by C. J. Miller
In the busyness of the marketplace, Harris and Laila walked beside each other, not touching, the driver close behind them.
The marketplace was flooded with hundreds, if not thousands, of people. The CIA had told Laila to assume she was always being watched. It left her with an eerie feeling. She hadn’t considered that Mikhail would place surveillance devices in the guest rooms. If she did anything wrong, anything out of place, it could be reported to her oldest brother and put her status with Mikhail in jeopardy. Laila didn’t believe her brother held much regard for her, but at the best, he was indifferent. Earning his displeasure risked the operation.
Harris slipped on his dark sunglasses. For someone who looked foreign, he blended remarkably well.
“How are you enjoying yourself so far?” Laila asked him. Though he wasn’t visiting for pleasure, and though the circumstances weren’t ideal, she wanted Harris to have something good to say about her country. Wanted him to see the beauty around them. Most of what he knew about the country might be negative, but the emir’s possible relationship with a terrorist didn’t describe the country as a whole.
“Things are going well so far. How are you feeling?” he asked. He glanced at her and then returned to looking around the crowd, strolling slowly through the cobblestone streets. They skirted around a fenced-in area containing herd animals.
The driver stayed close behind them. Laila wished he would give them space or at least pretend as if he wasn’t hanging on to every word they spoke to each other.
Her nerves were wound, but overall, she was fine. “It’s nice to be home. I’ve missed my mom and my family. I love my life in America, but when I’m there, I’m aware I’m a foreigner.”
Harris nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean. Whenever I travel abroad, it’s not only how I look that makes me stand out from the locals. It’s not knowing the customs and culture. I feel like I make insulting mistakes.” With the exception of a brief time in her room, he hadn’t dropped his German accent for a moment since they’d arrived. How did he stay perfectly in character? She felt as if she needed to check every word that left her mouth to be sure she wasn’t blowing their cover.
“Do you have anything you’re looking for specifically? I can take you to the best shops with the nicest wares. I know an antique dealer who sells some unique pieces.” Was he eyeing something in particular for his mission?
“I read that the marketplace is the perfect location to shop for perfumes and carpets. My family might like a few local specialties as gifts. And of course, I’ll need something for your mother.”
It would make a good impression that Harris had gotten her mother a gift. “My mother is a practical woman. She won’t expect anything elaborate.” Anything too elaborate and Mikhail would take possession of it. She and Harris had discussed purchasing a gift for her mother before leaving the United States. If she and Harris were to become engaged, a gift of equal measure to Laila’s social status would be expected from him to her family. Since their relationship was a sham, Laila didn’t think putting the CIA through an additional expense made sense. By the time it became important for Harris to give Laila’s family a lavish gift, the ruse would be up. For now, a thoughtful trinket was best.
“I’ll let you give me guidance on what to get your mom. In my country, flowers and wine are appropriate. I’m guessing there’s another protocol here.” A man walking in the opposite direction bumped her, and her shoulder brushed Harris’s.
Harris reached to steady her, his hands on her for only a moment, but it was heated enough to sear her to the core. “Are you all right?” he asked, shooting an annoyed look in the direction of the man who’d jolted her.
Laila wished she had brought a hand fan. It was too hot. The souk was crowded, and without the wind blowing, it was stuffy and confining. She wouldn’t focus on how it felt to touch Harris. “I’m fine. I’m thinking my mom might like a small piece of artwork, like a statue or a landscape painting. One of her hobbies is painting scenery. Or maybe a set of worry beads.” Her father had several worry beads he’d gotten at important dates in his life, among them when he’d become emir, when he’d married Laila’s mother and when each of his three children was born. To continue the tradition and have Harris present her mother with a set to mark the occasion of their meeting would have significance to her mother.
In the event her mother grew to like Harris, she would be disappointed when she learned Harris and Laila’s relationship was fake. Perhaps the worry beads and her mother forming any connection to Harris were a mistake. Before she could make another suggestion, Harris answered.
“That sounds great. We can also look for something for my mother and two sisters-in-law. I’ve heard the perfumes here are the best. I think they would get a thrill out of a special perfume.”
Laila had known the stakes before she’d agreed to this. Being in Qamsar was harder than she’d imagined. She reassured herself that her deception was only required for a short time, and she was doing the right thing for her country and her family.
Harris was talking like a tourist. She had assumed he had a secondary motivation for coming to the souk. Maybe she’d been wrong. She’d been anticipating a cloak-and-dagger routine. “I know a shop that sells amazing scents. I’ll let you know when we get there.”
They were beckoned to a jewelry stall. “You wish to buy something for your beautiful lady?” the vendor asked, holding out a few necklaces for Harris to see.
Harris turned to her. “See anything you like?”
He wanted to buy her something? It wasn’t necessary. Or was this part of the role he was playing: rich German heir? Would the girlfriend of such a man decline the gift, or would she be so accustomed to being spoiled that accepting would be natural?
Laila was overthinking. She wasn’t pretending to be anyone. She was herself. “You don’t need to buy me anything, Harris. But thank you.”
“I have beautiful gold bracelets. They would look lovely on your lady,” the vendor pressed.
“She’s already lovely,” Harris said.
The compliment tickled her insides. The vendor held a gold bangle bracelet with silver threading in the shape of ivy wrapping around the gold.
Laila gasped. It was a beautiful piece. “This reminds me of a ring that belonged to my great-great-grandmother. This has the same ivy pattern set against the gold.”
“If we can work out a price, I’ll take it,” Harris said.
Laila whirled to him in surprise. “You don’t need to buy that.”
Harris negotiated with the vendor and smiled when they struck a deal. He turned and presented it to Laila. “I saw how you looked at it. You can wear it to your brother’s wedding. It’s my special gift to you.”
She slipped the bracelet over her hand onto her wrist and secured the safety clasp. “Thank you. This is nice of you and unexpected.” It was the first piece of jewelry, or any gift she had received from a man she wasn’t related to. “You didn’t have to buy this.”
Harris lifted a brow at her. “I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to. Is there a place where you’d like to stop for a few moments to get something to eat? I’d like to look around on my own. You can stay with the driver.”
Laila glanced at the driver standing a step away, watching Laila with annoyance in his eyes. Was he irritated he had been sent to babysit her, or did he have some personal problem with her?
“Maybe we should stay together,” Laila said. Was Harris safe alone?
“Perhaps I should take you to see your mother first, and then return?” he asked.
Stash her somewhere first? Was what he needed to do that dangerous? What if something happened to him? How would anyone know? He could disappear in the country and never be heard from again.
“I’d like to stay together,” she said. She should go along with whatever he said. It had been the plan when leaving the United States, but now she was worried about him.
Harris looked at her, studying her face, pe
rhaps trying to understand her reasons without asking the question. “All right. If you insist.”
She processed the words. Had her refusal caused a problem with his plans? He wouldn’t argue in front of the driver and raise suspicions.
Harris continued walking and stopped at a stall where the vendor was selling shoes. He picked up a pair and turned them over. “Are these leather?”
The vendor nodded. “The finest leather. Soft. Will contour to your feet the more you wear them.”
Harris held up his hand. “I’ll take two pairs. And a pair for the lady.”
Laila didn’t think the shoes were attractive. They looked like shoes to wear on a construction site, heavy and durable. She opened her mouth to protest and then thought better of it. The CIA had asked her to go along with Harris when possible, and since they were in front of the vendor and the driver, no point in arguing with him. If he wanted to buy ugly shoes, then fine.
The guard escorting them leaned in close to look at the shoes. Was something wrong with them? Why did he seem interested in Harris’s purchase? He hadn’t cared when Harris had bought her the bracelet.
With the laces knotted and the shoes thrown over his shoulder, Harris continued along the marketplace. He bought a few bottles of perfume for the women in his family and an ornamental carpet, the items she’d expect a vacationer to buy. He was playing his role well.
At an artist’s shop, he purchased a strand of rose-colored glass worry beads for her mother. It was delicate with the colored spheres catching the sun.
“Did you get what you needed?” she asked.
“Almost everything,” Harris said. He looked ahead and continued walking.
Laila kept waiting for something to happen. For a man to lean out from an alley and draw them inside and give them a package. For someone to slip Harris a bag. For Harris to pick up a lone package off the sidewalk, left by another asset.
A man walking by stopped and pointed to Harris’s shoes. “I can take those off your hands if you’d like.”
Harris shook his head. “The stall ahead on the left sells them. You’ll have your pick of color and size.”
“I’d prefer shoes that were broken in,” he said.
“Can’t help you there,” Harris said.
The man looked between her and Harris a few times. She stepped closer to Harris, unsure if the man was considering mugging them or stealing the shoes. It struck her as odd, since the shoes weren’t remarkable or expensive. Whatever the nameless man was thinking, he decided to leave them alone and hurried in the direction of the shoe stall.
“That was strange,” Laila said.
Harris made a noncommittal sound.
Was that conversation some coded exchange of information? “You bought those ugly shoes—” The guard was hanging on to every word, and Laila stopped her train of thought.
Harris’s eyes widened slightly. “Hey, they are not ugly.”
For a moment, she worried she’d offended him. Then she saw the amused gleam in his eyes. What good were ugly shoes? Was he trying to smuggle something inside them? Laila hadn’t seen him pick up anything and put it inside the shoes. Did he have a gun stashed somewhere? Would he risk it, knowing they’d be searched, and if caught, they’d be in danger? American spy movies had her imagination running untamed.
“Whatever you say,” Laila said. “Don’t think you’re wearing them to the wedding.”
“But I bought a pair for you so we’d match.”
She scrunched up her face. “Gee, thanks. I’ll return the favor sometime. Maybe you’d like to wear matching head scarves.”
Harris let out a bark of laughter. “Perhaps. I wonder what your family would think of that.”
They’d think he was crazy. His blue eyes shone in the sun. He was a beautiful, captivating man. One who could make her think he had feelings for her, who could make her believe their romance was real. No matter how Harris looked at her or how he treated her, she had to keep their objective at the front of her mind. He was in Qamsar to find and stop a terrorist. He wasn’t interested in falling in love, least of all with her. “If you dressed like a woman, my family would have questions,” she said.
Harris grinned at her and molten heat rolled through her.
“I’m ready to leave whenever you are. The heat is getting to me,” Harris said, plucking at his shirt.
Based on his nonchalant response, she was alone in feeling the chemistry between them. She refocused on the mission. If Harris had been in the souk for information, except for his strange and brief interaction with a man offering to buy the shoes, Laila hadn’t seen anything unusual. She couldn’t have explained the purpose or reason for the interaction if questioned.
If anyone asked her what she and Harris did in the souk, she could tell the truth. He’d bought presents for his family, a bracelet for her, a gift for her mother and ugly shoes. The driver would corroborate her story.
“I’ll call my mother and see if she’s ready for our visit,” Laila said.
Laila took out her cell phone and dialed her mother.
Her mother answered on the second ring. “I was hoping you would call again. I missed your first call by ten minutes.”
Laila’s chest filled with happiness at the thought of seeing her mother. “Harris and I are finished at the souk. Are we too early for dinner? I wouldn’t mind extra time to visit with you.” She and her mother had kept in touch over the phone and with almost daily emails, but talking in person was better.
“I can’t wait to see you. I’ve been calling you, but the calls went straight to voice mail,” Iba said.
“The signal is sometimes weak here,” Laila said.
“I’d love to have you over, but didn’t Mikhail tell you?” Iba asked.
Laila’s stomach knotted. “Tell me what?”
“He’s invited guests in town for the wedding to the compound tonight. He has a special announcement. I don’t know what it is. I was getting ready to leave now.” Her mother sounded reserved and tense.
A special announcement sounded ominous. Maybe it was something to do with the wedding, or maybe it was another opportunity for Mikhail to make a declaration about how he planned to keep his family under his thumb. More monitoring. More check-ins. More rules. “Okay, then we’ll see you there.”
Dread and worry heavy in her stomach, Laila said goodbye to her mother and disconnected the call. “Change of plans. Mikhail is having a dinner and making a special announcement tonight.”
The corners of Harris’s mouth turned down. He addressed the driver. “Sounds like we need to return to the compound.”
The driver glanced at his watch and nodded. “It would be offensive to be late.”
Why hadn’t Mikhail mentioned anything when he’d stopped by her room earlier in the day? If the news was bad, maybe he didn’t want to give her a chance to run. What if Mikhail’s special announcement was her engagement to one of his lackeys?
Chapter 3
Harris preferred sticking to plans. It was easier to put contingencies and backups into place when he understood the factors at play. A special announcement by the emir didn’t have a pleasing ring to it. Harris wished he could make contact with the Bureau before the dinner and figure out who or what had changed in the political environment, but making contact when it wasn’t an emergency was a mistake. Harris had a German number to call for check-ins, the cover being that the number belonged to his brother. But Harris couldn’t get information or ask questions without risking someone overhearing his conversation. The CIA wasn’t sure how technologically advanced the emir’s security team was. Until Harris had a better sense of their abilities, he’d assume them to be masterfully skilled and be extra careful about calling his fake company from his cellular phone.
Harris and Laila returned to the compound. After another search of the car and themselves, they were allowed inside. First hurdle passed. They hadn’t given his shoes, carpet or perfume a second glance. Lucky for him.
Hi
s assessment of the emir’s security team’s abilities moved a notch down from masterful.
Alone in his room, Harris turned on the radio and tuned to a station playing soft, relaxing music. He killed the lights. He’d checked for bugs again, but without more sophisticated equipment, he couldn’t be certain if more had been hidden while he was out of the room. In the dark, he removed the thin plastic blade and small bottle of glue secured to the lining of his suitcase. He got into bed, pretending to need a nap. Jet lag. Long flight. Sleep was plausible.
Underneath the covers, he slit the heels of the shoes and removed the surveillance equipment. Five bugs in all, equipped with video and sound. If he needed more, he’d make contact with his asset and get a message to his team. He glued the soles back on the shoes.
Then he waited. For fifteen minutes he pretended to rest. Shortly thereafter he slipped two of the bugs into his pocket and got out of bed, leaving the rest tucked inside the pillowcase.
While getting ready and moving around the room, he made his bed and hid the rest of the bugs. If his room was searched while he was away, he risked trouble, but how often could his things be checked? The emir had nearly a thousand guests invited to his wedding, many of them staying at the compound.
Every room couldn’t be searched daily. At some point, his would be again, but he’d place the devices soon in a predetermined list of locations. Based on what the CIA knew about Mikhail’s compound and from the information Laila had supplied about the layout, the target locations were Mikhail’s private quarters and offices on the east wing’s second floor, the main dining area being used for entertaining guests and the library where Mikhail often retired in the evenings with colleagues. Getting to the emir’s private quarters and the library would be difficult, but Harris would find a way.
The CIA had attempted to recruit a domestic employee on the inside to assist with this job. As yet they’d met with failure. Most of Mikhail’s staff were too afraid to speak to someone about the emir, worried it was a trap testing their loyalty, and were unwilling to put their lives and families at risk.
