by Lisa Harris
“Maybe he has it, but since it doesn’t fit his agenda, your plans don’t matter to him.”
“I didn’t realize you knew the DDO that well.”
Nikki laughed.
The sound of her laughter was one of the many reasons I’d fallen in love with her. After hearing it the first time, I carried the memory of it around with me for days afterward.
That memory kept me alive in a lonely jail cell in Cuba.
I had the concierge at my hotel arrange a rental car for me, and although I didn’t tell him I preferred a nondescript sedan—which might have caused him to raise an eyebrow—I was pleased when I saw my rental car was a dark gray Nissan.
Now, as I entered a Georgetown neighborhood in Washington, D.C., the same neighborhood where Ben Mitchell had his townhouse, I was also pleased to see there were dozens of cars like the Nissan parked along the streets.
That detail made it easier for me to do what I was about to do.
As I was leaving the hotel, I questioned what I was about to do.
Was it ethical? Was it smart? Was it necessary?
But now, as I drove down the street in front of Ben’s townhouse, I put those doubts aside and concentrated on my mission.
My mission was to make sure the story Senator Mitchell told me about Ben was really true.
Did he have all his facts straight? Was he exaggerating the extent of Ben’s interest in Kamila Hanim?
I wasn’t about to confront Ben without having those questions answered, and the only way to have those questions answered was to observe the interaction between Ben and Kamila firsthand.
Naturally, I planned to carry out my mission without Ben’s knowledge, which might be the most difficult part of the whole thing, because Ben Mitchell practiced excellent Agency tradecraft.
He had a sixth sense when he was being followed, and he made sure he was aware of his surroundings at all times.
However, I hoped such awareness was only true when he was overseas. Perhaps he wasn’t so observant in his hometown.
Nevertheless, I knew I needed to keep his particular skill set in mind at all times.
The first item on my morning intel-gathering agenda was to spend time observing Ben’s residence.
In order to do that, I was planning to find a parking spot nearby and stay there for a while, or at least until I saw Ben leave the townhouse.
Once that happened, I would follow Ben and observe his behavior.
I knew I might have to follow him on foot since there were several shops and restaurants within walking distance of the townhouse, but I was prepared to do that.
I’d purchased two baseball caps that I could switch out to change my appearance, and I was wearing a colored t-shirt underneath my untucked denim shirt, which I could remove to alter my appearance.
Now, as I drove slowly down the block, I kept my eye out for a parking spot while trying to remember which townhouse belonged to Ben.
Although I’d been in his townhouse before, it had been several months ago, and since the red brick townhouses on both sides of the street had similar features, their uniformity made it difficult to recognize one particular one.
I figured that was the reason I drove past Ben’s house without realizing it, and I was only aware I’d passed it after I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him coming down the steps and getting inside an SUV parked at the curb.
I immediately made a quick U-turn at the next intersection and proceeded to follow him as he left his neighborhood and drove north on Wisconsin Avenue.
I was careful to stay three car lengths behind him, but since he was driving a big red BMW sports utility vehicle, it was easy to keep him in my sights.
He exited Wisconsin Avenue at Reservoir Road. There were several medical facilities on Reservoir Road, so I figured he was probably headed over to his physical therapy session.
Three blocks later, he pulled his SUV into a parking lot next to the Benchmark Rehabilitation Center.
I drove past the building and parked at a dentist’s office a little farther down the block. After grabbing my Washington Nationals baseball cap out of the backseat, I returned to the Benchmark building.
The tricky part was next.
I needed to get inside the building without drawing Ben’s attention, and I didn’t know anything about the facility’s layout.
Was Ben sitting in the waiting room? Would he be able to see me as soon as I walked through the doors? What kind of story could I come up with if that happened?
Nothing plausible, that’s for sure.
As I approached the Benchmark building, I noticed a woman and a teenage boy walking toward the entrance. The teenager was built like an NFL linebacker and looked to be a couple of inches taller than me.
He was wearing a football jersey from Roosevelt, a high school in the area, and he had a brace around his left knee. Since his facial features resembled the woman walking beside him, I figured she was his mother, and she’d driven him to Benchmark to have therapy on his knee.
As soon as I saw them, I hurried over to the entrance, thinking I might be able to scout out the waiting room while hiding behind the football player’s huge physique.
My brilliant idea worked perfectly.
No one in the waiting room saw me when I walked in the door.
No one saw me because all the chairs in the room were empty.
It was a small waiting room, less than a dozen chairs, and a sign on the wall instructed patients to tell the nurse at the desk if their name wasn’t called within five minutes of checking in, so evidently, the facility prided itself on patients not having to wait long.
While the football player was speaking to the nurse at the counter, the woman walked over and sat down. I immediately walked over and sat down beside her.
She tensed up when I invaded her space, but then I pointed over to the desk and asked, “Is he your son?”
“Uh . . . yeah, he’s my son.”
“I believe my son played against him when Roosevelt was in the city championship game last year.”
She immediately relaxed and gave me a smile. “So your son goes to Durham High School?”
“That’s right. It’s a small world, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. Ethan actually got his knee busted up in the game he was in after that. He’s been having therapy on it all summer.”
“He’s in good hands. The therapists here are great.”
She nodded. “His therapist said he should be ready to play football this fall. What about you? Are you here for therapy?”
I reached over and rubbed my shoulder. “Yeah, I recently had rotator cuff surgery.”
I gestured at her son who was still talking to the receptionist. “By any chance, is your son’s therapist Kamila Hanim?”
“No, his therapist’s name is Tommy. I’m surprised you know your therapist’s last name. They don’t usually tell you their last name.”
Before I had a chance to spin the woman another lie, a guy dressed in a shirt with the Benchmark logo on the pocket appeared at a side door and called Ethan’s name.
His name badge identified him as Tommy.
Ethan’s mother said, “Well, it was nice talking to you,” and then she followed Ethan through the door.
“Tommy,” I said, as he was about to pull the door shut, “could I ask you a question?”
“Oh, sure,” he said, “just a second.”
He turned around and told Ethan and his mom to go ahead, and he’d be with them in a minute.
“This won’t take but a second,” I said, stepping inside the door.
“No problem. What’s your question?”
“Here’s the thing,” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper. “I’ve heard some really good things about you as a therapist, and I was just wondering how much hassle it would be if I made a request to change my therapist. I’d prefer to have a man working on me instead of a woman.”
He also lowered his voice. “Who’s your therapist?”
&nbs
p; “Kamila.”
He turned his head to the right and looked down a hallway where there were some individual therapy rooms.
“What’s your problem with Kamila?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure she’s an excellent therapist. I would just prefer a man.”
“Well, okay. Check at the front desk. If I have some openings, I’m sure they’ll accommodate you.”
He gestured at the exercise room where Ethan and his mom had gone. “I’m sorry. I need to go see about my patient now.”
“I understand,” I said, waving him off. “Go ahead. I’ll just go check with the front desk.”
As soon as Tommy opened the door to the exercise room, I headed down the hallway toward the individual therapy rooms.
If I had read Tommy’s body language correctly, Kamila Hanim was using one of them.
There were three rooms in all, and even though all the doors were closed, the upper half of each door was clear glass, which made it easy for me to see inside.
But, that meant anyone inside could also see me. Despite that, I was hoping the occupants would be too busy to pay attention to me when I took a peek inside.
As I strolled past the first room, even though I still had my ballcap on, I also placed my hand up to my face as if I were scratching my cheek, an action which further covered my features as I glanced inside.
The patient inside the first room was an elderly woman who was being treated by a young male therapist. Although there was no sign of Ben in there, since I felt sure the therapist got a good look at me as I went by, I was determined to be more careful.
I could hear voices inside the second room, and I thought one of them definitely sounded like Ben’s voice, so I approached it a little more cautiously.
It was Ben all right.
He had his back to the door and was using a leg exerciser. The woman standing beside him was wearing a Benchmark t-shirt and appeared to be laughing at something Ben was saying.
I couldn’t read the name badge on her shirt, but I felt sure the woman was Kamila. Like most Turkish women, she had thick, dark hair, an olive complexion, and a narrow face.
I could understand why Ben might be attracted to her.
She was beautiful.
When she started turning her head in the direction of the doorway, I made a quick exit.
I didn’t think she was able to get a good look at me, but I wasn’t positive, so I quickly walked through the waiting room and out the front door.
Would it matter if Kamila had seen me?
That would depend on who Kamila Hanim really was.
Chapter Five
When I left the Benchmark building, I didn’t return to my car immediately.
Instead, I walked across the street to a coffee shop and ordered one of their specialty coffees. Then, I took my cup over to a table by the window and observed the scene for a few minutes.
My objective was to see if anyone followed me after I made my abrupt departure from the physical therapy center.
I didn’t expect to see anyone, but I’d been in this business long enough to know that taking care of small things was the key to unlocking the big thing.
The big thing was whatever the operation’s objective was. In this case, the big thing was discovering if Senator Mitchell was being straight with me about Ben.
No one came out of the Benchmark building, so after finishing my coffee, I decided to return to my car and wait for Ben to finish his session. I planned to follow him back to his townhouse and then give him a call to let him know I was in Washington for the Invisible Target debriefing.
I might even suggest we have lunch together somewhere.
If Ben didn’t spontaneously bring up his feelings for Kamila, then I’d ask him a few relevant questions, and by the end of the meal, he’d probably end up telling me what was going on with him.
Or not.
With Ben, I couldn’t always predict how he’d react to a situation.
As I walked over to where I’d parked my Nissan in the dentist’s parking lot, I stole a quick glance at a black Chevy Suburban parked across the street. I’d seen it before when I followed Ethan and his mother inside the Benchmark building.
I noticed it because there was a man inside.
People sitting in parked vehicles usually got my attention.
Since the windows were tinted, it was difficult to make out the man’s features. All I could tell was that he was wearing a green baseball cap.
I sat inside my Nissan and observed him for several minutes.
He appeared to be occupied with his cell phone or perhaps he was reading a book. Most of the time he had his head down.
Occasionally, he would glance up, turn his head in the direction of the Benchmark building, and then look down again.
I finally concluded he was waiting for someone.
The most logical explanation was that he was there to pick up someone who was receiving therapy inside the building.
While logical, my gut said that wasn’t the case.
Since I’d already planned to move my car closer to the Benchmark building in order to observe when Ben returned to his car, I decided to see how the guy would react if I parked directly behind him.
I had to wait about ten minutes before the parking space behind him became available, but when it did, I left the dentist’s parking lot, drove down to the next intersection, made a U-turn, and pulled into the empty parking space behind Green Baseball Cap.
He briefly glanced at his rearview mirror when I pulled in.
After that, he didn’t pay any attention to me.
Later, I wondered if that would have been the case if Ben hadn’t come out of the Benchmark building a few minutes later.
As Ben was walking across the parking lot, Green Baseball Cap started his vehicle. Within a few seconds of Ben pulling out of the parking lot, he started following him.
I waited a few seconds, and then I followed Ben while I was also following Green Baseball Cap who was also following Ben.
I briefly considered giving Ben a call to let him know what was going on, but I discarded that idea.
If Ben was as good as I thought he was, he’d spot his tail soon enough, and then I wouldn’t have to explain why I was following him while following Green Baseball Cap.
By the time Ben turned right on Wisconsin Avenue, I was pretty sure he’d made the guy.
I didn’t think it had been that hard.
Green Baseball Cap was terrible at conducting surveillance.
He was following Ben too close—scarcely two car lengths behind—plus he ran a red light on Roosevelt Road in order to stay behind him.
I was glad I hadn’t called Ben.
Now, I’d be able to see how he handled the situation.
Naturally, Ben handled the situation a little differently than I would have handled it.
When he pulled up in front of his townhouse in Georgetown, he suddenly opened the door of his SUV and ran down the street to where the Suburban had pulled to a stop and began pounding on the driver’s side window.
Since I was a block away at the time, I couldn’t hear what Ben was saying, but when I saw the guy emerge from his vehicle brandishing a weapon, I decided it was time for me to make my presence known.
Although I didn’t have a weapon on me, I had surprise on my side.
I immediately pressed down on the accelerator, and seconds later, I was braking to a stop directly in front of the two men.
The guy was so startled, he lowered his gun for a second, and the moment he did, Ben immediately wrestled it away from him, pushing him up against the side of the Suburban in the process.
Naturally, Ben looked more than a little surprised when he glanced over and saw me getting out of the Nissan.
I wasn’t sure how Ben wanted to play the situation, so all I said was, “Hey, what’s going on here?”
“Oh . . . ah . . . nothing’s going on here,” Ben said. “This is just a little misunderstanding.
”
“It didn’t look that way to me.”
“No, really. It’s fine.”
“Do you want me to call the cops?”
The guy flinched when I mentioned the police.
“No police,” he said in a foreign accent. “This is misunderstanding. No problem.”
Ben nodded. “I appreciate your help, but trust me, we’re fine here; at least we’ll be fine as soon as Omer and I have a little talk.”
By this time, Ben had lowered the gun to his side, and when he saw another car coming toward us, he quickly slipped the gun inside the waistband of his pants.
“You should probably move your car now.”
“If you don’t mind,” I said, “I’ll just move it down the street and keep an eye on things from there.”
“Sure. Suit yourself.”
While I had no idea what was going on with Ben, I had to believe it had something to do with Kamila Hanim.
Omer had a heavy Turkish accent.
I sat inside my vehicle and watched as Ben and Omer stood outside the Suburban and had a conversation with each other.
I wouldn’t describe it as a particularly friendly conversation.
For one thing, there wasn’t much conversing back and forth since Ben was doing most of the talking.
For another, Ben didn’t look all that friendly.
On the other hand, neither did Omer.
Omer was a dark-complected man, broad-shouldered, with black wavy hair, whereas Ben was taller, a lot younger, and his dark brown hair was cut short at the back and a little longer in the front.
Within five minutes, their encounter was over, and it looked like Omer was asking for his gun back.
Ben was refusing to give it to him.
After a short staring contest, Omer got inside the Suburban and drove off at a high rate of speed.
When that happened, Ben looked down the street where I was parked and gestured at me. Once he saw me get out of the car, he turned and mounted the steps to his townhouse, and by the time I got there, he was unlocking the front door.
“Give me a minute before you start interrogating me,” he said, removing Omer’s gun from his waistband. “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll answer all your questions. If I don’t, I know you’ll just keep harassing me until I do.”