Two Steps Forward

by Luana Ehrlich

  I looked around the living room.

  “Oh, sure. I get that. When I bought the house, I had the owner leave all the furniture, so I realize this stuff is pretty outdated.”

  “Are you saying there’s nothing of sentimental value here?”

  “Nothing except my telescope in the sunroom.”

  “What about the colors?”

  “What colors?”

  “The wall colors. Would you mind if I had the walls painted a different color?”

  “No, that’s fine.”

  “And what about updating the appliances?”

  “I thought you said you loved my double oven.”

  “I love your double oven. I just want to update it.”

  “Okay, I’m good with that.”

  “Let’s talk about the master bedroom.”

  “Sure, let’s talk about the bedroom.”

  “Would you mind if I made some changes there as well?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like getting rid of all that dark heavy furniture.”

  “Even the leather recliner?”

  “You want to keep it?”

  “It’s pretty comfortable.”

  “I don’t mind compromising. The leather recliner can stay. Now, let’s talk about the patio.”

  In the months that followed, Nikki and I had a few more conversations that ended up in similar compromises, and now here I was sitting out on my newly redecorated patio the night before my wedding, about to go to bed in my completely refurnished master bedroom, and wondering if I would ever get used to the gray walls in my freshly painted office.

  Suddenly, I realized my wedding jitters had returned, and just as I was about to try Danny Jarrar’s suggestion and start contemplating the stars, my phone vibrated.

  It was Carlton.

  “Are you nervous about tomorrow?” he asked.

  “What’s there to be nervous about? I’m marrying a beautiful, fascinating woman, and I’ve already learned marriage is all about compromise.”

  Carlton laughed, something he rarely did, and as I was about to ask him why he thought that was so funny, he turned serious.

  “I’ve received some new intel about Lisa Redding from my contact in Shin Bet.”

  Chapter 2

  Before Carlton told me what he’d learned about Lisa Redding, he explained how he’d met Moshe Geller, his contact in Shin Bet.

  It was a long explanation.

  It wasn’t until he reached the end of his story that he mentioned Geller was the head of Shin Bet’s Counterterrorism Division.

  “I’m surprised he had any information about Ms. Redding,” I said. “I don’t imagine missing persons are in his portfolio.”

  “No, but he was able to get one of his analysts to pull up her information without any problem. He got back to me within a few hours.”

  “Just like that, he found her? I’ve been communicating with a social worker in the Defense Department for five months now, and she claims she hasn’t been able to come up with a current address on her.”

  “He was able to give me an address, but I can’t guarantee how current it is. It’s dated a year ago.”

  “Well, at least that’s a start. Jeremy told me his mother-in-law had moved to Israel after her divorce, and the last time he’d seen her had been at his wife’s funeral. Would you mind emailing me that address?”

  “Why don’t I just bring it with me when I come to the wedding tomorrow? Moshe said he’d do some more checking and see what else he could come up with on Ms. Redding. Maybe I’ll have more than just an address by then.”

  “You’re coming to the wedding tomorrow?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course, I am. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Although Carlton had always taken a personal interest in my life—an intrusion I sometimes resented—when I’d spoken to him a few days ago, he hadn’t mentioned he was coming to my wedding.

  Now, his surprising announcement made me slightly suspicious.

  He continued. “I’m flying out in the morning. I should be in Oklahoma City by one o’clock and at the church by two. You didn’t think I’d miss your wedding, did you?”

  “Uh . . . I wasn’t sure you’d be able to get away. With the Arab Summit coming up, and the uproar over the Iraqi elections, I just figured you must have several operations running.”

  “If that’s your way of trying to get information out of me about what operations I have on the board in the Ops Center, you’re not being very subtle. You may need to take a refresher course in tradecraft techniques when you get back from your honeymoon.”

  “Since when have I ever been good at subtlety? Could you at least tell me if the DDO has authorized our people to run surveillance on the delegates to the Summit?”

  “Of course, he has, but that’s all I can tell you for now. However, I’m glad you brought up the Arab Summit. I wanted to speak to you about a strange coincidence that was just brought to my attention today, and you know how I feel about coincidences.”

  “There are no coincidences.”

  “Correct. So you can imagine what I thought when I learned you’ll be spending your honeymoon in Marrakesh, Morocco.”

  “I can explain that. It’s not what you think.”

  “What I think is that you and Nikki will be in Marrakesh, Morocco, at the same time the Arab Summit will be meeting there. Some people might call that a coincidence, but I—”

  “Nikki wanted to—”

  “—have my doubts. Not only will you be in the same city where the Arab Summit is taking place, you’ll be staying at La Mamounia Hotel. What’s going on, Titus?”

  “Nothing’s going on other than I’m getting married tomorrow, and my bride and I are honeymooning in Marrakesh at a five-star hotel. I didn’t realize the Summit was being held there until after I’d made our plane reservations and booked the honeymoon suite at La Mamounia. I told Nikki she could choose anywhere she wanted us to go on our honeymoon, and she picked Morocco. End of story.”

  “Did she also pick the hotel?”

  “No, I made our hotel reservations. Why does that matter?”

  “Members of the Iraqi delegation are also staying at La Mamounia.”

  “I didn’t have that information when I reserved the honeymoon suite back in January, and if what I’ve read in the papers is correct, the Arab Summit was only confirmed a month ago.”

  “That’s right. It’s been in the works for a couple of months, but until a month ago, all the parties weren’t confirmed. So you’re telling me there’s no connection between the Arab Summit taking place in the same city where you’ll be spending your honeymoon?”

  “None whatsoever. You know, Douglas, I believe what we have here is what most dictionaries would define as a coincidence.”

  “I’ll reserve judgment on that.”

  “Did my name pop up when our analysts were looking for suspicious names on hotel reservation lists for the Summit?”

  “Yes. Katherine Broward delivered the list of hotel reservations to me this morning. Your name was circled in red.”

  Katherine was the head of the Analysis and Strategic Assessment division at the Agency and considered one of the top counterintelligence analysts in the business.

  I’d dated her briefly years ago, but it had gone nowhere. Even though we were still good friends, I hadn’t invited her to my wedding.

  I asked, “Did she make any comment about my reservation being in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Titus Ray?”

  “She asked me if that was part of your cover story at the Arab Summit. When I told her you were getting married tomorrow, she seemed rather surprised.”

  “I haven’t spoken to Katherine since I went on leave in December. The last time I saw her was at my debrief for Operation Rebel Merchant.”

  “Now that your leave is about over, how do you feel about getting back to work?”

  “Once Nikki and I are back in the States, I’ll be camping on your doorstep begging for an assignm
ent.”

  “There’s no need for that. I’ve already assigned you to an operation. It’s only in the planning stages, but it’s yours when it goes live.”

  Although I was seldom able to coerce Carlton into revealing the details of an upcoming operation before it was approved by the DDO, that didn’t mean I didn’t try. Nevertheless, I’d learned if I kept my questions to one specific thing, he was more apt to divulge the pertinent details.

  “Does this operation take place in Iraq?” I asked.

  “As a matter of fact, it does,” he said. “Was that just a lucky guess, or have you been talking to Ben Mitchell?”

  “What does Ben have to do with my new assignment?”

  “So you haven’t spoken to Ben lately?”

  “The last time I talked to him was a couple of weeks ago when he called to let me know he wouldn’t be able to make it to my wedding.”

  “That’s because I sent him to Iraq. He’s over there right now.”

  “He didn’t give me a reason why he couldn’t make it. What’s he doing in Iraq?”

  “Just some preliminary preparation for your next mission. You’ll be the primary for the operation, but Ben will be one of the principals.”

  “Does Ben know the specifics of the operation?”

  “No, I couldn’t tell him about the operation yet, but when he heard I was sending him over to Baghdad on a solo assignment, he didn’t seem to care.”

  Carlton paused a moment, and then I heard him chuckle. “You mean Ben didn’t tell you anything about his assignment?”

  “No, but that doesn’t surprise me. He’s probably keeping it a secret so he can drop a bombshell on me when we both show up for our briefing.”

  “If that’s true, it reminds me of a similar stunt you pulled several years ago.”

  “Are you saying Ben is a lot like me?”

  “No, I’m saying Ben is a younger version of you.”

  “So you’re saying I’m getting old.”

  “No, I’m saying you’re a seasoned veteran, and you treat Ben like he’s your protégé.”

  I started to protest, but Carlton cut me off.

  “Now that we’ve established you’re a seasoned veteran, I don’t suppose you’d mind engaging in a little surveillance activity while you’re on your honeymoon, especially since you’ve managed to position yourself in the middle of the Arab Summit.”

  When Carlton mentioned engaging in surveillance activity, I suddenly realized I was no longer feeling anxious.

  Gazing up at the stars might do it for Danny Jarrar.

  Getting back in the game did it for me.

  * * * *

  Before I could say anything, Carlton put me on hold while he responded to a red alert from the Ops Center.

  While I waited, I contemplated all the possible scenarios Carlton might have in mind.

  In reality, engaging in surveillance activity was a catchall phrase that could include anything from following a target, initiating contact with an asset, or checking out someone’s living arrangements.

  In this situation, where high-ranking members of a country’s ruling party were coming together at a summit to sign a few irrelevant documents, surveillance could also mean taking photographs of an official’s entourage or trying to recruit a sympathetic member of the official delegation.

  I’d conducted operations in almost all the countries who were sending delegates to the Arab Summit—from the heavy-hitters like Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Iraq, to the smaller countries like Qatar, Kuwait, and Bahrain.

  However, since Carlton had just admitted my upcoming operation was in Iraq, I suspected the surveillance activity he had in mind involved the Iraqi delegation.

  I hadn’t been all that surprised when Carlton had admitted he was sending me to Iraq for my next assignment.

  In fact, I thought it might be an answer to prayer.

  Praying about a future assignment was unusual for me, but after a disturbing discussion I’d had with Carlton a few months ago, I’d decided the circumstances definitely called for it.

  The discussion was about Teddy Davenport, the new Director of Field Operations—the division responsible for managing the Agency’s field offices in our embassies around the world. I’d heard a rumor he was planning to get rid of some of the older station chiefs and replace them with veteran covert officers.

  When I’d mentioned the rumor to Carlton, he’d confirmed it, and then he’d shocked me with some unexpected news.

  He’d told me Davenport was going to offer me the position of station chief in Iraq as soon as the Agency’s hierarchy had given him final approval to restructure the division.

  Making changes wasn’t in my DNA, so I’d immediately disavowed any interest in the position.

  But Carlton had said I shouldn’t dismiss the notion outright, and after emphasizing I had all the necessary qualifications to make an excellent chief of station, he’d asked me to reconsider my decision.

  I’d reminded him I was getting married soon, and I couldn’t expect Nikki to leave her job with the Norman Police Department and move to Iraq, but then he’d countered my argument by saying arrangements could be made for Nikki to have a job at the American Embassy, and he’d cautioned me about making decisions for Nikki without talking it over with her.

  By the end of our discussion, Carlton had convinced me to use my time off to consider the possibility of making the move, but I’d warned him not to be surprised if I said no when Davenport contacted me.

  When he’d heard I was willing to give the matter more thought, he’d assured me Davenport would call me after the details had been approved by the Agency’s top brass.

  Now, five months had gone by, and I still hadn’t heard a word from Teddy Davenport, and Carlton hadn’t brought up the subject during our occasional phone calls to each other.

  I just figured Davenport’s plans for restructuring his division had met an untimely death once they’d arrived on the seventh floor.

  More than likely, his plans had been hacked to pieces by the suits who occupied the offices on the Agency’s top floor in the Old Headquarters Building, and the dismembered parts of Davenport’s plan had been buried in the Agency’s basement archives.

  If that were the case, then I considered the demise of Davenport’s restructuring plans a good thing. On the other hand, since Carlton’s upcoming operation involved Iraq, there was a chance Davenport’s plans had been approved.

  If that were the case, then perhaps I was being sent to Iraq to check things out before I was officially offered the chief of station position.

  That scenario was more or less in keeping with how I’d been praying about the situation after I’d had the discussion with Carlton.

  When I’d first heard about it, I’d told God I wasn’t interested in making a career change, and I’d rather not hear about it again.

  But then, after attending a church service with Nikki in January and hearing a sermon about how God often sends circumstances into our lives to test our faith, I’d told God I still wasn’t interested in making a career change, but I’d be willing to check it out if my next assignment took me to Iraq.

  Whether this was an acceptable way of praying about something, I wasn’t sure. I’d only attempted my first prayer about a year ago after living with some Iranian Christians in Tehran, but now that I was being sent to Iraq, perhaps that meant I was on the right track.

  Carlton came back on the line. “I’m sorry, Titus. We’ll have to continue this conversation tomorrow. Do you think you could manage to slip away during the wedding reception so we could talk for a few minutes?”

  “I don’t see why not. All I have to do is show up tomorrow.”

  “Take it from me, Titus. Nikki expects you to do more than just show up at the church tomorrow.”

  “What else does she expect me to do?”

  “You’ll find out tomorrow.”

  * * * *

  Several months ago, when Nikki had asked me where I wanted
to have our wedding, I’d suggested Bethel Church in Norman. She said she’d been thinking the same thing.

  Since we’d met there, I suppose our mutual choice wasn’t that surprising.

  Granted, the circumstances under which we’d met hadn’t been the most auspicious for our future—I’d discovered a dead body at the church, and she’d been assigned to investigate the murder—but somehow, we’d managed to overcome these obstacles, and now, I rather liked the idea Nikki and I had met at a church, although I’d never belonged to a church myself.

  That wasn’t the case with Nikki.

  She’d gone to church all her life, and when she’d asked me if she could have her pastor, Dennis Moore, from the Faith Community Church in Norman, perform our wedding ceremony, I’d been all for it.

  In fact, I’d left the details of planning our wedding completely up to Nikki, and I’d vowed to keep my opinions to myself, which turned out to be a lot harder than I thought it would be.

  The wedding rehearsal yesterday was a perfect example.

  Pastor Moore had instructed everyone in the wedding party to be at the church no later than one o’clock.

  Personally, I thought one o’clock was a little too early for a two o’clock wedding, but I hadn’t said anything.

  I also hadn’t said anything when I’d heard the pastor ask Nikki if she wanted him to invite our family members to have their picture taken with the wedding party following the ceremony.

  Nikki had liked that idea.

  Me, not so much.

  Since Nikki had been raised by foster parents, there wouldn’t be any of her relatives at the wedding. That meant any family members who wanted to have their picture taken with the wedding party would have to be my relatives from Flint, Michigan.

  For obvious reasons, I didn’t like having my picture taken.

  I especially didn’t like having my picture taken with relatives.

  My aversion to being photographed had nothing to do with being an introvert—although I was one.

  It had everything to do with finding myself in a situation where I was confronted with a photograph of Titus Ray when I was supposed to be someone other than Titus Ray.