Four Months in Cuba

by Luana Ehrlich

  “It looks like you’ve been to a party. I like your red dress.”

  “Thank you. This red dress is all I have to wear, so you might be seeing a lot of it.”

  “No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll find some extra clothes in your bedroom upstairs. Martha made sure of that.”

  “Is Martha your wife?”

  “That’s right. You’ll get to meet her in the morning.”

  Greg tried to make a joke about it being morning already, but he sounded punchy to me, and I think he realized it when we didn’t laugh at his joke. Finally, after we declined his offer of something to eat, he took us upstairs.

  When we arrived at the top of the stairs, he pointed over to a closed door on his right and whispered, “Martha and I are in the master bedroom.”

  Martha had given me a peek inside their bedroom the first time I’d been at The Gray, and since it had its own separate living area, including a large stone fireplace, it resembled a small apartment instead of just a master bedroom.

  There were six other bedrooms on the floor, and when Greg opened the door of the bedroom nearest the staircase, he said, “This is your room, Juliana. You should find everything you need in here, and if you don’t, be sure and let Martha know.”

  After Juliana thanked him, he said, “I almost forgot. You’ll have to give me your cell phone.”

  He looked over at me. “I was told you would brief her on the house rules.”

  “She’s been thoroughly briefed.”

  After Juliana pulled her Agency phone out of her purse and gave it to Greg, I reluctantly handed him mine as well.

  “Is this your only phone?” he asked.

  I stuck my hands in the air. “I promise I’m clean.”

  As she was closing the door to her bedroom, Juliana gave me a little wave and said, “See you later.”

  “Sleep well.”

  Greg gestured toward the end of the hallway. “Unless you have an objection, you’ve been assigned the same room you were in the last time you were here.”

  “No objection. Thanks, Greg.”

  When I entered my bedroom, I experienced a flashback of my arrival at The Gray, shortly after my escape from Iran.

  After being flown on a military transport from Incirlik Air Base in Turkey, I’d been picked up at Andrews AFB by Bill Lerner, one of the Agency’s babysitters. Lerner’s job had been to make me feel safe and provide a listening ear in case I needed to talk to someone about what had happened to me in Tehran.

  Now, as I sat down on the bed, I wondered where Mitchell was tonight, and if he needed a listening ear.

  Whether he was languishing in a farmhouse in El Cobre, or a warehouse in Santiago, or a Los Zetas hideout in Mexico, I had a feeling he did.

  There was nothing I could do about that right now, so I closed my eyes and said a prayer for him.

  I don’t remember finishing the prayer before I fell asleep.

  * * * *

  I woke up a few hours later to find the sun streaming through the bedroom windows. When I glanced over at the alarm clock on the nightstand, I was surprised to see it was almost nine o’clock.

  I finally rolled out of bed fifteen minutes later and walked over to the walk-in closet to see what Support Services had sent over to the house in the way of a wardrobe for me.

  I found the basics; two pairs of dark slacks, a sports shirt, two pullover shirts, a button-down blue oxford shirt, and a pair of jeans. On the wooden shoe rack were two pairs of shoes; a pair of loafers, and a pair of running shoes.

  In the dresser drawers, I found underwear, several pairs of socks, a pair of pajamas, and a jogging suit. Even though I didn’t examine the labels, I knew the clothes would be a perfect fit, and they’d match my own preferences of colors, styles, and brands.

  Every two years, Support Services required every intelligence officer to fill out a supply requisition questionnaire which included questions about clothes sizes and personal brand preferences.

  I could also have picked out the brand names of the products in a toiletry kit, but I always checked the no preference box for those questions.

  After taking a shower, I got dressed and went downstairs in search of some coffee. Since I knew none of the members of my debriefing committee would be dressed in jeans or a sports shirt—I’m not sure Carlton even owned a pair of jeans—I’d chosen to wear a pair of dark slacks and a blue oxford shirt to my afternoon debriefing.

  When I walked in the kitchen, I found Juliana on a bar stool at the kitchen counter talking with Martha, who was standing at the stove scrambling some eggs.

  Juliana spotted me first.

  “Hi there,” she said.

  I pointed at her coffee mug. “I’ll take a gallon of that.”

  Martha glanced over at me. “Oh, good morning, Titus.”

  “Good morning, Martha. It’s nice to see you again.”

  She smiled and headed over to the coffeepot. “It’s nice to see you too. You take your coffee black, right?”

  “Right.”

  She handed me a mug of steaming black coffee. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  Martha was an excellent cook, which was probably one of the reasons she and Greg had been given the responsibility of managing The Gray. I’m sure her training as an intelligence officer—she had been a Level 2 covert operative before she married Greg—had also been a factor.

  “Would there happen to be any of your homemade cinnamon rolls around?”

  Martha placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Juliana. “As a matter of fact, I made a fresh batch yesterday. They’re in the pantry.”

  When Martha walked over to the pantry, I considered telling Juliana about the false door at the back of the pantry which led to The Gray’s hidden safe room. However, before I had chance to say anything, Martha returned with a plastic container full of cinnamon rolls, and I decided to keep that information to myself.

  When the guests at The Gray were given a tour of the house, the location of the safe room wasn’t on the itinerary. This omission was primarily because the room behind the pantry was where the security officer on duty monitored the video feed from the surveillance cameras and recorded the proceedings of the debriefing sessions, which took place in the lower level conference room.

  Since the hidden room also had access to the outside world via a phone and computer system, none of the guests were allowed inside the room unless there was a breach in The Gray’s security system.

  The first time I’d stayed at The Gray a false alarm had occurred, and Jim Grover had escorted me behind the false wall in the pantry and into his secret chamber.

  Jim and I had become friends after that, and at some point in the next twenty-four hours, I planned to take advantage of that friendship and visit him in his lair behind the pantry.

  Once inside, my objective was to convince him to let me make an outside phone call.

  * * * *

  I’d almost finished devouring my second cinnamon roll when Greg wandered into the kitchen. After greeting Juliana and me, he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Carlton’s secretary just called to confirm your debrief is scheduled for one o’clock,” he said.

  I asked, “Did she tell you anything else about our schedule?”

  “Not a word. Why?”

  “I was just wondering if we’re supposed to meet with medical personnel or if Legal is coming over with papers for us to sign.”

  Although Carlton had assured me Peaceful Retrieval was still an ongoing operation, if Juliana and I were scheduled to have physicals or to sign release documents from Legal, that would mean events—or as Carlton had called them, circumstances—had changed overnight.

  Greg shook his head. “There’s nothing on your agenda today except for your debrief.”

  Juliana asked, “Would I be able to have a tour of the house before our session starts?”

  Martha picked up Juliana’s empty plate. “We ca
n do that now if you like.”

  Once the ladies had left the kitchen, I immediately asked Greg to fill me in on the latest Agency gossip. As we chatted, I managed to find out which security officers were on duty at The Gray today, and when I learned Jim was one of them, I began plotting how I could get access to Jim’s phone.

  A few minutes later, all my scheming proved unnecessary.

  Chapter 25

  Greg was in the middle of telling me about the social life of one of the division heads, when his cell phone rang.

  After he answered the call, he said, “Yes, sir. He’s right here. I’ll put him on.”

  When he handed me his phone, he whispered, “Douglas Carlton.”

  I gestured towards the patio to let Greg know I planned to step outside with his phone so I could have some privacy. After he nodded, I opened the sliding glass doors and walked out on the patio.

  “I’m not calling about the debrief,” Carlton said.

  Since an operations officer wasn’t supposed to discuss the debrief while his operative was still under quarantine, I said, “I’d be surprised if you were.”

  “I’m calling to let you know I plan to drive your Range Rover over to The Gray this afternoon.”

  “Okay.”

  “I thought you might want to go out to The Meadows and check on your dog when you’re released from quarantine.”

  “I didn’t think I’d be here long enough to make the trip out to The Meadows.”

  “You’ll be in town for a few days.”

  “A few days?”

  He ignored my obvious question and said, “When you head out to The Meadows tonight, I’ll have you drop me off at my townhouse.”

  Tonight? Wouldn’t I still be under quarantine tonight?

  I didn’t ask.

  “Sure, Douglas,” I said, “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

  “See you at one o’clock.”

  After he hung up, I kept Greg’s cell phone up to my ear as if my conversation with Carlton had not ended. Then, I strolled by the patio doors and looked inside the kitchen.

  Greg was still sitting at the table drinking his coffee.

  To remove myself from his sightline, I walked down to the far end of the patio and sat down on a wrought-iron bench next to an overgrown bush.

  Although I was about to break one of the house rules, I rationalized my behavior by telling myself I wasn’t about to break the intent of the no-communication rule.

  The mandate against an intelligence officer having any outside communication while under quarantine was to make sure the narrative of events an operative gave to the debriefing committee wouldn’t be contaminated by hearing current news reports.

  That didn’t apply to me.

  I didn’t have any plans to talk about current news reports with Nikki Saxon.

  * * * *

  Even though Carlton said he wasn’t calling to talk about the debrief, in reality, he’d called to talk about the debrief. Of course, he hadn’t said so directly.

  Instead, he’d given me a couple of clues, and then he’d left it up to me to draw my own conclusions.

  The first clue he’d given me was when he’d asked if I’d be able to drop him off at his townhouse after the debrief. By making this request, he’d let me know he didn’t expect the debrief to last longer than a couple of hours.

  I had no idea why he expected the debrief to be so short—the sessions could sometimes last a couple of days—but I felt sure it had to do with the circumstances he’d mentioned.

  Another clue he’d given me was his response to my question about how long Juliana and I would be at Langley. Although he hadn’t answered my question outright, he’d let me know I wouldn’t be around very long.

  After thoroughly analyzing the intel Carlton had given me, I concluded I’d be free this evening, and possibly a few days after that, but I shouldn’t count on my time in the States lasting very long.

  No matter how long it was, I planned to make the most of every moment.

  Starting now.

  * * * *

  I removed the phone from my ear long enough to punch in Nikki’s phone number. Then, in case Greg was watching, I quickly put it back up to my ear as if I were still talking to Carlton.

  “Hi, Nikki, it’s Titus.”

  She laughed. “Oh, my goodness. I can’t believe it’s you.”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “Four weeks exactly.”

  “You’ve been counting the weeks?”

  “Days. I’ve been counting the days. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. My body’s fully intact, and I’m pretty sure I’m still in my right mind.”

  “I might need to verify that for myself.”

  When I heard the patio door slide open, I stood up and moved away from the overgrown bush so Greg could see me.

  “Unfortunately, I’m tied up for most of the day,” I said. “What are your plans for this evening?”

  Greg spotted me a moment later and waved at me. I interpreted his wave as the I’m-just-checking-on-you-to-make-sure-you’re-still-on-the-phone type of wave, and I felt sure he’d go back inside once he’d made sure I was still talking to Carlton.

  No such luck.

  He didn’t move.

  Nikki said, “Since it’s Sunday, we don’t have any classes here at Quantico, so the only thing on my agenda is to put some time in at the shooting range. I don’t have any plans for this evening.”

  I didn’t immediately respond to Nikki since I was trying to decide what to do about Greg, and after a few seconds of silence, she added, “But even if I did have plans, I might be persuaded to change them.”

  “Sorry, Nikki. I can’t talk right now, and I’m not really sure when I’ll be free this evening. I’ll give you a call later.”

  “Oh . . . okay.”

  After pushing disconnect, I quickly hit the delete button to erase Nikki’s number from Greg’s recent calls.

  I also made a mental note to apologize to Nikki for my abrupt departure.

  When I walked over and handed Greg his phone, he said, “Mr. Carlton must have had a lot to say to you.”

  “I couldn’t get him off the phone. He kept telling me what a great job I was doing.”

  I wasn’t sure Greg believed me.

  * * * *

  To no one’s surprise, Carlton began the debrief promptly at one o’clock. Actually, according to my watch, it was a few minutes before one o’clock.

  The debriefing committee included one of the best counterintelligence analysts at the Agency. Her name was Katherine Broward. She was in charge of a group of analysts in the Analysis and Strategic Assessment (ASA) division, which included specialists in satellite reconnaissance, data analysis, and information gathering.

  Katherine and I were old friends.

  Several years ago, I’d tried—and subsequently failed—to become more than just friends with her. Even so, she appeared genuinely pleased to see me when Juliana and I walked in the conference room together.

  C. J. Salazar, the head of the Latin American desk, was also in attendance. I wasn’t exactly sure why he was on my debriefing committee, but I suspected it had to do with Alex Nelson’s involvement in Peaceful Retrieval, because Nelson was a member of Salazar’s Latin American division.

  Salazar didn’t seem as pleased to see me as Katherine had been. Perhaps that was because the two of us had often clashed about Hezbollah’s involvement with the Mexican drug cartels. He felt I was overly concerned about the cartel’s Middle Eastern connection, and I didn’t think he was concerned enough.

  The fourth person on the debriefing committee was the outside observer. Carlton introduced her as Mai Kato, a petite woman with Japanese features, who was wearing an oversized pair of dark-framed glasses.

  The Director of the CIA had added the outside observer several years ago at the insistence of a Congressional oversight committee. They thought adding someone not associated with an operation would be a g
ood idea.

  It wasn’t.

  Usually, the outside observer asked too many questions and slowed down the whole process of dissecting a mission.

  With Mai Kato, the opposite turned out to be true.

  * * * *

  Juliana and I were seated on one side of the long conference table, and the other members of the committee were seated opposite us, with Carlton in the center seat.

  After introducing everyone, Carlton, who was dressed in a dark gray suit, long-sleeved white shirt, and a charcoal gray tie, gave a short speech about how he preferred to conduct his debriefing sessions.

  “I consider myself an organized person,” he said, “and that’s the way I liked to conduct a debrief. First, I’ll ask the principals to give us a narrative of events, and then I’ll ask each of you to add your comments. You may question the principals during the narrative, but only for purposes of clarification.”

  After reminding everyone the debriefing sessions were being recorded, he began with the Agency’s standard identification tag.

  “Session One. This is Operations Officer, Douglas Carlton in the intelligence debrief of Titus Alan Ray, Level 1 covert operative, and Juliana Lamar, Level 2 covert operative, in the matter of Operation Peaceful Retrieval.”

  “Titus,” he said, “begin the narrative.”

  I gave the committee members a brief synopsis of what Keith Gabriel and his SOF team had discovered about Mitchell’s kidnapping before I arrived in Santiago. Then, I summarized the intel Juliana and I had collected from Mateo Aguilar when I’d given him the truth serum.

  “Even though Mateo was insistent Ben was no longer in Santiago, the satellite reconnaissance from Rafael Lorenzo’s compound seemed to suggest otherwise, and so we planned the POA accordingly.”

  When I paused to take a sip of water, Salazar spoke up. “You might want to clarify, especially for our outside observer, that I was in contact with an asset inside the cartel who said Ben had been taken to a farmhouse in El Cobre.”

  I noticed Salazar had chosen to ignore it was his operative, Alex Nelson, who had been in contact with the asset. As far as I knew, Salazar had never spoken to Reina Lorenzo personally nor had he ever been involved with her recruitment.