Five Years in Yemen

by Luana Ehrlich

  I pocketed the items without asking where they’d come from, although I suspected they’d been used before during a different operation.

  Carlton gestured at a military-grade laptop on the credenza behind him.

  “Take that laptop with you when you leave. The files on there will tell you all you need to know about Travis Zachary and Stephen Gault, the other member of Levin’s team.”

  I took a closer look at the personnel photograph of Gault on Carlton’s computer. “That guy looks familiar to me. Does he still work for SSG?”

  “No, both Zachary and Gault left SSG after Levin disappeared. Gault has a computer business in Detroit now.”

  “You haven’t said anything about Jacob Levin’s family. Is he married?”

  “He’s not married, but he does have a brother. I’m sure you’ve heard of Congressman Daniel Levin from Illinois.”

  Carlton stared at me for a few seconds without saying anything.

  Finally, the synapses in my brain fired, and I asked, “Does Congressman Levin have anything to do with the political aspects of this operation?”

  Carlton walked over to a leather recliner and picked up a newspaper. When he handed it to me, he said, “You’ll find the answer on page four.”

  When I opened up the paper to page four, I saw a photograph of Congressman Daniel Levin standing before a large crowd. The caption noted he was giving a speech at the South Carolina State Fair. In the article, the columnist suggested the Congressman’s attendance at the fair was an early indicator he planned to challenge the President’s bid for a second term. He also said unnamed sources had told him Congressman Levin was planning to announce his intentions to run sometime in January.

  “So, Daniel Levin, the brother of Jacob Levin, may have Presidential aspirations, and that’s the reason the operation has been delayed until January?”

  “That’s correct,” Carlton said, resuming his seat behind his desk.

  “You know politics isn’t my strong suit, Douglas. How would Congressman Levin’s ambitions affect the operation?”

  Carlton ran his hand over his bald head and said, “I’m taking my cues from the DDO on this, but he seems to think the President might want to wait until Congressman Levin announces his candidacy before approving the operation. That way, if something embarrassing turns up on Jacob Levin, the President’s campaign could use it against Congressman Daniel Levin.”

  “Does the DDO know something about Jacob Levin’s disappearance you’re not telling me?”

  “As I said before, you’ll be fully briefed on Levin’s activities when we initiate the operation in January. The only thing I’m asking you to do right now is to see what Travis Zachary can tell you about Jacob Levin. Once you’ve done that, I’d advise you not to give the operation another thought until after the new year.”

  “That won’t be a problem. I’ll have plenty to think about in the next three months.”

  Carlton closed the lid on his laptop and said, “I’m guessing that means you’ll be spending most of your time with your detective.”

  “That’s right. Yesterday, I asked Nikki to marry me.”

  * * * *

  To say Carlton looked pleased at this announcement would have been an understatement.

  Actually, he looked downright ecstatic.

  His reaction didn’t surprise me.

  For several years now, he’d had a not-so-subtle way of showing concern for my lack of close personal relationships.

  In fact, I’d come to believe this had been part of his motivation for recommending Nikki to the FBI’s counterterrorism training at Quantico—he’d wanted to encourage my relationship with her.

  I still didn’t know for sure how Carlton had learned about my friendship with Nikki, but I’d always had a hunch he’d heard it from Danny Jarrar, a former operative who was head of counterterrorism at the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation.

  Nikki and I had met six months ago when I was on medical leave in Oklahoma. The medical leave had been authorized by the DDO because of a broken leg I’d suffered during a mission in Iran.

  My broken leg was just an excuse, though. In reality, the DDO had been upset with me about some disparaging remarks I’d made about him during an operational debriefing.

  If Carlton hadn’t suggested it, I probably wouldn’t have chosen Oklahoma for my extended absence from the Agency, but, as things turned out, it had been one of his better ideas.

  He’d suggested I relocate to Oklahoma because Danny Jarrar and I had lived in Norman when we were investigating the 9/11 terrorists who’d attended a flight school run by The University of Oklahoma.

  Because Danny had later returned to the state and taken a position with OSBI, Carlton had recommended I renew my friendship with him and spend my forced medical leave in Norman. After rejecting the alternative—returning to my hometown of Flint, Michigan, where my sister and her family still lived—I’d decided his idea made sense.

  A few weeks after my arrival in Norman, a young woman I’d recently met was murdered. At the time, I was being stalked by Ahmed Al-Amin, a Hezbollah assassin, and I thought he’d killed her.

  Nikki Saxon had been the lead detective in the investigation of the woman’s death, and after convincing her I wasn’t the killer, we’d worked together to find the real murderer.

  In order to persuade her I had the credentials necessary to join her investigation, I’d had to reveal my true identity to her. By doing so, I’d broken several Agency rules and put myself in legal jeopardy with the Justice Department.

  Fortunately, Carlton had stepped in and recommended Nikki for the FBI’s counterterrorism training, which meant she’d have a Top-Secret security clearance once she graduated from the Academy’s training program tomorrow. It also meant my slate would be wiped clean with the Agency, as well as the Justice Department.

  My inability to share the classified details of my life with Nikki had been a source of contention between us, and there’d been times in the last few months when I hadn’t been sure our relationship was going to survive the secrecy issues.

  However, with her newly acquired security clearance, I’d be able to share those operational details with her.

  That didn’t mean I’d tell Nikki everything—I wasn’t an open-book type of guy—but at least I could discuss certain aspects of my assignment with her and let her know where I’d be deployed.

  Nikki was an excellent detective, and, as I’d gotten to know her, I’d shared certain hypothetical situations related to my assignments with her. Each time, she’d been able to give me some insights I hadn’t seen before.

  Now, I realized with her new security clearance, she could help me interview Travis Zachary when we got to Springfield.

  However, I decided not to share my plans with Carlton.

  * * * *

  Carlton asked me a few questions about when and where I’d proposed to Nikki, and after telling him I’d popped the question in the Marine Corps Chapel at Quantico, he seemed satisfied I hadn’t embarrassed myself.

  “That sounds like an appropriate location,” he said, looking over at his own wedding photograph. “I asked Gladys to marry me at her father’s horse farm in Kentucky. It seemed fitting at the time because that’s where she grew up, and she loved horses.”

  “Nikki and I met at a church in Norman, but, to be truthful, that wasn’t the reason I proposed to her in the chapel. In fact, I didn’t really think about it until she reminded me.”

  “I hope you didn’t tell her you’d forgotten that. Gladys once told me all women like to believe their men are romantics at heart.”

  I wasn’t about to get into a discussion with Carlton about the conversation I’d had with Nikki when I asked her to marry me.

  Instead, I changed the subject and asked him if he’d heard from Ben Mitchell.

  Mitchell was a Level 1 covert operative, who’d been held hostage by the Los Zetas drug cartel in Santiago de Cuba for four months. My last operation, Peaceful R
etrieval, had been all about getting Mitchell out of the cartel’s hands and back on American soil.

  The DDO had been adamant about the need to accomplish that mission without alerting the Cuban government the CIA had been there. I’d managed to accomplish that mission, although I’d run into a few obstacles along the way.

  “No,” Carlton said, “I haven’t heard from Ben since his debriefing.”

  “He said he was going to contact you. He plans to ask for a transfer to the Middle East division.”

  “He’d need to be fluent in Arabic before I’d even consider it.”

  “I told him he should use his time off to attend Arabic classes or get a tutor. If he passes muster with you, I wouldn’t mind having him assigned to the Rebel Merchant operation.”

  Carlton sat back in his chair and studied me. “Are you saying you’re good with having a partner now? No more of your lone wolf attitude?”

  I shrugged. “Since Ben wants to work in the Middle East, he might as well start by seeing action in the worst country in the region first.”

  Carlton nodded. “You’ve got a point there.”

  “Would you mind not mentioning my name when he calls you?”

  “Why? Do you think he might resent your interference?”

  “It crossed my mind. I don’t want him thinking I’m anything like his father.”

  Ben Mitchell was the son of Senator Elijah Mitchell, one of the most powerful men in Congress. As the head of the Senate Intelligence Committee, he occasionally meddled in his son’s career at the Agency.

  There’s been times when I’d clashed with the Senator about his interference—among other things.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that, Titus. You and Senator Mitchell are only alike in one respect.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You both like to boss Ben around.”

  Chapter 3

  Friday, October 16

  I chose not to tell Nikki I’d booked us hotel rooms in Springfield, Missouri, until we got there.

  I wasn’t sure why I was hesitant to tell her Carlton had asked me to drop in on Travis Zachary, except that a few days ago, I’d assured her she’d have my undivided attention until I returned to Langley in January.

  Yesterday, we’d left Fairfax, Virginia, and driven to Indianapolis, Indiana, where I’d booked us rooms at a Holiday Inn Express.

  Nikki was driving her Buick Enclave, and I was in my Range Rover, but during the long drive, we scheduled our stops at the same time and kept in touch with each other on our cell phones.

  She was adamant about driving the speed limit—some law enforcement hang-up she had—so I usually arrived at our scheduled stops ahead of her.

  Stormy, my one-year-old yellow Lab, was traveling with me in my SUV, and whenever I’d exit the highway and pull into a gas station, he’d look around the parking lot as if he understood Nikki would be arriving at any moment.

  I had no idea how he knew that.

  Perhaps it was because I hadn’t grown up around dogs, and until Stormy showed up, I’d never had an interest in becoming a dog owner.

  I’d become acquainted with Stormy six months ago when I’d moved into the farmhouse outside of Norman.

  He’d arrived on my back doorstep begging me to let him inside during a high intensity thunderstorm—one involving a tornado.

  Although I’d grabbed him and headed for the tornado shelter, it had been a purely humanitarian gesture, and I’d intended to turn the stray over to the local animal shelter once the danger had passed.

  However, the dog and I had bonded during our harrowing experience in the concrete vault, and once I’d given him an appropriate name, I’d decided our relationship was meant to be.

  A few months later, when the DDO had cancelled my medical leave and sent me after a Hezbollah terrorist, Nikki had volunteered to look after Stormy while I was gone.

  Now, as I pulled into a parking space at a restaurant in Rolla, Missouri, I wondered which one of us Stormy would choose, if I made him decide between the two of us.

  I decided to find out.

  “What do you think, boy?” I asked, as I put him on his leash and led him over to a grassy area. “If you had the choice, would you choose Nikki or the guy who gave you a steak bone last night?”

  When I mentioned steak, he barked twice, which I took to mean he was happy with his present owner. However, when I glanced across the parking lot, I saw Nikki emerging from her vehicle, and I realized his bark could have been meant for her instead.

  As soon as Stormy finished his business, we walked over to Nikki’s car. “We were just discussing you,” I said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

  Nikki smiled. “Knowing the two of you, I have to believe that was a very short discussion.”

  “Great minds are able to get their points across without engaging in long discussions.”

  “I know that’s true for at least one of you.”

  * * * *

  After promising Stormy a treat when I returned, I put him back inside the Range Rover and joined Nikki in the restaurant. Although the restaurant was crowded, it wasn’t hard to spot her.

  She was the most beautiful woman in the place.

  I’d been awed by her beauty ever since I’d met her.

  She had a classic oval-shaped face with high cheekbones and full lips, and today, she was wearing her long dark hair in a ponytail, which only drew attention to her expressive brown eyes.

  When I slid into the booth across from her, those eyes were glued to the menu.

  “I’m starving,” she said. “Driving always makes me hungry.”

  “That’s good, because after we check into our hotel in Springfield, I’d like for us to eat at Springfield’s finest Chinese restaurant. According to their website, they have over one hundred items on the buffet.”

  She put the menu down and stared at me. “Springfield? That’s less than two hours from here. I thought we were driving all the way to Norman tonight.”

  “Would you mind if we spent the night in Springfield?”

  “I guess not, but don’t tell me we’re stopping there for the buffet. You told me you hated Chinese food.”

  “You have an excellent memory, Detective.”

  She looked amused. “I also remember you have a habit of changing the subject whenever you want to sidestep an issue.”

  At that moment, the waitress arrived to take our order, but as soon as she walked away, Nikki leaned across the table and asked, “Do you want to tell me why we’re stopping in Springfield or should I guess?”

  “You could never guess.”

  “Let’s see,” she said. “You’ve never mentioned any relatives who live in Springfield, so it can’t be family-related. You’ve never told me about any of your buddies who live there, so that’s out. I believe that only leaves something work-related. Am I getting warm?”

  “You’re very warm.”

  “So, it’s work-related? Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation for the next three months?”

  “Yes, but Douglas asked me to do him a favor. It’s for a future operation, and it shouldn’t take more than a couple hours. Three at the most.”

  She looked me in the eye. “Tell me about this favor.”

  Although the corners of her mouth had a slight upturn to them, there was no mistaking the serious tone in her voice. Whether she was worried about the nature of the favor or concerned I’d kept it a secret from her, I couldn’t tell.

  I suspected the latter.

  “I don’t have any problem telling you about the favor, but since it’s classified, I’d rather wait until we’re alone before I give you the details.”

  She looked pleased. “Seriously? You’re going to share the details of an operation with me?”

  “Well, it’s only some background information, but I’d still like to have your input on it.”

  I decided to wait until we were at the hotel before telling Nikki I wanted more than just her input on Travis Zachary
. She wasn’t much of a risk-taker, so I wasn’t sure she’d go along with my plans.

  Later, I realized getting her involved with Travis Zachary wasn’t one of my better ideas.

  * * * *

  After we checked into the hotel in Springfield, I left Stormy in my room and walked down the hall to Nikki’s room.

  Since I wanted to show her the Travis Zachary file Carlton had downloaded on the laptop he’d given me, I was carrying the laptop under my arm when I walked in her room.

  The moment she spotted the computer, she said, “That looks official. I thought your boss just asked you to do him a small favor.”

  “My boss has a way of making even small favors look official. He just can’t help himself.”

  Nikki had a mischievous grin on her face. “Would your boss happen to be Douglas Carlton?”

  It didn’t surprise me she’d figured out who my boss was. When she’d arrived at Quantico, I’d been staying out at The Meadows, Carlton’s country estate in Fairfax, and although I’d told her the property belonged to Douglas Carlton, I’d never told her he was my boss.

  I nodded. “That’s right. Douglas is my boss. How’d you figure that out?”

  “You remember the night you cooked dinner for us, and Stormy ran into the study and got mud all over the Persian rug?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “When we were cleaning up the mess, I heard you say, ‘My boss will kill me.’ Since you had told me the homeowner was Douglas Carlton, I just took a wild guess.”

  “That kind of deductive reasoning deserves a reward, Detective.”

  I took her in my arms and kissed her, and as we drew apart, she said, “I didn’t realize you found logic so appealing.”

  “Ordinarily I don’t, but when it comes in such an attractive package, I find it completely irresistible.”

  “You’re pretty irresistible yourself,” she said, giving my arm a squeeze, “but I have to admit I’m anxious to hear what mysteries that laptop of yours holds.”