by I A Thompson
The missile launched perfectly and entered the old kitchen through a window, but instead of doing its job and exploding, it exited the building through another window at the back and plowed into the smaller house behind it which housed the plantation’s daycare. The detonation turned the structure into a fiery heap of rubble in the blink of an eye.
Regina heard herself scream “NO” at the top of her lungs as her brain tried to process what had just happened.
Hardy was on his feet, running to the TV as if he could reach through the screen and rescue the children trapped in the inferno. The rest of the team sat there in a state of shock.
The resistance from the main house and the kitchen ceased immediately, as men came running out of the buildings, screaming, with tears running down their faces, racing towards the fire. Well trained in firefighting, which was often needed on remote plantations, they quickly rolled out fire hoses and hooked them up to hydrants. Water began spewing into the blaze.
Police officers and the men who had surrendered earlier joined the desperate attempt to put the fire out and search for survivors; friend and foe united for the moment.
After what seemed an eternity, but in reality was less than half an hour, fire and rescue helicopters started arriving, dumping additional water from their belly tanks.
Eventually, nothing but soaked charcoal was left. The plantation community and rescuers gathered in prayer around the ruins; a heartbreaking sight. Then the arduous task of recovering the remains of the children and their caretakers began.
All of a sudden, one of the firefighters started waving his arms like crazy and screamed something Regina couldn’t understand.
“There are survivors!” Hardy, who had been pacing in front of the TV, froze and then turned towards the screen.
“Hardy, do you mind?” Lena’s voice was impatient. “You’re blocking the picture.”
“Sorry,” Hardy mumbled, face pale as he stepped backwards and to the side.
Like a phoenix out of the ashes, the firefighter lifted a small boy up in the air, wet and crying, but physically completely unharmed.
“How in the world is that possible?” Regina whispered.
The answer came when two other firefighters lifted a crouched, charred bundle onto a stretcher and carried it to one of the helicopters. As they loaded the stretcher, the camera caught the profile of the victim for the briefest of moments. A picture that would soon make the headlines in newscasts across the world. It was Emilia Amante.
“Oh my God.” Regina was on her feet now too and joined Hardy in front of the TV. “She saved that child’s life. How on earth…” her voice trailed off.
Hernandez, who had left the room after the missile hit, returned with a somber look on his face. “They’ve got Amante. He tried to make a run for it, while everyone else was battling the disaster at hand, but given that this was his normal modus operandi, the police chief had anticipated the move and nabbed him before he could even get off his property. He’s now sitting in jail in Paramaribo, awaiting extradition to the U.S.”
Hardy smiled sadly. “That’s at least one silver lining, although the circumstances make it seem almost irrelevant.”
“My thoughts precisely,” Hernandez nodded. “Task force ‘Identity’ has successfully completed its mission, but the collateral damage sure doesn’t make it feel like a success. I also must tell you that this ends your assignments to the task force. You’ll report back to your normal duty stations on Monday. Thank you all for your exemplary service.” With that, he turned around and left.
“That was harsh,” Regina commented. “Makes you wonder if guys like him have any feelings.”
Hardy put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s how some of us deal with the horrors we encounter in our jobs. Some people drink, some turn to extreme sports and others compartmentalize to the point of seeming completely cold-blooded. Everyone deals with it differently. This man,” he pointed at the door Hernandez had just walked through, “is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders at the moment. I would not want to be in his shoes.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m with Regina.” Finn seldom raised his voice, but now he was clearly upset. “I certainly understand the circumstances are not favorable for a celebration but being dismissed like this after everything else we accomplished is definitely underwhelming.”
And while everyone agreed, it was what it was. All they could do was to wish each other well and promise to stay in touch, knowing full well that they wouldn’t.
57
“You’re back?” Deanna’s eyes were big as saucers, as she jumped up from her chair, ran to Regina and hugged her. “How was it? You must tell us everything! Why didn’t you call? We could have gotten cake and celebrated!”
As much as Regina appreciated the warmth and excitement of her friend and colleague, she couldn’t help but feel slightly claustrophobic in the confines of the small office. She managed a smile, genuine enough to fool anyone but her family, who would have seen right through it.
“Honestly, I didn’t know I would be back so suddenly. In the end, things moved at lightning speed.”
There was no need to mention the week and change spent debriefing with Esin and dutifully reporting everything she learned during her assignment. Esin’s questions were one thing but getting grilled by DDA Treadwell and DDO Archer was something else altogether. At times, she thought they didn’t believe a word of what she was saying. She lost count of how many ways she was asked the same questions.
“Look,” Esin had explained. “Memory and perceptions are fickle things. They are just making sure that they get the whole story and not just fragments. Don’t take it personal.”
She did take it personal, which was why she valued greatly her many sessions that week with one of the CIA’s psychologists, grappling with her thoughts and feelings.
The aftermath of the missile strike on the daycare center at Anholts plantation still had her shaken. As did the image of the badly burned Emilia Amante being lifted into the helicopter that she couldn’t get out of her head. She had learned the woman would survive, despite the third-degree burns covering most of her body and the right side of her face. What a coincidence that she had taken that boy to the bathroom just before the missile hit. And that the blast ruptured the water line, continuously soaking them with water, while the fire raged around them. The water gave her some protection and saved her life, while she was covering the little boy with her body. She shuddered thinking of the agony the woman had to be going through.
Deanna noticed the faint movement. “Are you okay?”
“I will be. There’s still a lot to process. Some things we experienced were quite horrific. One day, when I’m ready, I will tell you about it. But for now, I’d appreciate if you all would not ask questions.”
While Deanna looked slightly taken aback, Frank nodded. “Understood. Just know we’re here for you if or when you want to talk.” He pointed his chin at Ted. “Things have been busy here too while you were gone. The Salafi network blew up a high rise in Riyadh and we took out one of their operating bases in Saudi Arabia. The Saudis, of course deny, everything.”
“And that TUMALSO forum you asked me to keep an eye on,” Ted added. “They’ve been awfully chatty lately. Day in and day out, all they’re talking about is merging their organization into something called ‘The People’s Alliance’.”
“Say what?” Regina felt as if she got hit by a jolt of electricity.
“‘The People’s Alliance’. Couldn’t find anything on them anywhere, so I’m not sure if it means anything. But the kids are definitely excited about it.”
“It means that a movement with one of the tightest operations security protocols I’ve ever seen has grown to the cusp of becoming mainstream. Which means, I need to talk to Treadwell on the double.” Regina reached for her phone and dialed the number she now knew by heart.
That fact was not missed by her teammates who exchanged looks that spoke volumes. Fr
ank voiced what they all thought. “So, you already know about these guys. And you’re all buddy-buddy with the DDA suddenly? What the fuck have you been doing on that task force?”
Regina raised her index finger to silence him. “Miss Kelly, it’s Regina Livingston. When is the earliest time today that the DDA has a break in his schedule? … Can you tell him we have a new development with TPA? … An hour? Yes, I’ll be there. Thank you, very much appreciated.” She hung up and faced her team, knowing that her grace period had ended.
“Okay, I’ll give you the short version. We followed a lead about an arms dealer to Riyadh. My partner and I split up to speed up the process. I met this guy, Reza Khan, who told me about ‘The People’s Alliance’. I wanted my partner to meet him. That was the day, the Salafi network decided to blow up the Burj Najjar. My partner died in the blast. Reza and I escaped by the grace of God and lucky timing. Had we been five minutes earlier, I wouldn’t be here.”
Once the valve that Regina had closed tightly around the events of the past few weeks was opened, she found it surprisingly liberating to talk to her colleagues. They were professionals and even though they normally learned of stories like hers through transcripts and recordings, there was nothing she could tell them that they hadn’t heard or seen in one form or another. Except, this time, it was one of their own who experienced it firsthand.
“That’s all, I can tell you. While the task force has done its job, the resulting legal cases are still ongoing. Now, please excuse me, I’ve got to head upstairs to the DDA.”
She made the now familiar trip to the executive floor, where Treadwell’s assistant waved her straight into his office. Much to Regina’s surprise, DDO Archer and Esin were also present.
“Miss Livingston, what is this situation that required such immediate attention?” The DDA had assumed a power stance, arms crossed, feet planted in line with his shoulders. He was primed to hear any bad news she had to bear.
“We have our first case of digital chatter about TPA. A virtual Marxist and leftist student organization have been talking about joining TPA. From my conversations with Reza Khan, I’m gleaning they don’t want to leave a digital footprint. At least not yet. In my opinion, there are only two scenarios here. Either TPA is evolving faster than I thought and they are now expanding into using social media, which could drastically increase their reach. Or this was a major blunder and the kids behind that student organization will clam up quickly and TPA will go dark again.”
“Your thoughts, Esin?” DDO Archer asked.
Esin smiled. “I agree with Regina. And I don’t like either one of those options. Our life would certainly be easier if they were beginning to use mass media like everyone else but based on what I know so far and my experience, I’d say, these guys are anything but run of the mill. And if they go dark again, then I am strongly advocating for infiltrating their organization and doing it fast.
“Thank you, Miss Kahraman,” Treadwell replied and then turned back to Regina. “Well, Miss Livingston, no better time than the present to thank you first for your willingness to join task force ‘Identity’ and second for doing an outstanding job during your detail. Mr. Hernandez was supposed to be here to share this moment, but he had an appointment with the Attorney General he was not able to move.”
He walked over to his desk and picked up two envelopes. He handed the first one to Regina. “Tom and I took the liberty of writing a commendation for you that will be added to your personnel file. A token of our appreciation for the valuable information you have provided to the agency during your assignment. You definitely have a knack for field work and it’s unfortunate that your current role does not allow for more of that engagement.”
“Yes, very unfortunate,” Tom Archer added. “You would be the perfect person to find out more about TPA, especially since you already built a relationship with Mr. Khan.”
Treadwell waved the second envelope. “Which brings me to this. Tom and I had a lengthy conversation and we both agree it’s best if you moved to the Directorate of Operations. These are your transfer papers if you’re up for it.”
“Up for it? Mr. Treadwell, no offense to the analyst community, but I wanted to be in Ops and in the field since my first day at Langley.” Regina felt the rush of adrenaline.
Archer chuckled. “Well, sounds like it’s been decided then. Welcome to Operations, Miss Livingston. Esin will show you the ropes and get you set up with the things you’ll need when you go back to Saudi Arabia.”
About the Author
I.A. Thompson was born in Zurich, Switzerland, grew up near Zurich, and moved to America in her thirties. A lifelong avid reader and writer since childhood, she and a high school friend wrote their first novel together by passing the manuscript back and forth between periods. The author holds a full time management job in the Financial Services industry and writes in her spare time. She lives with her family in Florida.
