Five Years in Yemen

by Luana Ehrlich

  “Oh, no, I don’t like the sound of that,” he said, looking down at his feet. “Please don’t tell me she’ll be running our ops in Yemen the way she did in Caracas.”

  “I seriously doubt that. On the other hand, it’s possible she’ll be running the RTM Center at Langley while we’re in country.”

  He raised his head and looked over at her. “As long as she’s not our field officer in Yemen, I’ll be okay with it. Did she tell you she’s been assigned to the operation?”

  “Douglas is still putting the operational team together, so I don’t believe she knows anything for sure yet.”

  “Does that mean you don’t know when we’ll have our briefing?”

  I shook my head. “I’m guessing it will be on Wednesday, because we need to be in Riyadh by Friday.” I glanced over at the two ladies. “If I were you, Ben, I’d tell Juliana goodbye tonight.”

  “Well, that’s a given. A few minutes before you and Olivia arrived at my place, she let me know she just wants us to be friends. I think we’re pretty much done after tonight.”

  “Ouch. That hurts.”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t that surprised. I thought she might be seeing someone else.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “This probably sounds weird, Titus, but I’d really like to know who my competition is.”

  I was pretty sure he’d met his competition in the cafeteria the previous day, but I decided to keep my mouth shut.

  * * * *

  We arrived fashionably late to The Federalist Club. When we presented our invitations at the door, the ballroom was already full of beautifully coiffured women and well-dressed men who were hobnobbing in a bipartisan fashion not usually seen on the House or Senate floor.

  Our hostess escorted us through a maze of elaborately-decorated tables to the middle of the room where Senator Mitchell’s table was located. However, the Senator was nowhere to be seen.

  Once we were seated and a member of the waitstaff had taken our beverage orders, I picked up the gold-embossed program and read through it.

  The first thing I noticed was that the master of ceremonies wasn’t due to begin introducing the finalists for the service award for another hour. In the meantime, according the program, attendees would be served a three-course meal prepared by Chef Tomás Gallego, while being entertained by the Marine Chamber Orchestra.

  If I were interpreting the program correctly, the attendees had been given an hour to stuff their faces, socialize, and schmooze.

  As I was trying to decide which one of those to do first, Senator Mitchell arrived at our table and made the decision for me.

  In every article I’d ever read about him, the Senator was invariably described as distinguished-looking. Although I didn’t know whether it was the way he carried himself, his tailor-made clothing, or his self-contained authoritative demeanor that made the description so appropriate, I had to agree with the writers.

  The Senator wasn’t alone. His wife Marjorie was at his side.

  I hadn’t heard Ben talk about his mother very much, but when he did, it was usually in the context of some charity work she was doing.

  From reading between the lines, it always sounded like Marjorie Mitchell was making appearances at charity events rather than engaging in the thankless task of actually doing charity work.

  When she and the Senator appeared at our table, Ben and I stood to our feet, and after he leaned over and brushed her cheek with a kiss, he complimented her on her appearance.

  Mrs. Mitchell was the Hollywood version of a Senator’s wife; blond, statuesque, and wrinkle-free, plus a little on the haughty side.

  “It’s so nice to see you again, Juliana,” she said, giving her a brilliant smile.

  There was no smile for Olivia.

  “And, Olivia,” the Senator’s wife said, “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “Some of us have to work for a living.”

  When Marjorie Mitchell’s gaze fell on me, Ben immediately spoke up and said, “This is Titus Ray, he’s with the Consortium for International Studies.”

  I offered her my hand. “Ben has always spoken so highly of you, Mrs. Mitchell. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

  “Are you on the board at the Consortium?” she asked.

  “No, I’m a Senior Fellow in Middle Eastern programs.”

  “I see,” she said, immediately turning her attention elsewhere.

  “Titus,” the Senator said, “I’m sorry to take you away from your meal, but there’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”

  He placed his napkin on the table and stood up. “Would you mind coming with me?”

  “No, Senator, not at all.”

  What else could I say?

  * * * *

  I followed the Senator as he made his way over towards the lobby. Although he greeted several people who called out his name as we walked by, he only stopped once.

  Strangely enough, it was to speak briefly with two well-known Senators who were leaders of the opposition party.

  However, he didn’t bother to introduce me to the two men.

  When we arrived in the lobby, he veered off to his right, down a long hallway lined with portraits of our country’s founding fathers, finally coming to a stop in front of a door with a nameplate on it that said Conference Room A.

  A light came on automatically the moment the Senator opened the door, and as he gestured toward a leather chair in the spacious, wood-paneled room, he smiled and said, “Have a seat, Titus. I hope you don’t mind the cloak-and-dagger stuff. As you’ve probably guessed by now, there’s no one at the gala I want you to meet.”

  Although I hadn’t been sure until then, I said, “I’d figured that out already.”

  “I promise I won’t keep you long,” he said, sitting down in the chair opposite me.

  “Take as long as you like, Senator. Crowds have never been my thing.”

  “Precisely,” he said, nodding his head, “and that brings me to my question. What are you doing here tonight?”

  I gave him my best smile. “I’m not sure I know what you mean. When Ben said he was coming to a gala at The Federalist Club, I told him I was jealous he got to spend an evening in such a luxurious place. A few hours later, he called and said he had a couple of extra invitations I could use. I could hardly turn him down.”

  He stared intently at me for a moment and didn’t say a word.

  Finally, he smiled and said, “I knew Ben had to be lying to me when he said you told him I deserved to get the Distinguished Service Award. We’ve had enough conversations for me to know flattery isn’t your style.”

  “You’re right, Senator. I don’t operate that way.”

  “I admire you for that, Titus,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, “and that’s why I know you’ll be honest with me when I ask you again. Why are you at the gala tonight?”

  He gestured in the direction of the ballroom. “Are you and Olivia here to check out one of the guests? Is there someone in the ballroom you suspect of espionage?” He gave a short laugh. “Is there a terrorist among us?”

  I tried to joke with him. “No, Senator. Despite some shady characters having dinner here tonight, I don’t believe anyone in attendance poses a threat to our national security, although the American public might disagree with me on that.”

  The Senator didn’t laugh.

  I tried again. “Seriously, Senator. Like you, I’m only here to have a good time, meet some interesting people, and enjoy a delicious meal.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Titus,” he said, shaking his head. “The only reason I’m here tonight is to work. A social event like this is an opportunity for me to make nice with my enemies and solidify my friendships.”

  I suddenly realized I was in a tight spot. In a couple of days, the DDO would go up to Capitol Hill and meet with the Senate Intelligence Committee—of which Senator Mitchell was the chairman. At that time, the DDO would brief the committee members on Operation Rebel Me
rchant.

  Afterward, the Senator would know I hadn’t been honest with him about what I was doing at the gala. He’d know Jacob Levin was alive, and that I was the primary officer assigned to bring him home. More than likely, the Senator would also realize I’d attended the gala for the purpose of checking out Congressman Levin.

  In other words, he’d know I’d been lying to him the whole time I was seated across from him in Conference Room A at The Federalist Club. For some reason, I didn’t think it would matter to him I’d been given specific instructions from my operations officer not to mention Rebel Merchant to him.

  Since lying to the Senator might have long-lasting repercussions for my career at the Agency, I decided I should probably modify my answer.

  I said, “One of the interesting people I’d like to meet tonight is Daniel Levin.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you one of his supporters?”

  “As a federal employee, Senator, I support all members of Congress, but I’m primarily interested in Congressman Levin because I recently had an opportunity to speak with Dr. Larry Kepler, the director of DARPA. He told me he used to work with Jacob Levin, the Congressman’s brother, over at the Pentagon. As you probably know, Jacob was on the Agency’s payroll as an SSG contractor before he went missing in Iraq.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

  “I understand Jacob and his brother were close, and, after talking with Dr. Kepler, I thought it might be interesting to hear Daniel’s opinion on Jacob’s disappearance.”

  Although the Senator nodded as I was telling him about my interest in the Congressman, I had a feeling he wasn’t buying my explanation.

  I knew he’d probably heard enough doublespeak in his life to realize I wasn’t giving him the full story, but either he didn’t care or he saw no benefit in pressing the issue, because a few seconds after I’d finished giving him my spiel, he got to his feet and said, “Well, you could be right about that, but you’ll have to get someone else to introduce you to Daniel Levin. After the derogatory comments he made about me on one of the talk shows last Sunday, the two of us aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now.”

  “In that case, Senator,” I said, as we left the room, “if I get a chance to talk to him, I probably won’t mention your name.”

  “Oh, by all means mention my name. Talk about me all you want.”

  When we reentered the ballroom a few moments later, the Senator excused himself and strolled over to where several members of his party had congregated.

  As I watched him join the group, I spotted Congressman Levin talking to a similar group of people a few feet away.

  I decided it was time for Olivia to introduce us.

  Chapter 24

  When I got back to Senator Mitchell’s table, Ben was sitting all by himself eating a piece of double chocolate-espresso truffle pie.

  Before I had a chance to ask him where everyone was, he told me Olivia had gone off to powder her nose, and his mother and Juliana had stepped out on the balcony to get some fresh air.

  As I waited for Olivia to return, I sat down and sampled some of Chef Tomás Gallego’s cuisine for myself. I also started telling Ben about my conversation with his father, but before I could finish, I noticed Ben wasn’t listening to me. Instead, he was watching something going on behind me.

  When I turned around to see what he was staring at, he said, “If you’re looking for an opportunity, there it is.”

  Daniel Levin was at the table next to us shaking hands with an older couple. “Do you know who they are?” I asked.

  “No, but they look familiar. I believe that table is reserved for donors, so they’re probably major party contributors.”

  “You’re probably right. Daniel seems to be giving them lots of attention.”

  “Here’s Olivia,” Mitchell said. “You can ask her.”

  “Ask me what?” Olivia said, sitting down beside me.

  “Look behind you,” I said. “Do you recognize that couple Congressman Levin is fawning over?”

  She picked up her water glass, took a sip, and then discretely glanced over at the next table.

  As she placed her glass back on the table, she said, “Their last name is Elliot; I believe he’s Richard and she’s Miriam, or maybe her name is Marion. They’re big money people who back candidates for political office so they can feel important.”

  Ben said, “The Elliots. Yes, I remember them now. They attended one of my father’s fundraisers. Her name is Miriam, not Marion.”

  “Miriam or Marion, it hardly matters,” Olivia said.

  I glanced back over at the Congressman. “I think we should take advantage of this moment.”

  “How would we do that?” Ben asked.

  I looked over at Olivia. “Any ideas?”

  “Of course, I have ideas. I always have ideas.”

  Seconds later, she began giving orders like she was directing a mission in the Ops Center. “Ben, you go over and renew your acquaintance with the Elliots, and, Titus, when Ben interrupts the Congressman’s conversation, the two of us will walk over and say hello to him. Once I introduce you, follow my lead.”

  Ben hesitated for a couple of beats, but then he said, “Sure, I can do that,” and then he immediately got up and made his way over to the Elliots’ table.

  “Let’s give Ben a second to two, and then we’ll make our move,” Olivia said. “When the Elliots stop paying attention to Congressman Levin, he’ll be embarrassed, and we’ll be there to rescue him. I expect he’ll be eager to talk to us then.”

  When we saw Ben shaking Richard Elliot’s hand, Olivia and I left our table and walked up behind Congressman Levin, who was standing off to the side watching in silence as Ben began monopolizing the conversation with the mega-donors.

  When Olivia spoke the Congressman’s name, he immediately turned around.

  She was right.

  He seemed happy to see us.

  At first, I didn’t think he recognized Olivia, even though he sounded enthusiastic when he greeted us.

  “How wonderful to see you both here,” he said, grinning at us with a politician’s smile.

  A moment later, a look of recognition appeared on his face, and he said, “How have you been, Olivia? Did I hear you’d been ill?”

  She brushed off his inquiry with a sweep of her hand. “It was nothing. I’m fine. When I saw you standing over here, I remembered your interest in the water crisis in the Middle East, and I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Titus Ray. He’s a Senior Fellow in Middle East programs at CIS, and he’s written several papers on how to deal with the scarcity of the region’s water resources.”

  Daniel Levin looked as presidential in person as he did on television. He had a full head of dark brown hair, a smooth, unfurrowed brow, and a perfectly symmetrical face which ended in a dimpled chin. However, his most noticeable feature was his deep-set blue eyes.

  When he focused them on me, I offered him my hand and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Congressman Levin.”

  He gave me a firm handshake. “So you’re an expert on the Middle East?”

  I laughed. “Is anyone an expert on the Middle East?”

  He smiled. “I’m sure you’re just being modest. A Senior Fellow at the Consortium has to know his stuff.”

  “If spending time in the Middle East qualifies me as an expert, then I guess I’d have to claim that title, but, like Olivia said, my primary interest in the region is the scarcity of good water management.”

  He nodded. “I’m convinced we could reduce the conflict in the Middle East if we addressed the region’s water supplies, especially the water that’s needed for agricultural use. Take Syria, for example. It was their government’s failed policy on agricultural water use that led to the unrest in that country and eventually resulted in an armed rebellion. If the President had been willing to send them experts on water resources instead of military experts, then the country would be a lot better off today, plus we wouldn’t
have a refugee problem.”

  Olivia and I stood there politely while the Congressman delivered a mini-lecture on the state of affairs in the Middle East due to the lack of water conservation.

  Although I didn’t agree with much of what he said, it was obvious he was passionate about the subject.

  After a few minutes, it seemed to dawn on him that he was dominating the conversation, and he looked over at me and said, “I didn’t mean to get on my hobbyhorse about the subject. What are your thoughts about solving the water crisis in the Middle East?”

  “First of all, not every country in the Middle East is experiencing a water crisis. Both Israel and Saudi Arabia have developed very effective methods for managing their water resources.”

  “Oh, yes. You’re right there.”

  “Perhaps their Arab neighbors could take a few lessons from them.”

  “I agree, and the Saudi officials I know are very open to working with their neighbors on this and other issues as well.”

  Olivia spoke up. “I’m sure you don’t mean the Saudis are willing to work with all the countries in the region, Congressman.”

  He smiled. “Well, maybe I should qualify that. The Saudis aren’t willing to work with the Iranians right now because of their interference in Yemen. If the Iranians would get out of Yemen, I believe the Saudis would be willing to use their enormous resources to rebuild the country and bring stability to the region.”

  Olivia said, “I can’t see the Iranians getting out of Yemen any time soon.”

  He glanced over at the Elliots’ table where Ben was still chatting with the couple and said, “If our President would be more supportive of the Saudis’ efforts, the Iranians would be out of Yemen in a couple of months.”

  I asked, “By being more supportive, do you mean if the President were willing to sell the Saudis more military hardware?”

  He looked me in the eye. “That’s exactly what I mean. By giving the Saudis permission to buy whatever they need to modernize their military, we’re providing them the means to help their neighbors. By helping the Saudis, we’re making their lives better, and they, in turn, are helping their neighbors and making their lives better. When that happens, everybody wins.”