by David Rose
Adam moved in order to stand opposite the middle of the elevator, trying to ensure that he would be the first thing Morgan would see. Not that he had much of a wardrobe to choose from, but he hadn’t dressed up; he was wearing chain-store khakis and a plain dark blue polo shirt that he knew she liked. The elevator pinged, signaling its imminent arrival.
At last the doors parted. Adam’s eyes met hers. She was flanked by more armed men in suits but he held out his arms, trying to ignore the surroundings. He didn’t really take in her appearance; he just wanted to hold her. She submitted to his greeting, but even as he tried to squeeze her, he felt her stiffen.
“Hey,” he said, “you’re late.”
Suddenly she seemed overcome. He felt her exhale, and she shuddered, the ghost of a sob. Relaxing just a little, she dug her forehead into his shoulder. “Hey,” she said. “It’s you. You okay?”
“I’m okay. You?”
“Better than you might expect.”
But they had no more time, because Morgan was being mobbed. The ambassador was walking toward her, taking pains to ensure that she followed protocol by shaking his hand first, so forcing her to slide away from Adam and turn to him. Jennifer Perkins was next, uttering inanities about what an enormous pleasure it was to welcome her to the consulate. Adam found himself jostled, trailing four paces behind, separated from his wife by the platoon of security agents.
Morgan knew she had no real choices. America had rescued her, albeit with some unofficial help, and that meant that for the time being, her country owned her. The Agency had decreed what was going to happen to her now, and over the coming days, for reasons she understood. That didn’t stop her hating it. She’d been promised some time alone with Adam before anything else. Instead, he’d barely been able to give her a hug before the ambassador, who in his previous life in business had given generously to Republican Party funds, was claiming her for himself. As for the irritatingly solicitous Consul General, with her fussy little bob and fake Chanel suit, her main concern seemed to be to make sure she stuck close enough to Morgan to be in all the photographs. No doubt she believed her career would benefit if she were to be publicly associated with her release.
From the hallway, they took her straight to a briefing room, where a phalanx of reporters and camera operators had been waiting for some time. Ambassador Fisher motioned to her and the Consul General: he would take the podium’s center spot, with Morgan and Perkins on either side. They walked up and the cameras clicked and whirred. They had sent an outfit for her to the ship: a yellow satin blouse that was never going to match her coloring, and some baggy powder-blue jeans. Still, better to appear dressed like that than in US Navy sweatpants. Meanwhile, Special Agent Mallon had given her one very strong piece of advice—on no account should she open her mouth, other than to state how happy she was to be free, and to thank the Dubai mission for its hospitality.
The ambassador started to read his statement. “I am delighted to report to you that Morgan Cooper, a career foreign service officer with the State Department Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labor, has now been released from captivity. She was kidnapped by terrorists more than three months ago in the Gaza Strip, and is here with us today. She is, as you can see, in good health.
“The investigation into her kidnapping has been carried out to date by several United States government agencies, and it is continuing. I want to thank those agencies for the enormous efforts they have made to secure her release. However, I cannot now disclose anything further as to how this took place, because to reveal operational details might jeopardize the safety of others.
“For the record, I will make just a few points. In accordance with longstanding policy, the United States has not paid a ransom for Mrs. Cooper, and it has not conducted negotiations with any terrorist group.
“The United States utterly condemns those who perpetrated this outrage, and we will show no mercy in bringing them to justice. We will remain vigilant to protect the lives of all our citizens, especially those, like Mrs. Cooper, who serve the public good. She has shown tremendous courage, and we thank God for her safe release.
“I’m afraid we will not be taking any questions, and I ask you all to exercise forbearance as she and her family start to recover in the months ahead. Thank you.”
As Morgan had expected, there was a barrage of shouted questions, the ambassador’s announcement there would be no Q and A notwithstanding. She paused long enough to smile at CNN’s camera and to tell a proffered microphone she was “glad to be here, and feeling fine,” before dutifully following Fisher and Perkins from the room. Adam was somewhere behind her again. They were walking down a corridor, toward the opposite side of the consulate, as far as they could get from the reporters.
Morgan turned to Jennifer Perkins. “Are we done now? Do I finally get to talk to my husband?”
“In just a moment. There’s someone who needs to speak with you. Mr. Cooper, you come with me while they talk; I’ll get us some coffee.” They reached a half-open, heavy metal door. “Here we are. Morgan, please, if you could just go in here. We’ll see you again very shortly.”
Gary Thurmond was the very last person Morgan had expected to see. She knew that as her boss, he would not be allowed to play any part in debriefing her, and she had assumed that arranging to meet her before it started would be beyond even his manipulative powers. Yet there he was, tanned and dapper in a blue linen blazer, beaming from ear to ear.
“Morgan.” He stood and held out his arms. “Close that door, then no one will catch us while I give you a squeeze. Welcome, trooper. Welcome to the Company hall of fame.”
Her mouth was open, her astonishment palpable. “You. Of all people. How the hell did you get yourself in?”
“Wendell Fisher and I are old friends. More than friends, as a matter of fact. Back in the day, when he was in the oil business, he used to do a little work for me.” Gary looked down, and blew across his nails. “And in any case, all I want to do is convey the admiration of all your friends and colleagues. You’re the toast of headquarters, the name on every young officer’s lips. Great job, Morgan. You pulled it off. You nailed the hardest assignment imaginable—and that after years away from the field.”
Had she not already deduced that Gary was a psychopath, Morgan would simply not have known what to say. As it was, a single thought filled her mind: that there was no limit of human decency he would not breach.
“So what are you trying to tell me here? That first you almost had me killed, but now I’m some kind of heroine?”
“Sure you’re a heroine. And I don’t know what on earth you think you mean by saying I almost had you killed. I’ve actually been spending all my waking hours for the past several months trying to save your goddamn ass. But, boy, did you turn this thing to your advantage.” He gestured expansively. “Sit down. Let’s talk. And by the way, we can’t be overheard. In case you hadn’t figured it out, this room is a SCIF.”*
She did sit, glaring at him across the pine table. “I know what you did Gary. And I know why.”
“Okay. So surprise me. Before we get on to whatever crazy notion you’ve acquired about what I’m supposed to have done to you, do, please, explain my motive. Why would I want to hurt you? By the way, just let me say, you’re looking great, Morgan. For a woman who’s just spent three months as a prisoner of al-Qaeda, you’re looking really terrific.”
“I went to the Inspector General,” she said, ignoring his barbed compliment. “About your rendition operation in Holland. My role was supposed to stay confidential, but as I always guessed it might, somehow it leaked. And so your plan got nixed. You could simply have had me transferred, and written me a lousy appraisal. But that wasn’t enough for you. You had to make me really suffer, not just to punish me, but to encourage the others, to make it plain what happens to someone who crosses Gary Thurmond.”
While she spoke, Gary was shaking his head, quietly laughing. When she finished, he let out a sigh. “Morgan.
This is nuts. Nuts. I don’t know what it is that’s made you think this way, but I guess you’ve have been spending too much time on your own, brooding and making two and two make five hundred. Listen to me. Yes, it’s true I found out you’d been to the IG. But baby, you did me a favor. Frankly, I’m relieved we never did pick up that guy in Amsterdam. It would have been nothing but a headache. And as you so wisely realized some time before I did, extraordinary rendition really isn’t the way we should operate. It had its place, but it’s kind of passé.”
Morgan folded her arms. “Bullshit, Gary. You cared about that operation. You put a lot into it.”
Gary shrugged. “Maybe I did. But like I said, you did me a favor. Who needs the press and the oversight committees on their back, let alone the human rights brigade warriors like your own dear husband? Anyhow, rendition’s not the way of the future. The way your own assignment ended—well, that’s what is.”
“My assignment? What on earth are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that when our friends from the Marine Corps managed to rescue you, they also took out two extremely unpleasant high-value targets. Where Karim Musleh and that motherfucker white-trash German are now just happens to be beyond the scope of the Great Writ of habeas corpus. It really doesn’t matter who wins the next presidential election. John McCain, Rudy Giuliani, Hillary fucking Clinton, even, God forbid, that radical liberal black guy from Chicago. It won’t make any difference. The policy is changing. We’re in a war, a war that’s set to last a long time. And in a war, you don’t want to capture your most dangerous enemies. You want to kill them—in a smart way, of course, with the Agency in the lead, using UAVs and special forces, and with minimum collateral damage. Well, that’s what happened on that beach in Sinai. So thank you for your efforts, and get ready to receive a medal.”
Morgan was silent for many seconds. “I see,” she said finally. “But surely even you can’t get away with claiming you had all this planned. My ‘assignment,’ as you put it, was a giant, sadistic fuck-up. And you weren’t just risking my life, you were risking the Agency’s secrets. Who knows what I might have given up if the guy interrogating me most of the time hadn’t happened to be a friendly Jordanian agent? You could have been endangering agents’ lives. And what if Karim had taken me to Yemen?”
Gary smiled. “Well he didn’t, did he? As for the excellent Abu Mustafa, he was the guy interrogating you, wasn’t he, and I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear he’s doing fine in a Hamas hospital. Let’s hope he doesn’t have any unfortunate accidents on his way home.”
“You making a threat?”
“Of course not. Just wishing him good health. And expressing my relief we can trust him to keep his mouth shut.”
“Gary, I was tortured, almost killed several times.”
“I know you were. And you’ve come through it magnificently. That’s another reason why we’re all so proud of you.”
“And what about your famous Fatah coup? Your plan to crush Hamas?”
“I guess the historical forces we were trying to fight were just too strong—as your own reports from the field indicated. Shit happens. We should have listened to you more carefully. Yet another thing to be proud of. Anyhow, fuck Hamas. We don’t much like them, but they’re no direct threat to US interests. Al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula, on the other hand—well, they damn well are. And one of their biggest cadres just got whacked, along with that wannabe, Karim. So the objectives of your mission had to shift a little. Sometimes you have to show flexibility.”
Morgan was having none of it. “I already told you, Gary. I know what you did. You knew Karim had recognized me, and you had the chance to abort the operation. But you made sure I went back to Gaza, knowing I was going to be kidnapped. You must have known the likelihood was I wasn’t going to come back.”
Gary’s voice remained low and evenly modulated. But there was no disguising its tone of menace. “Ms. Cooper, my advice to you is to be more judicious in your choice of words. I know you have been under extraordinary stress. But you are making wild allegations for which you have not a single shred of evidence, and if you repeat them, they will not be believed.”
“Are you sure about that, Gary? Aren’t you running an enormous risk?”
Gary folded his hands and laid them on the table, smiling. “Here’s the thing. I don’t just know you were fucking your agent, Abdel Nasser. I have a DVD of you doing it. A CIA porno, starring you. So this is how it’s going to work. So far, only three living people know about that video—myself, Eugene, and Mike. D’oh! I almost forgot, your husband has seen it as well. When it first arrived at the Agency station in Tel Aviv, Eugene was sloppy enough to play it while Adam was in his office, before checking its contents. Well, I’m happy for things to stay this way; our secret. We will say nothing. You can go home, get your medal, and decide whether you want to resume your career. If you want to switch to another section, I’ll write you a fabulous reference.
“On the other hand, you can go to the IG or whomever else you like, and you can repeat these false allegations. In which case, I will not deny that there is a possibility of that DVD circulating right across Langley, where, if I recall correctly, having sex with an agent while working undercover is generally considered a grave enough transgression to get an officer fired. And who knows where else it may end up? It seems a British tabloid newspaper has already had a hint of it—ask your husband. Well. I’ve said enough. No need to let me know your decision. But it’s your call, Morgan. Your call.”
Morgan was in the bathroom again. Ever since her private meeting at the Consulate, her face had been pale, and she had said almost nothing. During the absurd, formal dinner at Jennifer Perkins’s residence, she had left the table three times—almost certainly, Adam thought, to be sick. Now he had confirmation: he could hear her retching, though it sounded as if there was nothing left in her stomach. She flushed the toilet, and seemed to be making an attempt to hide the smell by brushing her teeth. At last she emerged and crossed the tiled floor of their guest room, wearing a set of loaned pajamas. Adam had closed the wooden Venetian blinds, blocking out the view of the palm-fringed pool and the twinkling towers of the city. Aside from the low, king-size bed, the only other furniture was a modern Scandinavian wardrobe and a small, stained pine desk. Morgan was dabbing with a towel at her face. Her eyes, Adam noticed, were still moist.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not used to all this rich food. Still, better to get rid of it now than have to deal with it on the plane.”
He stood and made as if to embrace her. “Recovery is going to take time. Given what you’ve been through, it’s hardly surprising you’re finding it hard. But we’ve got time. As much time as you need. Come here.”
She pushed him away. “No, Adam, I don’t want you to hold me. Leave me alone. We’ve got to be up in just a few hours, in any case. Let’s just try to get some sleep.”
“I’m trying to help. I love you, Morgan. Please, let me in here. If we start to share this stuff, it can only get easier.”
“Forget it, okay?” A sudden blaze of anger. “You warned me something like this would happen, and I wouldn’t listen. So then it did. You were right, as always. Vindication must be sweet.” She sat down on the bed and he followed her, perching cross-legged against the headboard.
“Morgan, I hardly think the fights we had before you went to Gaza matter very much now. They’re behind us. What matters is getting you well, getting you over this. And then we’ll see about trying to seek redress—from the people really responsible for getting you kidnapped.”
“Save the attorney-speak, okay? It’s not going to happen. As for getting over it, I’ll talk to my Agency shrink. Adam. It’s time to stop pretending. What’s just been proven in the most horrible way is that we no longer have a marriage. I appreciate what you did to save me. Without you, I’d probably be dead. But that doesn’t mean we should have a life together. Let’s face the truth for the once. W
e have nothing in common any more. Let’s not prolong the agony, or make it any worse. Admit it. We’re done.”
It had been obvious to Adam from the moment he saw her outside the elevator that rebuilding their relationship was going to be a daunting task. Yet it seemed apparent that Morgan’s distress and anger had a fresh, specific source, some new factor that had not been present earlier.
“Did something happen in that meeting? When you went into that room after the press conference?”
“Yes. Something happened. I saw my boss, Gary Thurmond. I believe you are acquainted with him, too. As ever, he was very persuasive.”
Adam swallowed. He could guess what was coming. “So what did he say?”
“Like I said a few moments ago, it’s time to stop pretending. I know that you know that I had an affair, and as you must also realize, Gary does too. In rather more detail than is good for anyone. As it happens, I wasn’t really in love with the man I slept with, but I found him sweet and brave, and he swept me off my feet. And the thing we have to face is that ultimately, the reason I had an affair was that our marriage was already dead. Until today, when Gary Thurmond told me, I had no idea how you found out, and for that, I am truly, deeply sorry. But in the end, we both have to take responsibility that it happened.”
“I know why you had an affair,” said Adam. “And yes, I was a self-obsessed asshole, who always put myself first. I know I have to change. But give me the chance to work with you, Morgan. I didn’t do all I could to save your life just to lose you afterward. We can get over this.”
