Five Years in Yemen

by Luana Ehrlich

  “That’s an interesting philosophy, Congressman.”

  He nodded. “My mother taught my brother and me it was our responsibility to help our neighbors, but she also told us we should look for ways to make their lives better. It’s one of the reasons I ran for public office.”

  He looked away for a second. “My brother became a research scientist for the same reason. Unfortunately, he paid the ultimate sacrifice for trying to help others.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Olivia said. “Your brother’s body has never been found.”

  “I assure you, Olivia, if Jacob were still alive, he would have found a way to contact me by now.”

  A few minutes later, Congressman Levin waved at someone across the room, and, after telling me what a pleasure it was to make my acquaintance, he excused himself to go speak with them.

  As Olivia and I walked back over to Senator Mitchell’s table, I said, “You know, Olivia, you could have given me a little warning about what you were going to say to Congressman Levin. What I know about the water crisis in the Middle East could be summed up in one sentence.”

  “I introduced you as an expert, so whatever you said sounded brilliant to him. If I would have told you beforehand, you would have over thought the whole thing and ended up sounding foolish.”

  “I don’t overthink things.”

  “Sometimes you do.”

  “No, I pay attention to details, consider the implications, and draw conclusions. That’s not overthinking.”

  “See? You’re doing it right now.”

  * * * *

  The rest of the evening proceeded at a snail’s pace. It began when we were shown a video about the Capitol Hill Distinguished Service Award and finally culminated two hours later with the announcement of this year’s award recipient—an obscure congresswoman I’d never heard of before.

  As she walked up to the stage to receive the award, I glanced over at Senator Mitchell’s face, looking for signs he was disappointed he wasn’t the one being honored.

  Like everyone else in the room, he was on his feet applauding. Although he seemed genuinely pleased at the judges’ choice, it had to be a little humiliating that he didn’t even make the list of finalists.

  However, since Congressman Levin hadn’t made the finalists’ list either, I suspected the smile on the Senator’s face reflected that.

  * * * *

  It was after midnight by the time I dropped Olivia off at her apartment, and since it was late, I was surprised to get a call from Carlton on my way out to The Meadows.

  “Are you clear?” he asked.

  “I’m clear. I’m driving out to The Meadows. What’s up?”

  “I need to update you about Rebel Merchant. First, though, tell me about your evening. Anything I should be worried about?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Maybe you could expand on that.”

  “Here’s what you won’t read in the papers tomorrow. Titus Ray, a Senior Fellow at the Consortium for International Studies, attended the Distinguished Award gala this evening where he was introduced to Congressman Daniel Levin. The two of them briefly discussed water management in the Middle East.”

  “Are you familiar with that topic?”

  “Oh, completely. The Congressman thought I was brilliant.”

  “Who introduced you?”

  “Olivia McConnell. I invited her to go with me to the gala. I figured with her history of working on the Hill, she could introduce me to the Congressman.”

  Carlton didn’t immediately respond, which made me wonder if he disapproved of my involving Olivia in my evening, but then he said, “Did Olivia tell you she might be directing Rebel Merchant when it goes up on the board in the Ops Center?”

  “As a matter of fact, she did, but she flatly refused to discuss the details of the operation with me.”

  “I wouldn’t have expected anything less of Olivia. What about Daniel Levin? What kind of read did you get on him?”

  “If he’s been in contact with Jacob, he’s a good actor. He sounded very convincing when he told Olivia he knew his brother was dead.”

  “Did he say anything specific about Jacob?”

  “In a roundabout way he did, but I’m not sure what to make of it. Daniel told me he went into politics for altruistic reasons, and he said Jacob also made his career choice for the same reason, to help others.”

  “There aren’t many military research scientists who would make that claim.”

  “I thought the same thing, but Jacob talked about helping the Iraqis in his proposal, so I guess that supports his claim.”

  Carlton didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe. Did you and Senator Mitchell manage to avoid each other?”

  “No, not exactly. He wasn’t convinced I was at the gala to enjoy the atmosphere of The Federalist Club, so he pulled me aside and asked me what I was really doing there. I admitted to him I had an interest in Congressmen Levin because of his brother’s previous history with the Agency.”

  “Did he quiz you any further about that?”

  “No, he seemed satisfied when I confessed to having an agenda.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “The food was good.”

  * * * *

  I finished telling Carlton about my evening, and then he gave me his own update. It had to do with the DIA guy, Jeremy Taylor.

  He said Dirk Andersen had called him back and told him Taylor had agreed to be on the Rebel Merchant team as the DIA representative.

  “He understands you’re the primary for the mission,” Carlton said, “but I told Dirk when it comes to the decision-making process, Taylor will be considered an equal partner. He was with the 75th Ranger Regiment in Iraq and Afghanistan, and he’s a certified Arabic speaker. He’s also been to Yemen before. With that kind of experience, I think he’ll be a good fit.”

  “So, besides me, it’s Ben Mitchell and Jeremy Taylor. Is that our operational team for Rebel Merchant?”

  “It’s still evolving. I’m working with Legends on your cover story and depending on what they decide, there may be other members added.”

  “I’d prefer to keep as low a profile as possible.”

  “That’s my preference as well, but sometimes, flying under the radar is not always the best way to go.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “No, I don’t imagine you do.”

  “Could you at least give me a hint of the kind of cover you’re working on for us?”

  “No, but I will tell you this. Your briefing for Rebel Merchant is scheduled for Wednesday at ten o’clock.”

  “When do we leave for Yemen?”

  “As things stand right now, you’ll be on a flight twelve hours later. I wouldn’t plan on returning to The Meadows after Wednesday.”

  For some reason, the finality of his statement sent a chill down my spine.

  PART THREE

  Chapter 25

  Wednesday, December 2

  By the time I stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor of Agency headquarters on Wednesday morning, I was more than ready to sit through a long briefing session.

  I’d spent the last two days reading up on Yemen, playing chess with Arkady, discussing meat loaf with Millie, and shopping for Nikki’s Christmas present.

  Since it would be our first Christmas together, I wanted my gift to be something special, something a little unique, not the usual perfume and jewelry kind of gift.

  However, I’d come away empty-handed.

  Nothing seemed that special or unique enough, and I’d finally decided I needed to give it a lot more thought before making a purchase.

  I was actually thinking about Nikki’s gift when I walked into Carlton’s outer office to return the keys to the Jeep Cherokee before heading down to the Ops Center for my briefing.

  “Did someone die?” Sally Jo asked when she looked up and saw me.

  “You’re back.”

  Sally Jo brushed away a
few wispy strands of gray hair from her forehead and said, “Yes, but you don’t have to look so sad about it.”

  “Oh, believe me. I’m happy to see you sitting there.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know it from the look on your face.”

  “That’s because I was thinking about something else. In fact, maybe you could help me. I was trying to think of a gift I could give Nikki for Christmas. It needs to be something special, maybe even unique.”

  “Really? You’re thinking about a Christmas present when your final operational briefing starts in less than thirty minutes? I must say, Titus, this isn’t like you.”

  “No, you’re right. Nikki has a way of distracting me.”

  “Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

  “Why? Because I overthink things?”

  “No, because we all need to care about someone more than we do ourselves.”

  “So you don’t think I overthink things?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  * * * *

  The Agency’s Operations Center took up the basement level of the Old Headquarters Building, and when I got off the elevator, I turned right and headed down Corridor C, to the conference room located across from Real Time Management Center C.

  Each of the RTM Centers—there were six of them—had its own conference room, employee break room, and office space, but the central hub of each RTM Center was the control room.

  This room, with its wall of video monitors and computer consoles, resembled a television production studio or perhaps more accurately, the mission control center at NASA’s Johnson Space Center.

  Access to the control room was limited to the personnel who worked at the consoles inside and to the directors who managed them.

  Although I was seldom invited inside an RTM control room, I was well acquainted with what went on there—Carlton communicated with me from the control room by means of a video linkup when an operation was running.

  Now, as I walked by the control room in RTM Center C, the door opened, and Olivia came out.

  Before the door closed again, I caught a brief glimpse of one of the wall-mounted video screens. The image I saw appeared to be a lone building in the middle of a desert with several vehicles parked nearby. From the camera angle, I assumed this was the feed from a surveillance drone flying overhead.

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” Olivia said, when she saw me crane my neck around to look inside.

  “Was that the feed from one of our drones in Yemen?”

  “You’ll know soon enough,” she said, pointing toward the conference room, “and if I were you, I wouldn’t keep Douglas waiting. You know how he feels about late arrivals to his briefings.”

  As soon as Olivia and I walked across the hall and entered Conference Room C, I realized Douglas probably wasn’t going to care what time I arrived at the briefing.

  He wasn’t there yet.

  The room wasn’t empty, though.

  Mitchell was there. He was seated at the far end of the table chatting with Katherine Broward, the Agency’s chief counterterrorism analyst and head of the Analysis and Strategic Assessment (ASA) division.

  When I gave them a brief wave, Olivia said, “In case you didn’t know, Juliana broke up with him last night. But, as you can see, he’s managed to get over it pretty quickly.”

  “He and Katherine are just having a conversation. She’s not interested in him.”

  “Are you sure about that? She was interested in you at one time.”

  “That was ages ago. The last time I talked with her, she let me know she didn’t plan to date anyone who worked at the Agency again.”

  “Maybe that’s why she keeps looking over at the guy at the other end of the table. I know he’s not Agency.”

  “That’s Jeremy Taylor. Come on over. I’ll introduce you.”

  Taylor, who was seated at the other end of the table from Mitchell, was looking down at his laptop, but when we walked up, he closed the lid and stood to his feet.

  “Hi, Jeremy. It’s good to see you again,” I said.

  “Yeah, same here.”

  “I’d like to introduce you to Olivia McConnell. Olivia, this is Jeremy Taylor, he’s with the DIA.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Olivia.”

  “Olivia is the—”

  Before I could finish introducing her, Olivia interrupted me and made the introduction herself, accusing me of never getting her title right.

  That wasn’t true, but since Carlton walked in the room at that moment, I decided not to argue with her.

  After I sat down next to Taylor, Mitchell moved over and sat down next to me, while Olivia walked over and spoke with Carlton.

  As the two of them were talking, four more people entered the room. Instead of taking a seat at the conference table, they sat down in the row of chairs behind the table.

  “I’m kinda lost here,” Taylor said to me. “At my briefings, everyone is wearing a uniform and a name tag, and I always know where I stand in the pecking order.”

  “Here’s all you need to know,” I said. “Unless the DDO is present at a briefing, there’s no need to worry about the pecking order.”

  * * * *

  When Carlton finished speaking with Olivia, he took the center seat on the opposite side of the table from Taylor, Mitchell, and me.

  After placing a small stack of folders in front of him—making sure each folder was neatly aligned with the other—he issued a lengthy apology for his late arrival, even though it was only 10:04.

  Meanwhile, Olivia sat down in front of a computer and began entering a series of keystrokes.

  The computer was connected to a wall-mounted video screen at the end of the room, and her actions led me to believe she might be getting things ready to communicate with someone via a video call, someone in a remote location, someone who would be attending the briefing through a video linkup.

  I admit I was a little mystified by the people present at the briefing. Or rather, by the people who weren’t present at the briefing.

  Because of my previous conversation with Carlton, I was expecting to see at least one other covert operative in the room who’d been assigned to the operational team.

  When operating in country, I always preferred to have the smallest footprint possible—a two-to-three-person team drew less attention, had fewer personality conflicts, and created fewer logistical problems.

  Unless a fourth operative was running late or Olivia was contacting another operative via video call, I’d gotten my wish.

  Carlton began the briefing by introducing everyone, including Katherine Brower’s ASA team, a couple of Support Services employees, and a lawyer from the Legal department.

  Before the meeting was over, the lawyer would give each operative on the Rebel Merchant team a legal document to sign that stated we were aware of the dangers involved in the mission, and we weren’t being coerced into accepting the assignment.

  Once the introductions were made, and Carlton had explained the background of the operation, he opened one of his folders and removed a single sheet of paper.

  After explaining this was the President’s memorandum classifying Rebel Merchant as a Top-Secret Special Access Limited operation, he read it aloud to everyone in the room.

  He’d just finished reading the document when the door to the conference room opened and two more people joined the briefing.

  I knew one of them.

  His name was Josh Kellerman. He was the head of the Legends division at Support Services, the section responsible for supplying cover identities for the Agency’s covert operatives when they were in country.

  However, I didn’t recognize the woman with Kellerman.

  The first clue to her identity came when Carlton gestured at the chair next to Taylor and said, “Delaney, please be seated. You haven’t missed anything except the introductions.”

  The fact that Carlton indicated Delaney should sit with the rest of the Rebel Merchant team told me everything I n
eeded to know—she was the fourth member of my team.

  Carlton immediately confirmed this.

  He said, “I’d like you to meet Delaney Karol. She’s one of our Support Specialists who’s been assigned to the operational team. The reason Delaney’s been asked to join the Rebel Merchant operation will be explained shortly. But first, I’d like to give you an overview of our briefing today.”

  As Carlton laid out his agenda for the meeting, I tried to figure out why Delaney Karol was on the operations team.

  Carlton said she was a Support Specialist, which meant she wasn’t in the Agency’s Operations Division; therefore, she wasn’t a trained operative.

  Support Specialists were employed in either the Strategic Programs Division or the Science and Technology Division, and I quickly decided Delaney was probably a specialist in some kind of technology.

  Admittedly, I had no real basis for this assessment, except that technology—in the form of the drone detection device—was an important aspect of the operation. Also, Delaney’s physical appearance reminded me of a friend I’d had in college who’d been a techno nerd—although she might have been a little shorter than Delaney, and I think her hair might have been longer.

  Delaney had medium-length brown hair. It framed a heart-shaped face partially obscured by a pair of heavy, dark-framed glasses.

  She was wearing a light blue shirt and dark trousers, but, other than a pair of hoop-style silver earrings, she wasn’t wearing any jewelry. The handbag she carried was nondescript, about the size of a tablet computer, and she had on a pair of low-heeled black shoes. Age-wise, she looked to be in her mid-thirties.

  Delaney came off as being a Plain Jane, but she wasn’t unattractive, which made me wonder if she might be deliberately trying to appear homely. If so, she was succeeding.

  When she took a pen and notebook out of her handbag and started taking notes, I felt certain my assessment of her as an analytical, scientific type was justified.