Five Years in Yemen

by Luana Ehrlich

  “Okay, I get it. That’s your M.O. That’s the way you operate.”

  Something about the way Carlton made that observation led me to believe there would be a qualifying statement to follow.

  “Now, don’t get me wrong,” he said, running his hand over his bald head. “I’m not opposed to your going, but if you decide to do more than just brush shoulders with the Congressman, like if you should decide to have a conversation with him, then keep in mind he has no idea his brother is alive. As far as he knows, Jacob was murdered by Jihadists in Iraq five years ago.”

  “No, I won’t forget that.”

  “I’d also like to caution you about how you communicate with the Senator on this matter. The Agency hasn’t briefed the Senate Intelligence Committee on Operation Rebel Merchant yet, and we won’t do so until after your official briefing. That means you shouldn’t even hint to the Senator your appearance at the gala has anything to do with an impending operation.”

  “I’ll also keep that in mind.”

  Carlton wasn’t finished yet. “The Federalist Club has a strict policy against allowing photographers or the press inside their establishment, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be journalists and photographers lurking around outside the place. It probably goes without saying you’ll need to avoid having your face splashed across the internet, or, heaven forbid, having it show up in the society section of the newspapers. Should that happen, I can’t imagine the DDO would allow you to participate in Rebel Merchant.”

  “No, I don’t imagine he would.”

  By the time Carlton had wrapped up his cautionary admonitions, I had to remind myself he’d prefaced his remarks by saying he wasn’t opposed to my idea of attending the gala.

  Otherwise, I would have gotten the impression he hated the idea of what I was about to do.

  * * * *

  It was almost ten o’clock by the time I pulled the Jeep Cherokee up to the circle drive in front of Carlton’s house at The Meadows, located a few miles outside of Fairfax, Virginia.

  The imposing two-story structure had an old-world feel to it, and tonight it looked very much like a manor house with electric candles glowing from the dozen or so windows facing the driveway, and miniature lights dripping off the eaves like icicles in an ice storm.

  Gladys had often used the word “magnificent” to describe the house. Now, as I got out of my car and saw the enormous Christmas tree filling up the picture window in the living room, that was the word that immediately came to mind.

  “You must come back to the kitchen and have some of Millie’s gingerbread,” Arkady said when he opened the door. “It’s still warm.”

  “I can smell it from here.”

  “My Millie,” he said, as I followed him down the hallway, “she’s such a great cook.”

  When we entered the kitchen, Millie was wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Titus Ray,” she said, shaking her head, “you just can’t stay away, can you?”

  I smiled. “It was a choice between The Meadows and a five-star hotel, and, when Douglas told me you were baking gingerbread, this place won hands down.”

  She peered over her reading glasses at me. “I didn’t tell him I was baking gingerbread.”

  “You know you can’t keep secrets from Douglas.”

  “Who says I can’t?” she said with a mischievous smile.

  “In fact,” she continued, “I’ll give you an example. A few months ago, an Agency employee stayed out here at The Meadows. He also brought his dog Stormy with him. I found evidence—which I assume the Agency employee was hoping I wouldn’t find—that Stormy had been in Mr. Carlton’s study and had muddied up his expensive Persian rug. Did I tell Mr. Carlton that Stormy had done this wicked thing? No, I did not. Instead, I had the rug cleaned, and now Mr. Carlton is none the wiser.”

  Millie paused dramatically for a moment and then she added, “Unless something happens to change my mind, you can rest assured I’ll take this secret to my grave.”

  “What could possibly happen to make you change your mind?”

  “No, no,” she said, wagging her finger at me. “That’s my secret.”

  * * * *

  After sampling a piece of Millie’s delicious gingerbread and listening to Arkady tell me a funny story about Frisco, his golden retriever, I excused myself and went upstairs to the bedroom she’d assigned me when Carlton had invited me to stay at The Meadows back in June.

  As I was unpacking my suitcase, Mitchell texted me, “Call me ASAP.”

  Not only did Mitchell enjoy giving me orders, he also enjoyed using ASAP whenever possible.

  Ordinarily, I might have waited a few minutes before giving him a call, but today I didn’t.

  “Tell me you’ve got good news for me,” I said.

  “I’ve got good news for you. You’ve been invited to attend the Capitol Hill Distinguished Service Award Gala at The Federalist Club tomorrow night as a guest of Senator Elijah Mitchell. A messenger just dropped off the invitation at my townhouse a few minutes ago.”

  “Did your father seem to mind adding me to the invitation list?”

  “No, not at all. In fact, he seemed pleased.”

  “Why would he be pleased? What exactly did you tell the Senator?”

  “I told him I’d run into you today at Langley, and when I mentioned the gala, that’s when you said you wouldn’t be surprised if the Senator himself wasn’t the recipient of the Distinguished Service Award.”

  “Okay, so you stroked his ego. How did that get me the invitation?”

  “I also told him you were jealous when you found out I was taking Juliana to the event, because you’d always wanted to take a date to The Federalist Club. When he heard that, he said he’d make sure you received an invitation, and he’d include an extra one for your guest.”

  “Wait a minute. I’m supposed to bring a date?”

  “That won’t be a problem, will it?”

  “I’m engaged now, Ben. I asked Nikki to marry me after we got back from Cuba.”

  “Well, congratulations, Titus, but that shouldn’t prevent you from asking a female acquaintance to be your guest for the evening. Call up one of your many admirers at the Agency. I’m sure none of them would think of turning you down.”

  Although I could hear the sarcasm in Ben’s voice, I decided not to comment on it. More than likely, it was a reflection of the hurt he’d experienced when he’d told Juliana he had feelings for her, and she’d rejected him by saying she’d rather be with me instead of him.

  Despite the fact I’d assured him I wasn’t interested in her, and Juliana had later apologized to him for her remark, I knew the memory still had to be fresh in Ben’s mind.

  “I’m sure I can convince someone to go with me,” I said. “Should we meet you at The Federalist Club?”

  “No, I’ve arranged a limo to pick up the four of us here at my townhouse at six-thirty tomorrow evening. Why don’t you and your date plan to be here by six o’clock. I’ll text you the address.”

  “She won’t be my date, Ben. She’ll be my guest.”

  * * * *

  After telling Ben goodbye, I tried to think of someone I could invite to go to the gala with me. Since no one immediately came to mind, I decided to finish unpacking and figure things out tomorrow.

  When I was putting my clothes in one of the dresser drawers, I found a bookmark I’d left there when I’d stayed out at the house before. Andrew Edwards, the Agency’s Financial Services Director, had given it to me before my briefing on Operation Peaceful Retrieval.

  Although I seldom had contact with the administrative side of the Agency, Sally Jo had suggested I go see Edwards because I’d made some unauthorized purchases on a requisition request, and I needed to reimburse the Agency—or face the consequences.

  Edwards had turned out to be a sympathetic soul, especially after learning I was a new convert to Christianity. Before I’d left his office, he’d even offered to become my spiritual mentor.

  He
’d made this offer after expressing concern for me.

  That’s the reason he’d given me the bookmark.

  He’d wanted me to have the bookmark because he knew my schedule didn’t give me many opportunities to hear any sermons on the teachings of the Bible, and the bookmark contained a list of doctrinal questions along with some Scripture references.

  Presumably, the Scriptures would answer the doctrinal questions.

  I didn’t know that for sure. I’d tossed the bookmark in the drawer and forgotten all about it.

  Now, as I took a good look at it, I saw the name of Edwards’ church printed at the bottom of the list of questions. When I realized he attended the McLean Metropolitan Community Church, I suddenly remembered I knew someone else who attended there, and she would be the perfect person to accompany me to the gala.

  When I texted her to let her know I was planning to attend the worship service at her church tomorrow, and that I’d like to take her to lunch afterward, she texted me back immediately.

  “Unless you have something you want me to do for you, I can’t think of any reason why you’d offer to take me to lunch. I’m warning you, Titus, don’t bother asking me for a favor.”

  It sounded like Olivia McConnell would be the perfect date.

  Chapter 22

  Sunday, November 29

  Although Olivia McConnell hadn’t sounded that enthusiastic when I’d sent her the text about us having lunch together after church, I wasn’t surprised by her curt response.

  I was used to hearing acerbic comments from Olivia. She’d been that way ever since I’d known her.

  Olivia and I had met at the CIA’s training school at Camp Peary where we’d both been junior officers. As I’d gotten to know her better, I’d decided Olivia’s disagreeable nature was hardwired into her DNA.

  That didn’t mean I found her attitude acceptable. Very few people did, which is probably why Olivia didn’t have many friends.

  As far as I knew, I was her only friend, but that was due to happenstance. It was hardly my choice.

  Not long after we’d graduated from Camp Peary, I’d rushed Olivia to the hospital after I’d found her unresponsive in her car with an empty bottle of sleeping pills on the seat beside her.

  When she’d recovered, I’d agreed not to tell anyone at the Agency what she’d done. According to her, this made her my friend for life—I didn’t have a say in the matter. Since then, our always platonic relationship had experienced some rocky times.

  A few months ago, when I’d learned Olivia was facing a double mastectomy after being diagnosed with breast cancer, I’d given her a Bible and shared with her how my life had changed for the better when I’d become a follower of Christ.

  Later, she’d let me know she’d made her own commitment to Christ. Needless to say, when I’d heard this, I’d been both surprised and overjoyed.

  After hearing about her decision, I’d anticipated seeing some major changes in the way Olivia related to people. That hadn’t happened.

  Sure, there’d been some changes in her life in the past four months, but from what I could tell, those changes centered around how she viewed social injustices in the world.

  When I’d spoken with Olivia at Langley a few months ago, she’d let me know she’d joined McLean Metropolitan Community Church. However, it didn’t sound like she’d joined because of the pastor’s Bible teaching or because she’d become friends with some of the parishioners.

  Evidently, she’d joined the church because of their weekday feeding program for the homeless.

  Olivia had never shown the slightest empathy for anyone other than herself, and when she’d told me she was working as a volunteer in the church’s kitchen one night a week in order to feed the homeless, I’d been speechless.

  She’d also voiced her concern for the millions of people in the world who didn’t have access to clean water, and after hearing her recite the horrifying statistics on this atrocity, I’d expected her to say she was working on a plan to remedy the situation.

  That’s what Olivia did at the Agency.

  As director of one of the Ops Centers, she took the protocols of an operation, the data from the analysts, and the readouts from the signals intelligence and turned them into a viable plan of action.

  Despite her abrasive nature, Olivia was very good at her job.

  She had a knack for problem-solving, risk assessment, and strategic thinking, all essential attributes for managing one of the Real Time Management (RTM) Centers at Langley, where the day-to-day operations of the Agency took place.

  Before Olivia had been assigned to the Ops Center, she’d held a couple of other positions at the Agency. One of those had been the CIA’s Congressional Liaison Officer. In other words, she’d worked with all the movers and shakers in Congress.

  That’s why I wanted Olivia at my side at the Service Award Gala. I felt sure her connections would give me an opportunity to observe Daniel Levin’s interactions with his fellow congressmen firsthand.

  If I were in the company of Olivia, I might even be able to have a conversation with the Congressman.

  All I had to do was convince Olivia to go to the gala with me.

  How hard could that be?

  * * * *

  Metropolitan Community Church was located on Chain Bridge Road next to the Main Street Bank in downtown McLean. It was a stately red-brick building with stained glass windows and a white steeple.

  As I walked from the parking lot to the main entrance, I texted Andrew Edwards and told him I was attending his church today. I didn’t hear back from him before I entered the building, but as soon as I sat down in a pew at the back of the auditorium, I spotted him coming toward me.

  “Titus,” he said, shaking my hand, “you should have told me you were in town. I would have invited you to my Bible study class.” He gestured off to his right. “Our group meets downstairs before the worship service. You’re welcome to come anytime.”

  “Thanks for the invitation, but I won’t be around very long. To be truthful, coming here today was a last-minute decision.”

  “It was a good decision. I know you’ll enjoy hearing our pastor’s sermon.” He pointed to a pew closer to the front. “Why don’t you come sit with my wife and me during the service?”

  Edwards hadn’t seen Olivia walk up behind him as we were talking, and he looked startled when she said, “No, Andrew. Titus doesn’t want to sit with you. He isn’t a joiner. He prefers to be left alone most of the time.”

  It was hard to tell whether it was Olivia’s sudden appearance or her unnecessarily candid remark that took him by surprise.

  “Hi, Olivia,” he said. “I didn’t see you standing there.” He looked over at me and smiled. “It sounds like you know Titus pretty well.”

  “We’ve been friends for years, but I didn’t know the two of you knew each other.”

  “Andrew and I met a few months ago,” I said.

  Edwards gestured toward the front of the auditorium where a group of musicians were assembling. “It looks like the service is about to begin. I better go join my wife.”

  “Don’t worry, Andrew,” Olivia said, “Whether Titus likes it or not, I’ll keep him company.”

  As Edwards turned to walk back to his pew, I said, “We’ll talk later, Andrew. It was good to see you again.”

  He smiled and gave me a brief wave.

  When Olivia sat down next to me, she said, “He’s a nice guy, but his wife hardly speaks to me.”

  “I wonder why.”

  She shrugged. “I think I offended her when I pointed out the pantry in the church kitchen wasn’t organized very well. She’s one of the workers in charge of the feeding program, and her responsibility is keeping the pantry stocked.”

  “Yeah, that might be it.”

  I’d never heard Olivia voice the possibility she might have offended someone, so maybe she was changing after all.

  When the congregation was asked to stand and sing a worship song t
ogether, Olivia leaned over and whispered, “You need to listen to the words of this song, Titus. It’s a prayer both of us should memorize.”

  I looked down at the program. The name of the first congregational song was “Change My Heart, O God.”

  I listened to the words.

  She was right.

  * * * *

  The pastor’s sermon was on the same topic. His text was taken from Psalm 51:10, and I was fascinated when he explained that David, the Jewish King, had written the psalm after confessing he’d had an affair with Bathsheba, the wife of one of his generals. Later, when David had discovered Bathsheba was pregnant, he’d had the general killed in order to cover up what he’d done.

  Even though I vaguely knew the story, and I’d seen a movie about it once, hearing how it was connected to a psalm made me realize I didn’t have a cohesive view of the whole Bible.

  As I looked at the people sitting in the pews around me, I understood why Edwards kept inviting me to church. Anyone who attended a Bible class or heard a sermon every Sunday would surely have a more comprehensive understanding of the Scriptures.

  After telling David’s story, the pastor explained that while the psalm was a confession of personal unrighteousness, it was also a confession of social unrighteousness—David, a powerful man, had taken advantage of someone who was weak and vulnerable.

  Too often, he said, Christians get caught up with their need for personal righteousness but fail to recognize their need for social righteousness. He went on to say that churches do the same thing when they provide comfort for their own congregation but ignore the needs of the neighborhood around them.

  He pointed out the reason Metropolitan Community Church would never have a coffee bar or purchase stage lighting or spend money on elaborate programs was because the Bible had instructed believers to serve the community and give aid and comfort to the less fortunate.