like everyone else that doesn’t give full details on what happened at work. Like if you were married to a doctor and he didn’t tell you how many patients he lost that day,” Leila tried to reason.
“I thought husbands and wives didn’t have secrets; it’s what a good marriage is built on. It’s called trust, Leila.”
“Do you tell David details on a nuke move? Do you tell him about threats, terrorists, and imminent events? He didn’t even know you were a remote viewer, for God’s sake.”
Jill had no choice to admit that Leila had her on that one; all she could do was give a grunt in surrender.
A few minutes passed in silence. Jill thought hard. Leila was right. In the law enforcement game nothing was ever as it seemed. So Leila and David are NOCs . She could understand Leila not breaching confidence of her NDA. David—that one she'd have to think about. But despite the secrets, right now she needed Leila's help and right now she had no other choice. The pity party shit she'd figure out later.
“Leila, about my viewings, I need to tell you something. I had a strong one. Something I have never experienced before. I drew the Star of David a few days before this viewing. The one you saw in my notebook, remember?” Leila sat slightly forward. Jill began to relay what she had seen. “The next time I tried viewing I saw something I had never seen before. This viewing was vivid. Like a movie or something … there were men around a table, six men that all seemed like they were from different countries. They spoke of this Operation Silhouette. They even talked about having control of more than just the Russian oil.” And then she stopped. “And here is the weird part, Lei. I saw these men in white gowns and they were circling a wooden star of David. It was the exact one in your photo. They were standing around it chanting. Chanting the word Ochrana.”
“Ochrana, what the hell kind of word is that?” Leila blurted.
“I’ve got Karine searching, but so far nothing. The leader said something to the effect that Ochrana was formed to control Russian oil. Have you heard this word before?”
“Ah, no.”
They sat in silence. They were thinking so hard you could almost see steam coming from their ears. Leila spoke first. “Can you ca
ll Karine and see if she’s found anything? Do you know the GSG very well, Jill?”
“I’ll call Karine when we’re done. As for GSG, they are the top CTU, counter terrorist unit in the world. I think it’s because they also have direct access to Europol. They have certain pull in these agencies that the US doesn’t have, given their proximity to the European Union.”
“Then why not tell Johan? It’s worth a try,” Leila hastened. “He said he didn’t care about US breaches, so your oath won’t matter here, right?”
“Can you imagine what he’d say if I told him I have psychic powers?”
The door opened and Johan popped his head in. “All clear?” He eyed one, then the other. “Did you kids kiss and make up?” Leila shot him a ‘whatever’ look and Jill noticed that Leila instantly did not like him.
“Okay, where were we?” He sat back down and shuffled the pages. “Stan Brown, age fifty-two, CEO of Marksmen Oil.”
“Why was David’s target Stan Brown? He’s his father, for God’s sake.”
“Well,” Chief began as Leila and Jill perched on their chairs, “it appears our Mr. Brown has had some blips on the screen himself when we ran his name. Good call on that one, Jill.” He flipped to the next page. “He hasn’t left Hamburg, not by air anyway. Seems our Mr. Brown has a thing for oil. Russian oil, to be more specific. Seems as recent as two weeks ago large amounts of cash had been transferred, well should I say laundered, based on the amount of times it’s been rerouted.” The ladies exchanged a glance, mesmerized. Leila seemed the most impressed as she connected the dots of Jill’s viewing with the report.
“Some people are stupid,” he said as he shook his head and read in silence. “I think he needs to fire whoever is managing his transfers. No wire transfer information is safe anymore. Jeez,” he chuckled. “He even sent money through Cyprus.” He paused at the bewildered looks on their faces. “You do know that Cyprus has one of the biggest banking wormholes in this hemisphere, right?”
