by I A Thompson
Hernandez turned his attention back to Regina who was still white as a ghost. “Is this the first time you’ve lost someone you’re close to?”
Regina shook her head. “No, my grandfather passed away a few years ago from cancer, but that was different. He was old and we had known for weeks it was going to happen. We all got to spend time with him and say our goodbyes. Once he went into hospice care, they pretty much kept him sedated the entire time he was there. It was very peaceful.”
She choked and her voice shook slightly when she continued. “One minute I’m sitting in Zach’s room, drinking coffee and talking, the next minute he’s gone. And then I get to thinking, if Reza and I had been just ten minutes earlier, we would have already been back up in his room and we would be dead too.” She rocked back and forth in her seat, in a futile attempt to calm herself down.
“Don’t do that!” Hernandez voice was suddenly booming in the confined cabin space. Regina looked up, puzzled. “Don’t give in to those feelings. There is a name for what you’re experiencing. It’s called ‘survivor’s syndrome’ or ‘survivor’s guilt’. They are both symptoms of PTSD, which is perfectly normal for anyone who went through what you just did. If you don’t acknowledge them, you’ll let them get the better of you. And yes, they will draw you into a black hole. Take it from someone who’s been there.”
“How can I make them go away?”
“You can’t. But you can learn to live with them. There are many ways and what’s right for one person may not be right for another. I went to counseling, started a new exercise regimen, learned a whole arsenal of psychological tricks to handle my thoughts, practiced Yoga as a way to be more mindful, but most of all, I forced myself to spend time with people who care about me, especially in those moments when I wanted to withdraw.”
“Did it help?”
“Yes, it did. It took a while, but eventually, I got to the point where I didn’t just intellectually, but also emotionally understood that the events I had lived through were just that, events. Call it luck of the draw, kismet, karma, whatever you want. I call it my ‘Charlie Mike’, my own personal reminder that my mission continues and that my work is not done yet. When we get State-side, I’ll give you the name of my therapist. I want you to see him. But most of all, I want you to be kind to yourself and let yourself off the hook you placed yourself on. There is nothing you could have done to prevent this attack and none of it is your fault. Do you understand?”
Regina nodded. “I do and I get that it will be a process. Is it okay if I compartmentalize, so I can focus on the tasks at hand?”
“You certainly can, as long as you don’t ignore your feelings for too long.”
52
Seeing Esin’s friendly face lifted Regina’s spirits considerably after the DDA reconnected the video conference. She only knew the third man in the room from his picture in the main hallway at Langley. Tom Archer, the CIA Deputy Director of Operations and Esin’s boss.
“Sorry, it took longer than I thought,” Treadwell said. “But here we are. Miss Kahraman, please provide Mr. Hernandez and Miss Livingston with your latest information about ISIS in Saudi Arabia.”
Esin pulled up a picture of a valley surrounded by rocky hills, not unlike those framing the Grand Canyon, just on a reduced scale and with almost no water. A small village was visible, the dilapidated houses crudely constructed with native stones.
“What you see here is one of the many, tiny, unnamed villages you will find all over the region. This one is near Mawan. It’s not much more than a couple of houses and outbuildings, most likely stables or storage facilities. Overall, the area is rural and of little strategic interest to the ruling class. In other words, there is no oil in the ground. The population has been poor and disenfranchised for generations. An ideal recruiting ground for ISIS.”
She switched to a different image, this one taken with a thermal imaging camera from a high altitude. “We’ve got this less than twenty-four hours ago from a sentinel drone. The heat signatures you see around the houses are uncharacteristic in number and density when compared to other similar villages. It leads us to believe that we’re looking at a large congregation of people and their supporting infrastructure. Given that the day-time pictures speak a different language, we believe that many of the items visible on the thermal images are either underground or heavily camouflaged.”
“Could it be an ISIS stronghold?” Hernandez asked.
“It’s possible,” Esin replied. “But it could just as well be a wedding party. With our present knowledge, we can’t rule out anything. And the Saudi government’s position is that there is no ISIS presence in the Kingdom. I have a guy on the ground who will go and take a peek. Unfortunately, it will take roughly a day until we know for sure, he must make his way along one of the trade routes in an inconspicuous manner, otherwise, he’ll stick out like a sore thumb and that’s a risk we simply can’t take.”
“We are moving as fast as possible; in case this is indeed an ISIS camp. We don’t want to spook them, but we also don’t want to lose them if they’re on the move,” DDO Archer added.
“While we’re waiting for confirmation from our local asset, SecNav has given orders to stage a SEAL team at Udeid Air Base in Qatar along with a Marine Corps Quick Reaction Force team and await further instructions. If this pans out, we’ll be ready to rain holy hell down on them in no time,” Treadwell said, leaving no doubt that this scenario was his preferred one. “We do however have to consider alternatives. If the attack was not coordinated from within the KSA, then where did it come from? Miss Livingston, can you analyze whatever chatter we may have picked up?”
“Yes, sir will do. Hopefully, we’ll have some answers by the time we land in DC.”
“Please report straight to my office when you get here. Both of you. See you in a few hours.” Treadwell hung up.
Despite her best efforts, Regina was not one step closer when they touched down at Dulles International Airport. The perpetrators seemed to have crawled out of a radio silence black hole. There was plenty of other chatter deep in the heavily encrypted communication channels of the terrorist organization. Some banal day-to-day topics and a whole array of abject vileness, but nothing about an impending strike against anyone.
While she was working her queries, Hernandez made one phone call after another. Finally, after they’d already deplaned, got into a waiting car and made it halfway to the CIA Headquarters, he hung up for the last time.
“Well, there is at least some good news. Mertens, Voos, Aylesbury, Haas and Van Baak have finished up their parts of the investigation. We can put the hammer down on Dominic Amante, his cronies at RDFL, Maximian, and TEC as soon as we’re ready to strike on our end. Tactical teams are on standby until then.”
“That’s great.” Regina turned to him as her mind started racing. “Did they upload their reports and evidence logs yet?”
“Yes, of course. That’s standard operating procedure. You submitted yours, didn’t you? Why are you asking?”
“Because I think I was too narrowly focused on ISIS back on the plane. I want to start over, taking everything into account we know currently. Just as soon as I can get my hands on a computer.”
Fortunately, traffic was light and less than thirty minutes later, they were ushered into the DDA’s office. Treadwell yielded the seat behind his desk to Regina once she explained what she was after. While she was frantically typing, Hernandez gave Treadwell a high-level status update.
Waiting for results always seemed to take an undue amount of time. This was no different. And being in the DDA’s office made the wait even more uncomfortable. She wished CP would hurry up. Then finally, an entity relationship diagram rendered on the screen.
“Gentlemen, you are going to want to see this,” she interrupted the men’s conversation and then addressed Treadwell directly. “Can we project the computer screen onto the TV?”
Treadwell pushed a button on his remote and the diagram filled t
he big screen instantaneously. “What am I looking at?” he asked.
“It’s all connected, including the little village Esin had mentioned earlier today.” Regina wiggled the computer mouse to move it across the image and pointed at Mawan. “Even though Zach and I weren’t able to get as much intel on Omar Salib as we wanted, between what I learned from speaking with Reza Khan and where the leads from the other investigations intersected, we can now paint a reasonably clear picture of how their organization operated.”
“Care to enlighten us?” Treadwell asked, his left foot impatiently tapping the floor.
For the next two hours, Regina peeled back the many layers of the onion that task force ‘Identity’ had turned into and answered questions. Omar Salib’s network peddled weapons from a dozen countries to anyone with a grudge, from revolutionaries to dictators, if the money was right.
“We haven’t had enough time to work on the true origin of the weapons,” Regina explained. “So, at this time, we’re operating under the assumption they disappeared from various conflict zones where their manufacturers’ countries were actively engaged.”
The buyers had paid with anything of value at their disposal. Cocaine, antiquities, oil, all laundered through the European trade nexus.
“We didn’t know how significant of a factor oil smuggling was, particularly via Turkey,” Regina pointed at a cross-section of lines. “Salib, by means of Trans European Cargo, was able to move just about anything, all over Europe, Africa and Asia. And Royal Dutch Freight Line took care of the transatlantic and transpacific shipments.”
“A lot of people got very rich in the process,” Hernandez added. “And many corners of the globe are now significantly less stable because radical ideologues acquired the means to wreak havoc as they please.”
“Well, then,” Treadwell got up “Looks like we have no choice but to neutralize as many of those threats as quickly and as quietly as we can.” He picked up his phone and dialed a memorized number. “We have a situation,” was all he said.
53
Regina walked into her small two-bedroom apartment in McLean. As always, the soothing colors, comfortable furniture, and the scent of Scentsy’s ‘Clean Breeze’, instantaneously helped to calm her down. For the first time since the explosions at the Burj Najjar, she felt a sense of safety and some peace of mind.
She took a hot shower and put on yoga pants and an oversized shirt, before taking a chocolate protein shake out of the fridge. Then she made herself comfortable on the couch, wrapped in her favorite fringed throw.
Only then did she allow herself to think of Zach, and before she knew it, she was crying uncontrollably. With every memory, there were more tears. Her head began to hurt and breathing became harder.
She felt the overwhelming need to talk to her mother as she had done all her life with deeply emotional situations. A glance at the clock told her it was just past dinner time in Pensacola. She dialed her mom’s number on FaceTime.
“Hi honey, how nice to hear from you,” Elle Livingston said when she picked up the call. Her smile faded quickly when she saw her daughter’s tear-streaked face. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Zach is dead, Mom,” Regina’s voice quivered. “He was killed in a hotel explosion in Saudi Arabia.”
“Oh my God!” Elle covered her mouth with her left hand. “That terrorist attack in Riyadh? We heard about it on the news and how a few dozen Americans lost their lives. I’m so sorry to hear that, honey. He was such a nice young man. But what on earth was he doing there?”
“He was working on an assignment.”
“Have you notified his family? Oh, his poor mama. I can only imagine what she must be going through.” Elle looked like she was suppressing tears herself.
“I don’t know, mom. I was told his office would do that.” Regina realized that even if she had wanted to reach out to Zach’s family, she didn’t have any of their contact information.
“How are you holding up, sweetheart?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t stop crying. Every time I think I can get a grip on it; I get hit with another memory or another thought of what could have been and it all starts again.”
“Gina, that’s completely normal and it’s okay for you to grieve. Remember when Grandpa died?”
She nodded, the waterworks flowing again.
“His time had just come, and there was nothing you could have done to save him. All you could do is savor the memories and know he was in a better place. I know it’s not quite the same, but remember how thinking of the happy moments helped you get through the sadness?”
“Yes, mom, but I can’t stop feeling guilty. I know in my head that there was nothing anyone could have done, but it doesn’t make the feelings go away. And to make matters worse, I never told him how much I liked him.”
“Honey, I’m sure he knew that. Why don’t you take a few days of leave and come home? Dad and I can take care of you and cheer you up. And be there if you need a shoulder to cry on.”
“I wish I could, mom, but work is crazy busy right now and they need me. And throwing myself into helping others is going to take my mind off everything that happened and maybe, just maybe, we can make the world a bit of a better place.”
“You do what you think is best, darling. Just know, we’re always here for you.”
“I know, mom, and I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. Just talking with you and seeing your face makes things better.”
“Well, then you get yourself a good night sleep and tomorrow will be a brighter day.”
Regina did indeed feel better after she hung up. Yes, there would be another day. And with it would come intelligence gathering, analysis and planning to hold responsible all those who had a hand in Zach’s death. Her skills and knowledge would make a difference.
“We will rain fire and brimstone on you bastards,” she told the picture in her mind of black-clad ISIS fighters. “You will regret ever having set foot into Riyadh.”
As her focus shifted, her grief began to turn into red-hot anger. It wasn’t like she could sleep anyway, so she grabbed her iPad and logged into CP and then pulled up all of ‘Identity’s’ case files. She skipped the reports she and Zach had collaborated on and focused on the work of the other team members.
The drugs that traveled on the ‘Nijemegen’ to Rotterdam quickly made their way through an increasingly granular organization of dealers into the Dutch party scene, specifically Amsterdam, and from there via the European rail system into other small and large cities on the continent. Unlike air travel, trains and cars didn’t undergo a lot of scrutiny when crossing borders inside the European Union.
Finn and Hardy meticulously logged the identities and whereabouts of street-level dealers all the way up to their bosses who lived in posh neighborhoods, with million-dollar homes and held daytime jobs in reputable businesses. It would be a cinch to roll them all up in a well-coordinated sting. Impressive.
Lena and Jonathan, on the other hand, had stumbled into the proverbial hornets’ nest. By the time the ‘Aida’ arrived at the Dunkirk port, one of the containers from Paramaribo had disappeared, both from the manifest and the cargo bay. In its place was a container full of Chinese QBZ-97 assault rifles. The exchange happened either in Guadalupe or somewhere at sea, those details were still unknown.
Much more interesting was the destination of the weapons. They were headed to Hauts-de-Seine, to the headquarters of an organization called La Défense, like the prominent business district. According to Lena and Jonathan’s research, they were loosely affiliated with the National Rally, the political movement that emerged from the National Front, a French right-wing nationalist party. La Défense was little talk and a lot more action. They armed and trained nationalist militias all over France to protect, so they claimed, their country from extremist immigrants.
“Now we have Chinese weapons in the hand of both left-wing and right-wing radicals on three continents,” Regina mused to herself, counting the wea
pons shipments to Africa they had been able to attribute to Omar Salib. “It’s as if someone was trying to set fire to powder kegs all over the world.”
The drugs shipped to Dunkirk disappeared into the Parisian underworld as quickly and effortlessly as the ones in Holland did. Because Lena and Jonathan had focused on the weapons, they had left the monitoring of the drug ring to the French authorities. Unfortunately, the assigned officers had done a less than stellar job in tracking and logging the movements of the drug dealers. Around only 25% of the drugs could be attributed to actual dealers, the rest was lost in a cloud of confusing and contradictory reports.
“Where are you hiding, Mister Mastermind?” Regina wondered out loud, as she hit dead end after dead end, no matter how many ways she analyzed the information at her fingertips. She got up and made herself a cup of strong coffee. It was going to be a long night.
54
The next morning, Regina parked in her usual spot. Summer had arrived while she had traveled all over the world and the air was muggy. She was late because she had somehow managed to snag a nail in her rear passenger tire, due to the construction sites that were decades overdue and a current pain in everyone’s neck, and had to stop to get it fixed.
Her lack of sleep the previous night, combined with the adrenaline rush of finding a connection between all of the task force’s loose ends, and the Qatar based Salafi network had given her a hammering headache that had not yet responded to a double dose of coffee and headache medicine. She did her best to loosen up her muscles on her way to Treadwell’s office but had little success.
“Miss Livingston, please do explain what exactly it was that kept you up all night and away from the office this morning.” Treadwell appeared to be having a bad morning himself.
