by Judith Price
Sitting inside the SUV, Jill thought she saw a figure standing in the doorway of the hangar as they turned a fast circle. Before she could get a second look, they had turned the corner and the silhouette was gone.
Jill juggled her thoughts as they drove along the Potomac River to FBI headquarters. The midnight black tint on the SUV windows dulled the sunshine trying to work its way through the glass.
Was there someone watching me? If there was, why? Maybe I’m just tired… it was a feeble attempt to deny her intuition.
As they drove along the winding road, Eric continued explaining the details on the Al Qaeda capture, talking about how the departments worked together, and complaining about how the CIA was always treading on their toes. She’d heard it all before.
Keep it together Jill; keep it together. The mantra kept her sane on the short ride to headquarters, even as her thoughts drifted back once again to David. Unprompted, she thought about what had happened five days ago ...
***
That morning she had awoken to no sign of David. They had been married for just over a year—still in the honeymoon stage, where David would often wake Jill up slowly by caressing her body. This day was different. She awoke alone except for the beam of sunshine reflecting off of the mirror beside her king-sized bed. Lying there in warmth, she pulled herself out of bed, lifted her red silk robe from its hook on the door, wrapped it around her olive-skinned taut body, and headed towards the kitchen. The smell of coffee told her David was home, but he wasn’t in the kitchen. She checked the solarium—empty. Habit guided her to his office.
With a deadline looming, he must have been putting the finishing touches to an article. Yet, as a correspondent for Time, his deadlines were always at midnight. To see David working this early was an anomaly.
Perhaps he had a special evening planned, Jill thought hopefully, and with a slight spring in her step she approached the office door. Walking softly, hoping to avoid disturbing him, she could hear him talking to someone in a low tone. She could sense the agitation in his voice and she got the feeling he was speaking to a female. Jill could often place tonality since she had studied this in her second year at the US Marshal Service.
When the conversation had ended, she peered in and offered a sweet, “Who was that, handsome?”
David abruptly pivoted around and tucked his mobile phone into his jacket pocket. Even in the early morning, David was striking. His rugged, strong Robert Redford-type face made her wonder why he became a journalist instead of an actor. She was happy with his choice, as an actor would be far too vain for a life-mate. But she couldn’t help but gush over his beauty. He was dressed for his regular squash game with his buddy Steve—a regular event when David was home. His long, tight black running shorts accentuated his tanned quads. Jill loved a man with nice legs and a delicious tight ass. The top half of his body was covered with a Nike black jacket, shielding him from Jill’s desire to walk over and straddle him into submission.
“It’s just my editor on my case to get this article to him,” he responded in a monotone.
As Jill looked at him quizzically, he added: “I have some bad news.” David hesitated, averting his eyes from Jill to a spot on the floor. “I have to go back into the field.”
“When?” She folded her arms slowly. Her jet-black hair slid off her shoulder as she cocked her head to one side.
“Tonight,” he said softly, getting up and walking toward her. He hadn’t shaved, and a dusting of hair darkened his chin, just the way she liked it. Her heart sank fast, hitting a newly formed lump in her stomach.
“I have to head back to Doha to follow up on the interviews on those U.S. soldiers back from Iraq. My editor feels there is enough information over there to get another story off the ground, and I guess I’m the only one available to do it. Sorry, my love,” he said, arching one of his blond eyebrows. For a second Jill thought she could see a twinkle in his blue eyes. He normally made her melt when he looked at her this way, but today she only felt unsettled.
“It’s fine,” she pouted. “I’m still knee-deep in my current assignment anyway. Coffee made?”
David pulled her into a tight hug. “You’re not mad, are you, babe?”
Jill didn’t answer; she just hugged him back. He knew and Jill knew. Nothing more needed to be said.
The day turned into evening and David was attentive for most of the day — yet somehow distracted. She asked him what was on his mind, but he didn’t respond with any sort of convincing answer. He kept insisting nothing was wrong, but Jill knew better. Walking into their bedroom, Jill saw that his suitcase, lying on the smooth wood floor, was already packed. Shirts were folded as if a professional launderer had done them. David routinely lined up his clothes on the bed, determining the best fit for each trip.
The sun was dipping behind the Catalina's outside the bathroom window. The sound of splattering water with steam puffing up drew her to the shower, but when she looked through the clear glass door she could not see him. Then behind her, a feather-light touch on her shoulder signaled her to relax. His lips caressed the back of her neck and the warmth in her belly melted her nervous lump. His fingers lifted her shirt up ever so slightly, adding more heat to the already steamy room. Jill began to feel the warmth of the tingle move lower. He gracefully slid his hands up her rib cage, taunting her, then cupped her firm breasts. His fingers pinched her hardened nipples and he whispered into her ear, “Wanna clean up with me?”
The place between her legs began to ache and pulse. He slowly turned her around, then kissed her hard, his tongue lashing at hers inside her warm mouth. The mist of the shower fogged in the bathroom as David lifted the cropped T-shirt over her head with practiced ease and gazed in admiration at her flesh. Then he cocked his head and turned and walked into the hot rain. Jill pushed her shorts to her ankles, kicked them into a heap on the floor and stepped in. Sliding wet skin on wet skin, they played in the shower until the water ran cold. Then, wrapped together in a towel, David lifted her up between the two sinks and plunged into her hard on the cool surface. The hot pleasure rushed through their bodies, and her head went light when she felt David’s release …
***
The sound of a horn blaring from an impatient driver brought Jill back to the present. Her heart won that debate over her mind as she tried to understand what he must be going through, to be out of touch for five days. She crossed her legs as they drove through the gate.
“Let’s get this finished,” Eric said as they walked into a gray building.
Inside, suited men and women rushed past, as if all in a hurry. The strong smell of Detrol dried her nose and she winced. “Oh God,” Jill whispered under her breath. Once again, Jill reminded herself she was right to leave the FBI when the posturing energy, thick as smoke, filled the halls. After being introduced to a series of faceless agents, Jill, Tom, Eric, and the suits were led to a large boardroom with a giant TV screen in front. Water and coffee jugs sat on a large table in the low-lit room.
Someone turned on the TV and everyone focused on a small room in which sat LaLani—or Rashid, as Jill believed. He sat there blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back. The camera did not show the interrogators, and the only indication of there being two of them were the tops of the papers from the angle of the filming. The speaker in the center of the table crackled as it began to record the event. The white coiled microphone that spoke directly in the interrogator’s ears was also hidden from view.
It was Jill’s job as a terrorist profiler to help flesh out the truth. The truth … there was never any real truth, she had concluded. Devising profiles of terrorists could be extremely tricky, as they often appeared to be normal people. Although serial killers and the like are sometimes said to be the “average guy next door,” there was always something amiss that would help a crime profiler. Mommy issues, childhood abuse, those kinds of things—and there was always narcissism. But studies of terrorists showed that other than extreme religious beliefs
, most are sane folks. Males between the ages of twenty and twenty-five were typical ages for the field ops who acted as a martyr. Their goal was to blend in and appear normal. And this was where Jill thought LaLani was going overkill.
As they began the interrogation, Jill looked at Eric and gave him a clear signal—he leaned forward and pressed the mute button.
“Untie his hands and take off the blindfold,” she said firmly. There are three main goals when profiling an individual: a psychological assessment of the social behavior of the individual, an assessment of the possessions found on him, and the development of a series of questions for the interview. In this profile, Jill used investigative psychology, which was a different technique to that which an FBI profiler might use. The FBI tended to use tools such as “thinking like a criminal.” Instead, Jill compared links between background characteristics and the offender’s behavior assessment alongside previous threats and events. Such as the hind sight of 9/11.
Eric repeated the request into a black box in the middle of the conference table.
Jill needed to identify a level of stress with offender profiling. Offender profiling is considered the third wave of investigative science—the first is the study of clues, and the second, the study of the crime itself. It's often used with psychological profiling, which includes identifying a person’s mental, emotional, and personality characteristics. Jill had already determined (per the brief) that the man behind the screen fit Rashid’s description and closely matched the photo. Jill wasn’t there to interrogate in a “Guantanamo Bay” kind of way. She’d leave that to the others. She was there to confirm they had the right men in custody. That was the only reason she was there. And she was convinced this man who called himself Lalani was indeed Ali Bin Amr Rashid, or Dr. E., the brain behind Al Qaeda's uranium enrichment and weapons maintenance.
The room fell silent and the lights dimmed even more. Penlights glowed on pads of paper as the suits took notes. Jill watched and listened intently. Then she noticed something. Rashid’s lip twitched on the right—a sign of disbelief or contempt. She saw it only once, but it was there. The interrogator continued in Arabic, reading off the list of questions Jill had provided.
They weren't leading questions or, at least Jill didn't think so. She was tired of this case, and her instincts had told her she was right about who LaLani really was—Rashid. He refused to answer any of the questions, but when the interrogator began to speak of Brazil, He shifted in his chair, and looked agitated. He knew what the bully boys had in store for him—how could he not? The interrogator slid a paper in front of him. Jill knew the drill, he was being told to admit he was Rashid, to sign something to say so. If he didn’t sign it, the man threatened in Arabic, he would be worse off once they got through with him here. It was Rashid, all right, Jill thought as he signed the paper.
“Do you need anything more, Jill?” Eric asked. The static on the speaker sounded liked white noise from a blank TV screen. Looking around, Jill realized that the interrogation had paused, and all eyes were on her. It took a moment for her to collect her thoughts. She straightened a bit and said crisply, “I have what I need.”
The room emptied fast. Eric motioned to Tom to leave him and Jill alone. The bright florescent lights hummed above them. There it was again. That look; pity. Eric walked to her, reached out and grasped her arms.
“Jill, I know you're worried about David, but today … you‘re just not yourself. I don’t think I need to tell you this, but I will. You need to stay focused. National security is at stake here, maybe even world security.”
For the first time in years, Jill felt her eyes begin to fill. Eric still had that kind, fatherly look as he said: “You need to figure out what is going on with David, Jill. Why not take some time off? I’m sure Sven will give you a break. Your job on this case is pretty much finished. Take some time, and come back in a couple of days we can wrap up any loose ends.”
He looked down his nose sternly, not waiting for her reaction before he ordered softly, “Take the jet back to Tucson, Jill. Tom can stay on and finish the brief. This is just the bureaucratic crap part anyway.” Gently he put his hand on her lower back, guiding her towards the exit. Slightly miffed Jill allowed herself to be maneuvered out the door.
“But …” Jill started to protest.
“I’ll put a call into Sven, he'll give you the time off.”
“No,” she retorted. “I don’t need a babysitter, Eric.” Then Jill thought hard before saying, “I'm going to Doha?”
“I know you, Jill, and I know I can’t stop your stubborn ass,” Eric sighed. “But if go to Doha, be careful. We don’t have authority or jurisdiction in Doha, nor the budget to assist you when you get there. But I will put in a call to ops and ask them to give you any information they have, as well as the clearance you will need.”
Eric stopped and looked Jill in the eyes. “David is okay, Jill, you know that. He is out there somewhere. He’s just not able to reach you.”
Jill could tell he was feigning confidence. But before she could object, he slipped out the door with these parting words: “Don’t worry about the case. You’ve done a great job. I’ll e-mail you when we complete the report.”
Chapter Four
11:42 Zulu Time—SOMEWHERE OVER THE MIDWEST
“You okay, Jill?” a woman asked inquisitively. “You don’t look that great; it's almost three p.m. Have you eaten anything?”
The same flight attendant was on the Lear going back to Tucson and approached Jill. Heather knew Jill was married, but Jill hardly ever spoke about her personal life. Today was different.
“Have I ever told you about when I first met David, my husband?” Jill asked in an emotionless, almost robotic voice. Without waiting for an answer, Jill gazed through Heather rather than at her, and continued …
“It was on a rafting trip down the Colorado River, starting from Lee’s Ferry, Arizona, and going down to Phantom River.” Jill’s eyes moved from Heather to the small portal window where clouds dappled a blue expanse. “I went there to guide about four times a year on those enormous river rafting boats, whenever I could get away for a few days. That trip, that particular day, felt different. I guess you could say I was in the zone. Then I saw David. There was an immediate spark and when we began to talk I discovered his calm confidence and independence. He was just the kind of man I was looking for …” Jill's voice trailed off.
David.
Jill looked over at Heather. “I need some time alone, Heather, okay?” Heather rose from her seat with a shrug. Jill didn’t care if she was ticked off. She needed to think about what she was going to do next. She’d already put the call in to Sven—she hadn't volunteered the reason behind her request, and he had approved her time off without question. She said nothing about David because she had no intention of having her boss think: “Poor broken up Jill can't function because of a man.” He was an ass. No. She was ambitious and she had to be careful not to appear the sniveling lovesick puppy, even though she felt like one! That would clearly be a career-limiting move in the man's world of national security.
Once back on the ground, Jill felt it again, that odd something-is-not-quite-right-but-can't-put-my-finger-on-exactly-what-is-wrong feeling. A shiver moved through her when she got into her car, but all she could do was shrug it off as nerves. Besides, she was too busy to concern herself with possible paranoia. She had to figure out where to start, what to do. The rumble of her car was comforting somehow as she drove towards their house on the hill.
Tucson was surrounded by mountains in every direction. The Santa Catalina Mountains to the north were close to the city, but not as close as the Tucson Mountains in the west. If they had bought a home to the east, it would have been in the Rincon Mountains. It wasn’t as quaint as Page, Arizona where she grew up, but Jill didn’t mind as she shifted into low gear, and began her ascent into the foothills of the Catalinas. Home is what she needed now. With a glimmer of hope she pictured David there.
&n
bsp; Jill glanced in the rear-view mirror. Tired eyes below a knitted brow looked back at her. Still on the main highway, and aware despite her fatigue, she noticed a black SUV in the far left lane traveling at a steady pace with her. When she stole a second look it was gone.
“Come on, Jill, keep it together,” she mumbled, annoyed with herself. Ten minutes later, she pulled into her garage and sighed heavily before going into the house.
Somberness surrounded her heart as she sat in the comfort of the glass house in the hills. The trip back was a blur. How she got there, Jill couldn’t quite remember. Sitting in her office, she found herself staring at nothing, ignoring the papers strewn across the cluttered desk. The words Eric spoke to her still pricked at her pride. “What's happening to me?” Jill spoke softly.
“Grams, Grams,” she whispered. It was at that moment a bird, a chickadee, perched itself on the windowsill.
Jill eyed the small, vulnerable bird. It chirped, then swiftly flew away as Jill reached past a dirty coffee mug on her desk and picked up the phone.
Crap—voice-mail. Thank God there was only one.
“Jill, this is Stan Brown. Can you please call me at this number on my satellite phone? It’s important.” The voice-mail clicked off.
“What the hell do you want, you piece of shit? Anything you have to say is never important,” Jill thought to herself. Stan was David’s father, but David had forbidden Jill to communicate with him, or any other members of his family for that matter, since their last falling out close to a year ago. It was a nasty fight, most of which Jill had the misfortune of witnessing, before exiting as gracefully as she could and thus missing the finale.
David had told Jill about many disturbing and sometimes shocking experiences while being raised by Stan, his bullish, narcissistic father and Carol, his trophy-wife mother. Whenever he spoke of them, sadness and anger filled his eyes. But David would never tell her what the final straw was on the fateful day of “the family feud.” Jill’s suspicion was that his family didn't like the fact that he had married a Native American. If that was the case, Jill didn’t care. She had become immune to various forms of racism and snobbery, having experienced them her whole life.
