by D. E. Daum
“Sure, why not? We’ve gone this far. I’m a good sport.”
To whom it may concern,
My name is Kelly Rogers. I am a deep-cover intelligence gatherer for a secret branch of the CIA. I was a victim in the recent and widely reported terrorist attack in Saudi Arabia in which I was, in fact, killed. However, my mind entered the body of Saleem Rhamsy, who had also died, but was revived. Jeffrey Wiggins, a friend since college, was as skeptical as you must be. I convinced him with personal information that only he and I would know. Please listen to him. I can be an espionage asset of monumental proportions. However, without immediate help, my life is in danger. Jeffrey will fill you in.
Earnestly, Kelly Rogers
Rick was obviously skeptical, yet receptive. He asked Jeff, “How do I know Kelly wrote this? Anyone could have written this.”
Jeff was ready for that one. “True, and I’m sure you could authenticate his handwriting, if you could get it done quickly, but Rick, we don’t have a lot of time. Kelly is in danger, even though he is one of them. If we don’t do something quickly, when he’s back with his wife and the rest of his family, it’s going to be obvious something’s wrong. Right now, they think the shock of the blast shook his memory loose, but that’s not going to last forever. We could lose the greatest single asset we could ever have asked for.”
Rick seemed reluctant to get involved, but put Kelly’s letter in his briefcase. “I’ll have to take this to my committee. It’ll take a few days.”
“We don’t have a few days, and if you take it to committee, word might get out. If that happens, Kelly is dead. We’re not dealing with Boy Scouts here. These are cold-blooded killers.”
“What do you suggest?” asked Rick.
Receiving the question he’d been waiting for, Jeff wasted no time, “You’re on the Intelligence Committee. That means you probably know someone in the CIA who can authorize a party. After all, Kelly is one of theirs, in addition to being a relative of yours.”
“I don’t know. This is so insane. How do I sell this?”
I tried to bolster Rick’s confidence. “The same way I did—persistence! You can do it, if anyone can.”
“I’ll give it a shot. Can you go with me to CIA headquarters? Help me present it, like you did with me.”
Jeff wanted to, but he had to get back to Kelly. “I think I’d better get back to Riyadh, and do what I can for Kelly. You have the letter, and I’m sure they have samples of his writing. Have them check it out. If they need to, they can call me on my cell phone and talk to Kelly through me. He won’t sound the same, because he has Saleem’s voice, but they can ask him any question they like pertaining to Kelly, and he‘ll answer.
“Oh, one more thing, Rick. Don’t say anything to Kelly’s relatives, especially his mom and dad.”
“Got it!”
* * * *
Kelly flashed an effusive smile when Jeff walked into his room. He’d been gone for only twenty-six hours and it was a good thing he was back. It was also a good thing that he’d taken the brown contact lenses to Kelly before he left, since the doctor removed his bandages that day. The lenses could be a problematic though, since they required changing weekly and neither the spare lenses nor the discarded ones could be discovered.
Kelly was particularly jumpy when Jeff returned. Saleem’s fanatical brother had been there for a couple hours, grilling him. He couldn’t understand most of what Ahmed had said except for a few phrases like “Eyes of Allah” and “The Chosen One.” Kelly didn’t know what to think, so he repeated a couple familiar phrases in Arabic. “The Great Satan” and “Death to America.” Otherwise, Kelly kept quiet and acted crazy. Fortunately, orthodox Islam, in general, tends to think of the insane as having been touched by Allah, which played into his hands.
Jeff gave Kelly the rundown on his meeting with Doughman. “How the hell did you sell Rick on the idea his great nephew was alive, but in someone else’s body? He must have flipped out.”
“Actually, he laughed, thought he’d been set up by Senator Rueger, but in the end I closed the deal.” Jeff told him about Rick’s planned sojourn to CIA that day. They went on to discuss what might be the best course of action until the phone call came.
At 8:42 AM, Washington time, Jeff’s phone rang. He answered and after a brief exchange, handed Kelly the phone.
Kelly recognized the deep raspy voice on the other end as his handler, a person he knew only as “Starbird.” He had never met Starbird, having only talked over secure communications or by drops. In his conversations with Starbird, little things that were said and the way they were said led Kelly to suspect that Starbird was a woman. Therefore the male voice he heard was electronically modified.
The conversation didn’t last long. Jeff didn’t hear much. Kelly said, “Fourth of July in Budapest,” “Calvason,” and “the Juniper Tree,” That was it. Kelly hung up. He told Jeff, Starbird would be in touch.
Seven hours later, after waking from a nap, Kelly was startled when a woman entered his room. At least he thought it was a woman. She was wearing a hijab and abaya. She opened the door quietly, stepped in, put a finger to her mouth over her veil and after looking back down the hallway, eased the door closed.
She glided over to him. He was mesmerized by the beautiful blue green eyes, which appraised him, a hint of humor in the corners. “Who ar—”
Out of nowhere, she placed a hand over his mouth. She whispered, “Starbird sent me.” She placed a metal shroud over his left forefinger, connected by a wire to a small meter-like object and continued whispering. “That’s quite a story Mr. Wiggins told Congressman Doughman. I’ve talked to Mr. Wiggins and he swears it’s true, but Starbird asked me to see for myself. I’m going to ask yo—”
Kelly was getting worried. “What is that thing?” He whispered excitedly, maybe a little too loudly.
“It’s something Starbird came up with. It analyzes your pulse rate and blood pressure. When people are about to lie their pulse rate and blood pressure go up. I need to ask you some questions. What is your full name?”
“Kelly Eugene Rogers.”
“All right. How old are you?”
“I was thirty-two. I don’t know how old Saleem is.”
“Just answer the questions as Kelly, please. Describe Starbird?”
Kelly opened his mouth and his eyes wide. “I…er…have never seen him. We always communicate by phone, letter, email even text messaging. He’s very secretive.”
“What if I told you he said he attended a convention with you?”
“Is that what he said?”
The lady put a hand over his mouth again. “Please,” she whispered.
“Sorry. I’d say he’s lying and I don’t know why.”
“Maybe you’re lying.”
“Does your contraption say I’m lying?”
“No, but you may have had training.”
Kelly lolled his head backward and grimaced. “Well I didn’t. I’m Kelly and you can ask anything about Kelly you want and I’ll answer it.”
“Okay. When you underwent your training, who was your first teacher?”
A grin formed on Kelly’s face. “Carol Stevens, she was a pretty lady, but could have been prettier if she hadn’t dressed so matronly. She taught ‘Power Centers and Power Brokers.’”
“Really describe her?”
“Gee…let’s see. She was about five-eight. Her hair was always in a bun. From what I could tell it was kind of reddish blond. Her eyes were…wait a minute.”
“That’s enough Kelly. I’m satisfied.” The lady removed her hijab and smiled. “You are indeed Kelly.”
Kelly was astonished. “It’s you. Carol.” He’d never seen her without glasses, made up and with her long strawberry blond hair framing her oval face. God, she’s beautiful.
She pulled the shroud off his finger, rolled the wire around the meter and slipped the meter somewhere underneath her tent-like garment. She took his hand. “You were one of my best and mos
t enthusiastic students.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I must go now. We’ll need to get you back for some additional training, before you can be turned loose as a Muslim agent. Starbird will set something up. It may take a couple days, but we’ll take care of you.”
With that, she put her veil back and slipped back through the door.
Chapter 5
Kelly needed to rejoin Saleem’s family and friends, but he couldn’t go back unprepared. To be prepared, the Company needed to have him for at least six weeks. The only answer seemed to be the Saudi authorities, and they were replete with sympathizers of the extremists.
Finally, they decided to kidnap Kelly. Starbird would notify trusted officials in the Saudi government that Saleem was a suspected conspirator in Kelly’s death, and they needed some uninterrupted time with him. The Saudis agreed and suggested they take him in for questioning after his release from the hospital. They would then turn him over to the Americans. However, the Saudis suspecting that Rhamsy was associated with the Sword of Allah, wanted more time with Saleem themselves. After all, terrorists besieged Saudi Arabia.
The agreed handover didn’t take place. At least not at the appointed time.
After twenty-four hours, they finally delivered Kelly, not looking happy and much disheveled, into Jeff’s custody. On the flight to America, Kelly lit into Jeff. “Why the fuck did you let them have me? Next to being blown up, that was the worst day of my life! There I was, being tortured with cattle prods, almost drowned, hung by my feet, and that’s when I got to relax with my splitting headache. They even shoved pig shit into my mouth and said I was going to hell. That’s about the only thing I understood because I couldn’t understand their questions, let alone answer them, even if I knew the answers, which I don’t because I’m not really Saleem. But hell no, they think I’m like…Osama bin frickin’ Laden.”
“Calm down, Kelly, I’m on your side. The Saudis pulled a fast one. We were going to kidnap you from the hospital with their assent, but they said, “Why not make it official? We’ll detain Saleem for questioning, and since you believe he killed an American reporter, turn him over to you.” Sounded good, but we should have known. The only reason you’re here is because Starbird got the Secretary of State to lean heavily on the Saudis, big time!”
While Jeff’s explanation appeased Kelly, it still took him a while to calm down. “Fine. I need some rest.” He closed his eyes and slowly drifted off.
They were flying by the Rock of Gibraltar when he awakened. Jeff noticed him looking out the window and asked, “Are you okay?
“Yeah, Jeff, I’m all right. Sorry I jumped down your throat. Those guys were brutal. They were all honor roll students from the Torquemada school of torture. Where are we going?”
“We’re headed to a company ranch in Wyoming.”
After thinking about where they were going, Kelly exclaimed, “What? It’s the beginning of winter. It must be zero there now. I went to a wrestling match at Wyoming U. once and it was ten below zero. Coldest I’ve ever been.”
Apparently, the ramifications of what Kelly conveyed hit Jeff. “I just heard it’s twenty below, but, Kelly, you were never a wrestler and you never said anything about Wyoming. When he attended UCLA, Saleem was a wrestler. I don’t get it!”
Kelly reflected about what Jeff said and knew he was right. “Neither do I. It just popped into my head.”
Jeff gave Kelly a light punch on the arm and said, “If that’s true, that would be fantastic. It could speed up everything, especially if you could recall how to speak Arabic.”
Kelly noticed they were starting to descend. He looked out of the window and saw nothing but water. “What’s with all that water?”
“Right,” answered Jeff. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you we’re taking a detour to a secret detention center. It was Starbird’s idea to have you put in an appearance there and sneak you back out. Then we continue on to Wyoming. On the way back, we’ll sneak you in and parade you back out in front of the detainees. Then you’ll be able to tell anyone who asks that you were taken to the infidel’s hush-hush detention center.”
After the charade and several more, mostly sleepy, hours, the pilot came on the intercom and said they were approaching the Laramie airport. They would be landing in ten minutes and disembarking in fifteen.
As they came down the passenger stairs, a suit in a warm overcoat greeted them. It was colder than Wyoming in winter, but they were dressed for the occasion. The suit, someone named Evans, led them to a silver Range Rover. After their luggage was loaded, they headed west.
There was snow on the ground, but Kelly noticed it was old and had been bladed to the sides of the highway. After driving twenty minutes, they turned on a side road heading north. After a couple more miles, they came to a double gate attached to a chain link and barbed wire fence. Kelly read the sign, which announced the ranch name as Triple Z, further informing visitors that trespassers would be arrested and prosecuted, if not shot. Kelly nudged Jeff. “I hope you remembered to bring our invitations.” Pointing at the less than friendly sign. The gates had remote operators engaged by the driver. Once past the closing gates, it was another mile to the main house, which was literally a ranch house in the finest Western tradition. It was a sprawling one-story with a steeper roof than normal because of the snow, and there were six smaller outbuildings.
* * * *
In the hunting lodge style main house, they met three people of Mediterranean descent.
An elderly gentleman stepped forward and shook our hands. “You must be Misters Rhamsy and Wiggins. I am Professor Albrev Denali, an expatriate from Iranian Kurdistan. My expertise is on terror groups in general, Al Qaeda in particular.”
A young dark-haired beauty, then shook our hands. She cast a broad smile. “So good to meet you both. My name is Rayya.” She looked directly at Kelly, a twinkle of admiration in her eye. “Mr. Rhamsy, I was originally from Saudi Arabia. It will be my duty and pleasure to teach you Arabic and Saudi customs. Her eyes went to the third person, a bruiser of a man. She pointed toward him. “This is my friend Haman, from Iraq. He doesn’t speak English yet and is shy. Being Shia, he and his brother were arrested and tortured by henchmen of Saddam Hussein. Unfortunately, his brother did not survive the ordeal.”
They shook Haman’s hand. He spoke in Arabic and Rayya translated for him, “Haman says it’s a pleasure and an honor to meet you both.”
Two members of Kelly’s tutoring staff had not arrived yet, Dr. Andrew Bingham, an expert on Islamic religion, and Starbird, who would be in charge and was to provide Kelly with more background on Saleem. If things worked out, Starbird wouldn’t have to do much, nor would Rayya.
Kelly liked Rayya. She was smart and friendly with big warm welcoming eyes. Featuring classic Middle Eastern appearance, Rayya was attractive, at five-seven, and no more than a hundred-twenty pounds.
Evans showed Jeff and Kelly to their suites. They were located in one of the outbuildings. Luckily, they didn’t have to go out into the frigid weather. They took an elevator to the basement, which doubled as a garage and from there walked through a tunnel. After a couple of hundred feet, the tunnel fanned out in six directions, one for each of the outbuildings.
It was already dinnertime when they finished unpacking. After a delicious steak dinner, they adjourned to the great room, killing time until Starbird and Bingham arrived. For a while, small talk ensued, but Starbird and Bingham never showed, so the professor and Haman adjourned to their suites. Two members were not budging. A comfort level had developed between Rayya and Kelly. Jeff apparently feeling he was the odd man out excused himself.
Chapter 6
Kelly awoke at 5:30 a.m., unable to sleep anymore. He couldn’t wait for his one o’clock session with Rayya. But first, he’d have to get through Professor Denalli.
What a remarkable girl Rayya was. Last night he got to know her, what she wanted out of life. They talked until 1:30 a.m., until Rayya insisted they get
some sleep.
Rayya’s father, Mustafa, was an idiot. He never paid any attention to her or either of her sisters while they were growing up. Instead, Rayya’s two brothers, Ali and Mohammad, got all of their father’s attention. Mustafa had a treasure under his nose, and all he could see was two spoiled brats. Well, he only had one daughter left as Rayya had a price on her head, and her older sister committed suicide after being forced to marry a sadist. Only little Marri, eleven years old was left. Perhaps the old fart would croak before he ruined another life.
At least Mustafa permitted Rayya to be educated. Most Islamic women didn’t get the chance. Rayya was a brilliant student, graduating from high school when she was fifteen. She had a rich Western-educated uncle, named Abad, who lived in Virginia. Abad talked his brother-in-law into allowing her to attend college. At first Mustafa resisted, but when Abad said he would cover all attendant costs, Mustafa relented.
