Five Years in Yemen

by Luana Ehrlich

  She gave me a weak smile. “Well, then, it’s not possible, is it?”

  “Actually, I think it’s entirely possible.”

  Nikki bit down on her lip. “Hmmm. You’re not about to do something that might get you in trouble with the Agency, are you?”

  “Let me put it this way. Remember what I gave you this morning when I met you in the lobby?”

  “Sure. You gave me the leather briefcase you bought for your appointment with Stephen Gault, and you asked me to take it back to Norman for you.”

  I smiled, “You might want to open it up when you get back home and make sure I didn’t forget to remove something from one of the pockets.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you sure about this?”

  I nodded. “I’ll be issued another phone before I’m sent to Yemen.”

  She put her arms around me. “Please take care of yourself over there. I’d like to have my future husband back in one piece.”

  I lifted her chin and kissed her. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve been doing this a long time.”

  She put her finger over my lips and said, “You’re not fooling me, Titus. I looked up Yemen on the internet last night. It’s a very dangerous place. Besides the bombings, executions, and kidnappings, there’s a cholera epidemic going on. Who knows what else you’ll be up against?”

  “You’re right. It’s a very dangerous place, but—”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head, “don’t agree with me. Just tell me everything’s going to be okay.”

  “I was going to say it doesn’t matter what I’m up against, because I know you’ll be praying for me.”

  She smiled. “Oh, you can count on that.”

  After I gave her a long, passionate kiss, I said, “If that doesn’t make a difference, nothing will.”

  “I assume you mean my prayers.”

  “That too.”

  * * * *

  I had a non-stop flight from Detroit to Dulles, and by the time my plane pulled up to the gate, I knew as much as I ever needed to know about a new sport called esports.

  I’d learned that esports involved several players competing on a professional level with electronic games, and it all took place on the internet.

  My education on esports came from my seatmate, an eighteen-year-old kid who looked shocked when I told him I had no idea what he meant when he said he was on his way to do battle in a Smite tournament.

  After hearing him describe the skills that went into playing the electronic warfare game, I realized two things. First, it wouldn’t be long before I was considered an old fogey, and second, the Agency should do some serious recruiting of professional video gamers because it sounded like their abilities would definitely be needed in the next generation of electronic spy surveillance.

  When we arrived in the baggage claim area, my seatmate told me if I wanted to watch him battle it out on Smite, I should download an app on my iPhone called Twitch. After promising him I’d do that, I walked up and greeted a man wearing a chauffeur’s hat who was holding a placard bearing the logo for the Consortium for International Studies.

  As the Agency driver was ushering me into the back of a black SUV, I glanced over and spotted the esports gamer boarding a hotel shuttle.

  He paused and gave me a brief wave.

  I waved back—two warriors going their separate ways to fight their separate battles.

  * * * *

  My Agency driver turned out to be a talker. Once he’d commented on the cold weather, the bad traffic, and the stupid truckers hogging the road, he caught my eye in the rearview mirror and tried to engage me in conversation.

  “Did you catch the Cowboys/Redskins game on Thanksgiving Day? Man, what a game!”

  After I told him I’d had to miss the first half, he shook his head and said it was one of the greatest games he’d ever seen.

  Of course, he was a Redskins fan.

  It wasn’t long before he knew I wasn’t.

  By the time he dropped me off at the entrance to the Old Headquarters Building at the CIA compound, we weren’t speaking to each other.

  I felt sure my ill-placed anger was the reason I didn’t see Ben Mitchell standing on the other side of the security gate when the guard waved me through.

  A few seconds later, as I headed toward the elevator, Mitchell walked up beside me and said, “Your observation skills might need some work. You just walked right by me.”

  I pressed the elevator button and looked at him. “That was a test.”

  “Of what?”

  I shook my head as we got on the elevator. “If you don’t know now, you never will.”

  He looked confused for a moment, but after I pressed the button for the fourth floor, I grinned at him and said, “It’s good to see you, Ben. I had no idea Douglas had called you in.”

  “Douglas didn’t call me in,” he said, looking down at his cell phone as if he might have missed a message.

  “He didn’t?”

  “Oh, wait a minute. Are you joking with me again?”

  “I don’t joke. You know that.”

  At that moment, the elevator arrived on the fourth floor, and when I stepped off, I turned left in the direction of Carlton’s office, but Mitchell paused at the landing and pointed in the opposite direction.

  “I’m headed this way,” he said. “Down to the FLC.”

  It suddenly occurred to me I shouldn’t have assumed Mitchell was on his way to Carlton’s office. The Foreign Language Center (FLC) was also located on the fourth floor.

  “How are your Arabic studies coming?” I asked. “Douglas said he’d approved your transfer to the Middle East and assigned you a tutor.”

  He nodded. “I’ve been studying Arabic with Amad Sahir for the past six weeks, and he told me the other day he considered me fluent, so I have no idea why he called me this morning and told me to meet him here on a holiday weekend.”

  “I’m due in a meeting in a few minutes, but maybe we can get together for coffee in the cafeteria later.”

  “Sure, text me when you’re done.”

  He gestured in the direction of Carlton’s office. “So why did Douglas call you in? I thought you and I were both supposed to be on vacation for three months.”

  There was no way I was going to tell him anything about Rebel Merchant without Carlton’s permission, so I said, “Some questions have come up about a previous Agency employee, and Douglas thought I might have some answers.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. “That sounds like the kind of answer you’d give me if you didn’t really want me to know what you’re doing here.”

  I shrugged. “It is what it is.”

  He laughed. “It’s good to see you again, Titus. Call me when you’re finished with your meeting, or whatever it is you’re doing.”

  As I walked away from Mitchell, I thought about how much he’d changed in the last six months. Besides his shorter haircut, I saw a level of maturity in him I hadn’t seen since I’d first laid eyes on him in San José, Costa Rica, during Operation Clear Signal.

  At that time, he’d had long, unkempt hair and a chip on his shoulder—not unlike Titus Ray at that age—but, despite that, I’d been impressed, not only with his ability to read people, but also his instincts for doing clandestine work.

  Granted, he hadn’t had much experience—he’d only been with the Agency for five years—but after his network had been blown in Costa Rica, I’d convinced Carlton to bump him up to Level 1 status and assign him to Operation Clear Signal.

  A few months ago, during Operation Citadel Protection, Mitchell had been sent to Cuba, where he’d been kidnapped by the Los Zetas drug cartel. The cartel had ended up holding him captive for four months while they’d negotiated his release with his father, Senator Mitchell.

  By the time I’d arrived to rescue Ben, he’d managed to teach himself some elementary Arabic in order to qualify for a transfer to the Middle East desk and the chance to work with Carlton.

  I suspected Ben had
also wanted to show the DDO he was serious about his career, just in case the Senator decided to use his influence over the DDO to get his son transferred out of Operations to a desk job—something he’d already tried to do on several occasions.

  Something I’d stopped him from doing on several occasions.

  * * * *

  The moment I swung open the door to Carlton’s outer office, I immediately knew something was wrong.

  My first clue was Sally Jo’s messy desk. My second clue was the woman seated behind the desk.

  She wasn’t Sally Jo Hartford.

  I’d never seen anyone behind that desk except Sally Jo. For a couple of seconds, I felt disoriented at the sight of someone sitting in that spot—the only means of gaining entry into Carlton’s inner sanctum.

  The woman, a rather attractive redhead, must have thought I looked confused. “Are you lost?” she asked. “That can happen in this place. It’s certainly happened to me before. You don’t need to be embarrassed about it.”

  “Ah . . . no, I’m not lost.” I paused a second. “I’m . . . ah . . . I’m Titus Ray.”

  “Well, good for you. What can I do for you?”

  “Douglas is expecting me. We’re due in a meeting at four o’clock.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she said, pushing aside some papers. “He told me he was on his way to a meeting. I can’t remember which conference room he’s in, but I know I wrote it down here somewhere.”

  As I watched her shuffling through the papers, I blurted out, “Where’s Sally Jo?”

  “You mean Mrs. Hartford? Mr. Carlton is very strict about how we address each other.”

  “Yes,” I said, nodding my head, “I meant Mrs. Hartford. Where is she?”

  “She took off for the holidays. I’m just filling in while she’s gone.”

  To say I was relieved would be an understatement.

  “Oh, now I remember,” she said. “The meeting is in Deputy Ira’s office. He’s up on the seventh floor.”

  “Yes, I know where the DDO’s office is.”

  When I turned to leave, she said, “I’m sorry. I guess I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Stephanie Ira, the deputy’s niece.”

  Well, that explained a lot.

  Chapter 18

  Because I’d been counting on Sally Jo to fill me in on who’d been invited to attend the interagency meeting on Jacob Levin, I felt a little unsettled as I headed up to the seventh floor.

  I hated going into a meeting blind.

  It was Toby Bledsoe, a veteran operative whom I’d met in Nicaragua at the beginning of my career, who’d taught me the importance of knowing the identity of all the parties sitting around a conference table discussing an operation that would directly affect my well-being, not to mention my life.

  I’d always tried to heed those words of wisdom, but now, with Sally Jo unable to provide me with any information, I realized I’d have to reason things out for myself.

  I started with the location.

  The fact that the meeting was taking place in the DDO’s office was a pretty good sign the attendees would be high-level officials and not departmental bureaucrats.

  Since Carlton had already talked to Dirk Andersen, the Middle East division head at the DIA, I assumed he’d be attending the meeting.

  However, in my mind, Andersen’s presence wasn’t enough to merit a meeting in the DDO’s office, so I had to believe someone higher up the food chain had also been invited. Maybe, since the subject matter involved military hardware, the Defense Department would be sending over a five-star general or someone even higher up the DIA ladder than Andersen.

  In that case, having the meeting in Deputy Ira’s office made sense.

  As I got off the elevator on the seventh floor, another factor I considered was the purpose of the interagency meeting, which, as I understood it, was to share information on Jacob Levin and the work he was doing for the Saudis.

  I asked myself who might be interested in Levin besides the Defense Department and the Agency.

  I immediately eliminated Homeland Security. I couldn’t imagine why they’d be concerned about Levin.

  And, I doubted anyone from the NSA would be there.

  On the other hand, the FBI might have an interest in Levin, especially since there was a possibility he’d committed treason by sharing information about the MODD system with the Saudis.

  Then, there was the White House.

  I knew they had an interest in Jacob, or rather his connection to his brother, the Congressman.

  Of course, the idea that the White House might send someone to this meeting seemed pretty farfetched to me, but I didn’t dismiss the idea entirely.

  By the time I opened the door to the DDO’s outer office, I thought I had a handle on which agencies might be sending representatives to the meeting. Even so, I didn’t know their identities.

  That still meant I was going into the meeting blind.

  I hated going into a meeting blind.

  * * * *

  When I was escorted into the DDO’s office, I found Carlton standing inside the doorway. For some reason, I felt like he was waiting for me.

  “How was your flight?” he asked.

  I thought about my young Smite player. “I found it educational.”

  “I’m guessing you were educating yourself on Yemen.”

  Before I had a chance to dissuade him from that notion, he gestured over at the long black conference table in the far corner of Deputy Ira’s massive office where several people were already seated. “Except for Frank, you may not know anyone at this meeting, but I expect—”

  “Wait a second. Frank Benson is here?”

  “Not yet, but he will be. Is that a problem?”

  “No, it’s just a little ironic that—”

  “Yeah, I know. You and Frank have a history when it comes to Yemen, but after last summer, I thought you’d put all that behind you.”

  “You’re right. I’ve put all that behind me.”

  “What I was about to say was that even though you may not know anyone at this meeting, I believe you’ll have a much clearer picture of what’s been going on with Levin once you hear from all the participants.”

  “I’m counting on that.”

  Carlton shifted his gaze from me over to the windows overlooking the Virginia countryside. “As usual in these interagency meetings, only the upper-level management personnel will be allowed to speak. Of course, their support staff will be in the room, but they won’t be permitted to ask questions or to interact with the participants.”

  I was right. Carlton had been waiting for me.

  Apparently, he wanted to make sure I knew I wasn’t going to be given a seat at the table. Literally, I wouldn’t be seated at the conference table. Instead, since I didn’t hold an upper-level Agency position, I’d be seated with the other support staff in the row of chairs around the perimeter of the table.

  I was fine with that. As long as I was able to observe all the players in the room, it didn’t bother me if everyone thought I was support staff. I was used to staying in the shadows.

  But, Carlton didn’t need to know that.

  “Did I hear that right? Even though I’ll be risking my life to get Jacob Levin back to the States, I won’t be able to ask questions or take part in any discussions during this meeting?”

  His eyes met mine. “That’s right, Titus. The DDO insisted you be at this meeting, but he wanted me to make sure you knew you were only here to soak up information; nothing more.”

  I’d had a few clashes with the DDO in a public forum before, so I could understand his insistence I be seen and not heard.

  “I’ve got it,” I said. “I’ll remain in the background, be a sponge, soak up information.”

  Carlton looked as if he were about to say something, but just then, the DDO’s assistant ushered two women into the room. They were quickly followed by Frank Benson.

  Benson grinned when he saw me, but we barely had time to gree
t each other before the DDO’s assistant asked us to take our seats so the Deputy Director could start the meeting.

  Benson walked over to the table, where there was a printed place card with his name and title on it. As he sat down in the leather executive chair next to Carlton, I took a seat in the chair behind him.

  Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought the DDO looked especially pleased when he glanced over and saw where I was sitting.

  * * * *

  Robert Ira, the Deputy Director of Operations was a wide-bodied man with a large head, small eyes, and a permanently furrowed brow.

  Although he wasn’t particularly well-liked, he was respected at the Agency and also by most of the Washington establishment.

  It didn’t seem to bother him he wasn’t adored, and I suspected he might have reveled in the dislike exhibited by some of his colleagues.

  What the Deputy seemed to care about more than anything else was whether his subordinates produced results—results which reflected well on him and his career—and I’d seen him use every possible means to get those results, whether it was complimenting someone or sending insults their way.

  The DDO swiveled his head from left to right from his position in the center seat on the left side of the table and said, “I believe everyone’s present now.”

  Motioning at Carlton, who was seated across from him, he continued, “On behalf of Douglas Carlton and myself, I’d like to welcome each of you to this interagency intelligence briefing on Operation Rebel Merchant. I’ll begin by asking you to identify yourself for the official record. Douglas, we’ll start with you.”

  Once Carlton had recited his name and title, the DDO nodded at Frank Benson, who introduced himself as the head of the FBI’s counterintelligence division. He also mentioned he’d previously worked for the Agency. However, I noticed he decided to leave out any reference to Yemen.

  The person seated next to Benson was a diminutive man with a head of wiry gray hair and a pair of dark brown readers perched on the edge of his nose. “I’m Dr. Larry Kepler, the director of DARPA at the Defense Department.”