But another camera in the gangway gave closer glimpses. Georgian intelligence wasn’t sharing these with the media. They were closer shots of the men’s faces, though some were obscured by military caps. A pair of faces caught the camera dead on. They were bearded men with dark pools for eyes that stared like ghouls at the camera eye. Behind them was a face in profile emerging from the stairway. He looked different from the others dressed in a dark jacket. His face was clean-shaven and pale, his nose hawkish. My money’s on him, Paul thought.
“So, we’re not coordinating with GIS. What exactly are we doing?” Kay asked.
“That’s up to Pierce. Unless I miss my guess, we are letting her go.”
“What?” Kay’s voice rose an octave and stole attention from everyone still left in the room.
He gave her a sour look and waved his hands for calm.
“Think about it. You’re Pierce. You’ve got an uncooperative target in custody, and you need intel in less than two hours. Then she’s gone, and your mission is dead ended. What are your options?”
She looked through him, thinking. In seconds she focused again. “He needs leverage.”
“Right.”
“So, he cuts her a deal. There’s no time for anything else.”
“Right again. And the deal is?”
“The deal is … give us some names and you avoid worse interrogation?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“But how does Ethan know anything she tells him is reliable?”
“It probably isn’t.”
“Then what’s the point? We’re no better off.” She crossed her arms.
“It’s not the intel she spills. It’s where she goes next.”
“Risky.”
Paul shrugged. “Risk is what we do.”
“Fine,” she said. “Too risky then.”
“It’s what we’ve got. He and Wade will need to keep track of her. Help them figure something out. I’ll see you in two hours.”
She stared at her screen, ignoring him as he walked out.
Paul strolled outside to clear his head. In the old days, he’d take a smoke break near the old auditorium dome. Lately, he settled for an apple or candy bar from the cafeteria. Today it was an apple too small and tart to enjoy much. From the new building, he had to walk around the whole campus to get where he was headed—the Memorial Pool. The water was still enough to reflect the evening sky in an eerie dark green. He watched the reflection as the clouds tumbled by thick with the coming spring rain, rolling like the thoughts in his head about the past hours.
Marcus Eldridge was the first officer he’d lost since taking this job. He knew a few others lost in the field over the years. Who didn’t after this long? This was different for him. He thought about Janey and the boys. Wednesday meant Janey played bridge tonight. She’d be home late, but even then she wouldn’t wait up for him. The boys were out there somewhere living more normal lives than he ever knew. They’d start families of their own soon. The thought made him feel old.
He wanted to write Eldridge’s parents a letter. He might even do it. They’d never receive it, of course. The standard letter explained nothing about how their son got shot in a Georgian valley trying to apprehend terrorists who blew up a jetliner. Eldridge would get a star carved in stone in the lobby of the old building and maybe his name in a handmade book.
He tossed the apple core into the bushes and wandered back to the op center, wondering if Pierce got the message. The man was good at reading in between the lines. It’s what made him a good targeting officer. One of his best. Pierce had to get the message, or they’d all have a long and unpleasant vacation.
Chapter 3: Tangled Web
Telavi, Georgia
4:20 a.m., Thursday, May 9
Ethan paced through the dark of the tiny safe house to shake off jet lag that stirred in his head like a drug. Corso’s call mingled with it, his scratching voice still swirling inside Ethan’s head. He stopped in the narrow hallway between the spartan bedrooms and leaned against the cool plaster wall rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Two hours wasn’t enough. He buttoned his shirt in the dark, feeling each button with his fingertips from habit. She wouldn’t tell him anything. Corso had to know that. He ran fingers through his greasy black hair that lay flat against his head. He couldn’t remember when he last ate. His mouth was dry. This is a lousy place for interrogation.
In the next room, Wade kept watch over the feisty woman he now knew as Seda Alaskhanova. She had said nothing as Ethan rifled through her belongings in the car. He found three passports tucked into a canvas shoulder bag. One was Russian and poorly made. The photo wasn’t even her. Too round faced and heavy. Of the other two Georgian passports, one was an excellent fake. When he read her name aloud, her eyes shifted subtly at his. He took it as confirmation. Her name was Seda.
Ethan’s eyes adjusted to the dark bedroom. Wade stayed awake, his eyes locked on Seda. She sat up on the bed, her wrists zip-tied to the steel-gray bed frame. Wade sat in an old kitchen chair leaned up against the wall on two legs. The thing creaked under his brawny bulk.
“She’s awake,” Wade said.
“She say anything?”
“Not really. Mumbled something a couple times. I don’t think she likes me much.”
“We need to talk,” Ethan said.
“Okay. She’s not going anywhere. Are you Jamila?” Wade patted the bed as he stood, and she shied away.
They stepped outside into the silence of the dead town’s outskirts. The hum of an electrical box that occupied the heart of a tangled web of wires over the roadway filled the air. A light fog had settled down from the mountains nearby, and they stood close in the cool damp to whisper.
“Corso called,” Ethan said.
“Yeah, I heard. What’s the word?”
“He said we’re done. Langley doesn’t like losing a guy. We surrender her to GIS. They’re pulling us out.”
Wade was quiet. He snorted through his nose as he shook his head.
“I don’t like it either,” Ethan said. “But that’s the official story. Unofficially …”
“Here we go,” Wade said nodding rapidly.
“Unofficially, I don’t think that Corso thinks we’re finished. We’ve got about two hours until Sanger’s people show up with Georgian intelligence.”
“There it is. Damn.” Wade sighed as he crossed in the small patch of yard. “Man, that isn’t enough time for anything.”
“It’s enough.”
“What are we supposed to do with that? We are not getting tough on that woman, no matter what happened to Marcus. Hell no. And then just hand her over? This op is all kinds of fucked.” Again he crossed the yard in frustration. Gravel crackled beneath his boots.
“Not if I’m right about Corso it’s not. Look at it from her perspective. Why talk to us, right? So, we make a deal, just like she said. She gives us some intel. Something to go on.”
“Like what?”
“Doesn’t matter. Think. That’s for her benefit, not ours. She’s off the hook. She goes to her people. She calls her family. Whatever she does, we’re right behind.”
Wade’s eyes opened wider. “Tracker.”
“Get her phone and get it done. Get another one on her bag. The kit’s in my room. I’ll talk to her and make the deal.”
Ethan returned to the room and turned on a lamp atop an empty dresser. Seda sat up, squinting at the yellow light.
“You understand who we are?” he asked.
She scowled. He pulled a knife from his trouser pocket and unfolded the blade. She whimpered. Ethan leaned over her and passed the blade in front of her face. He smelled her faint perfume, more musky than sweet, mixed with her sweat. With a flick of his hand, he cut the zip tie on her left wrist. It snapped loose with a crack. He leaned away and cut the right. Seda closed her eyes and rubbed her reddened wrists.
Ethan put the knife back in his pocket and sat on the opposite bed.
; “You said we can make a deal,” he said.
Seda turned calmly, still rubbing the raw skin on her arms. She sat at the edge of her bed with her shoulders thrust back and faced Ethan with a sneer of defiance.
“I said we discuss deal,” she said.
“I need names.” He held up his phone where the screen glowed with the visage of a burly, bearded man. It was an image from the hijacking. “This man,” he said. He flicked his finger and another face appeared. “Him. This one.” He paged through more images. “All of them.”
Seda studied the photos. She shrugged with each flick of his finger.
“This is deal. What do you give me?”
Her accent drenched each word, but the message was clear enough. Ethan admired her audacity. No doubt it was how she prospered as a smuggler. This was his only shot at leverage. He had to take a harder tack.
“Let me explain something to you. In about two hours, my colleague will walk through that door with some friends from GIS. You know GIS?” He paused, wracking his brain to recall and spit out the unfamiliar words for Georgian Intelligence Service. “Sakartvelos Dazvervis Samsakhuri?”
She nodded, her eyes now focused on his.
“They are going to have many questions about how you helped these men come into the country and kill 183 people on that airplane. Do you think they’re going to ask you very nicely?”
She glared at him.
“So, you give me names, and we let you leave before GIS arrives. Or you can make a deal with them. Your choice.”
Her lips tightened, then she gave him a nod.
“Take another look.” He shoved his phone in her face, flicking again through the images. “I need names. I need to know their leaders.”
She pointed at the phone, to the heavy-set Chechen with a beard like a lion’s mane. “Khasan Kagirov. He is leader. No other leader. He is strong Muslim. Mujahid.”
“Kagirov?”
“Yes. This one is Abdula Islayev. How you say? Cousins.”
“And you know them? You helped them across the border?”
“Of course me. Who else? Men not do. Khasan not like much help from a woman.” She smirked.
Ethan showed her more photos, more faces, watching her intently at each turn. She shook her head. His last photo showed a pair of the hijackers on the gangway, and a profile of a third man behind them. She covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head again. Her eyes flared for an instant, and he knew she lied. She feared someone in the photo. Or was it fear for someone?
“What about others? Are there more in Chechnya like them?”
“No more names I know,” she said. She crossed her arms. “Now we deal. I want car.”
Ethan looked at her quizzically, head tilted. Seda stared back. Her lips were broad, unsmiling. With him, she was stern. Was she like this with Kagirov and the others? Were those even their names?
She had panache. As crazy as it seemed, letting her take the car was probably the better option. If they let her walk, the GIS crew would track her down right away. She couldn’t get too far. She was bold, not stupid, and she knew her phone was a liability. The car less so. The Mercedes was as good as hers, he just needed to bargain a little more to maintain the ruse. Then he’d have to explain it all to the Georgians. They wouldn’t like it.
“You want the car, you need to give me more.”
“What more?” she said. Ethan had her then. Her face lifted, and he knew she was in her element as a bargainer. Time to close the deal.
“You tell me. Where did Kagirov get explosives? Who did they work with? Are there more attacks planned?”
“I do not know this.”
“Fine. No car. It’s a long walk home.”
Seda cursed at him, then tapped her finger against her lips in thought. Ethan waited. Behind him, Wade entered the room. She glanced at him where he leaned against the wall, but she failed to notice him drop her shoulder bag on the floor beside the dresser.
“There is bomb maker. In Chechnya.”
She explained rapidly. Her clumsy English tumbled out to explain there was an old Saudi bomb maker with one hand missing who made many kinds of bombs for shuhada. He knew she spoke in half-truths and local lore. There probably was a bomb maker. He might have been Saudi. And maybe he really was hiding in some mountain village called Shatoy. Ethan couldn’t dismiss it all, not entirely. It mattered more that she accepted the deal on its face.
He nodded and said, “The car is yours.”
Seda stood. The corner of her lips curled into a wry smirk as she rubbed her wrists again. At the door, she gestured to her bag at Wade’s feet. Once he moved, she muttered something as she rifled through it.
“Chill. Everything’s there,” Wade said.
She seemed satisfied.
“Keys?”
She held out her hand.
Wade fetched the single tarnished key from his pocket. “Hold on now. We’ve got to get our things out of the trunk.”
Outside, the rising sun tinged the broad valley pink and orange. Mist still clung to the wooded lots around them. Seda crossed her arms at the open driver door while Wade pulled his unloved Dragunov rifle wrapped in a coarse blanket from the trunk. When he slammed the trunk hatch, Seda started the car. The Mercedes protested with its familiar screech that broke the morning quiet like an alarm.
Ethan watched from the doorway as Wade eyed him, nodding slightly. The car’s tires spit gravel at them, and she sped off to the northwest. They would see her again soon—safe and unharmed, he genuinely hoped. He hoped much less for the Mercedes.
◆◆◆
Ethan and Wade waited in the main room of the squat safe house for Sanger’s officer and the GIS escorts to arrive. There was nothing to eat. Wade had found some stale crackers neither of them would try. A stained coffee kettle with no coffee in the cupboards teased them, so they simply sat in the morning light practicing their narrative of Seda’s wild escape.
“Our story is I’m watching her while you’re sleeping,” Ethan said.
“I’m sleeping. You’re on watch?”
“Right. Look, you want to look like the jackass here?”
Wade’s grin broadened. “No, go on. I’m loving this so far.”
“I look out that back bedroom window, and she hits me from the side. I’m down, she runs for the car.”
“Okay, okay. What about the key?” Wade asked.
“She gets it from my pocket.”
“And we already emptied the trunk when we got here.”
“Right.”
Wade looked out the window, thinking. “What about your sidearm?”
“She left it. No. It was on the dresser and she ran out without realizing.”
“Okay. And I’m still sleeping until that damn car starts up. I think that covers it okay.
“Agreed.” Ethan nodded.
“Except one thing.”
“What?”
“She hit you, man. Hard enough to put you down.”
“Do it,” Ethan said as he turned sideways. Wade knew how to hit. He spent five years as a Marine scout. Before that, he’d had his share of fights on the streets of Houston. This was going to hurt. Ethan winced and shut his eyes.
Wade’s smile faded. “Sorry about this, man.”
Wade’s fist ignited a bright light in Ethan’s head. He stumbled from the blow. The pain burst beneath his eye and a wave of heat surrounded his head. He felt his pulse pounding on his cheekbone, and he grunted through gritted teeth.
“Son of a bitch that hurts.”
Wade’s smile returned, and he doubled over in high pitched laughter.
“Remind me never to piss you off again,” Ethan said holding his cheek.
Within the hour a pair of silver sedans arrived at the house. Ethan stood to let them in, but the door opened without his help. A blonde woman wearing aviator shades and a dark blazer entered. She moved with confidence, her hair tied tight against her scalp in a ponytail. He recognized her as one of Sange
r’s operations officers.
“Maria Hessler.” She held out her hand. “Jesus. What happened to your face?”
Ethan shook her hand and winced. Another man, well dressed and portly, filed in behind Maria.
“This is Giorgi Gelashvili, Georgian Intelligence Service,” she said.
“Please. Call me George,” he said shaking Ethan’s hand. He bowed slightly to Wade who rose to greet them both.
“So, where’s the asset?” Maria said.
Ethan and Wade eyed one another wearily.
“She’s gone,” Ethan said.
“What do you mean gone?” said George.
“Escaped,” Wade answered. “She got loose and knocked the hell out of Ethan here. She got the key and took off in the car. You know, the one you didn’t see outside anywhere?”
Maria stood with her hands on her hips. “My god, you’re really not joking, are you?” She tilted her head and removed her sunglasses as she examined Ethan’s face more closely. “More than you bargained for, huh?”
Ethan raised his eyebrows, though the effect was lost some with the swelling bump under his right eye.
George interrupted. “Which way did she go? We must find her.”
“West, I think. She’s probably going back up the gorge where we found her. Maybe to make a move for the border,” Ethan said.
George was already out the door. Outside he chattered in Georgian at his three comrades, pointing at the cars and then westward. They stood stern faced, glaring at the Americans as George rattled through the explanation. In his gray suit and bulging belly, George seemed out of place amid the operatives in their rolled-up sleeves and denim pants.
Ethan followed Maria out of the house. She spoke into her phone, already sharing the bad news with Sanger.
“Too little time for introductions, I am afraid,” George told Ethan. He gestured quickly at the men. “Rezo, Levan, and Ioseb. These are my finest men, you will see. Now, let us get in the cars quickly and hunt our … what is the word?”
The Hidden Vector: A Spy Thriller Page 4