Lauren raised her eyes and gazed at the ruggedly majestic mountains that rose around her. The scenery in that direction was breathtaking—yet so was the scent of the brown stagnant puddles of sewage at her feet. She moved to the other side of the road as she continued the long walk back to her residence, longing to fill her lungs with fresh, salty air.
In the daytime, the heat here was intense and unrelenting. At night the electricity often went out. It was evening now, and stove fires and kerosene lanterns illuminated her surroundings in a soft glow of light.
The journey to this remote village had been dangerous and grueling. Most NGOs, including the Red Cross, had already pulled out of this region due to the lawlessness and chaos—but Lauren was determined to stay. She couldn’t leave. Not yet. She had worked too hard and suffered too much to throw up her hands now. Even though she didn’t yet possess the hard evidence needed, she knew she was on the right track. The man she had been sent to find was here. She could feel it.
As she thought about her career, Lauren bent down and picked up a piece of wood someone had apparently dropped. This was certainly not the profession she’d dreamed about since she was a little girl. September 11, 2001, had changed all that. That single day, now a measure of time, had led her to be at this place at this moment—hopefully to keep anyone else from going through what she had.
Even though more than a dozen years had passed, she could still remember every detail of that Tuesday morning with perfect clarity. The sky was a brilliant blue as she’d walked to school—perfect weather for the flight her parents were about to take to visit friends in California.
But then bits and pieces of news reports began to circulate in the hallways at school about a plane crashing into the World Trade Center building in New York City, soon followed by another. Lauren remembered seeing teachers huddling together, talking in low whispers, some even wiping away tears.
It wasn’t until hours later that she’d learned the full impact of the attack, and even then she could not accept that her parent’s plane had hit the Pentagon. It was impossible, surreal… unbearable. From that moment forward, she had two distinct lives.
The one before 9-11. And the one after.
Lauren took a deep breath as she walked, more from the weight of her memories than the slope of the incline she traversed. She was proud she’d been able to keep her father’s memory alive by attending the U.S. Naval Academy, but her goal to follow in his footsteps as a Navy language specialist had changed drastically.
With her Middle Eastern appearance and fluent language skills, she’d been taken under the wing of an influential military officer after graduation who’d given her the opportunity to trade a normal life in the military for a dangerous life of risk.
Strings had been pulled to place her in a clandestine service program where she’d been provided with additional training in tradecraft, deep reconnaissance, radio and satellite communications, and even survival and evasion techniques.
Her first official job had been working in the Defense Attaché Office in the U.S. Embassy in Islamabad as an interpreter for military personnel. With a new identity as a Pakistani national and a high level security clearance, she interpreted conversations for U.S. dignitaries and Navy officials as they negotiated critical deals with foreign powers.
That position had put her in direct contact with foreign officials in all positions and ranks as she attended parties, meetings, and conferences. Young and ambitious, not to mention relentlessly tenacious, she had gone out of her way to assimilate into the Pakistani culture. Using the name, Aminah Umar, she soon found herself mingling with high level officials and their wives both officially and socially. That led to a new position with the International Society for Women’s Health, an organization that gave her more freedom to travel into the smaller villages and towns of Pakistan.
Because of her work with the charity, Lauren’s reputation grew, leading to her acceptance by the Pakistani government as a candidate for the position of Lady Health Visitor. After attending health services training, she was now authorized to provide immunizations and offer family planning assistance to Pakistani women.
In a country where only a small percentage of women were permitted to work outside the home, this occupation provided the perfect cover for Lauren, whose main objective was to track down a man named Ahmed Arif.
Ahmed had been indicted in absentia in July of 2010 in New York for his role in a plan to attack targets in the United States. The plot, uncovered in 2009, was against New York City’s subway system, but there was reason to believe he had been heavily involved in the planning of 9-11 as well. Having been under the direction of senior al-Qaida leadership in Pakistan, counter terrorism officials now feared that Ahmed had slipped out of the United States and made his way back to this country.
The charges against him included conspiracy to use weapons of mass destruction, providing material support to a foreign terrorist organization, receiving military-type training from a foreign terrorist organization, and attempt to commit an act of terrorism. Despite a large reward offered for his capture, Ahmed remained elusive, his exact whereabouts unknown.
And that’s where Lauren came in. America’s capabilities in using high-tech resources were of little use in the new war on terrorism. Since al-Qaida and other networks had learned the power of spy satellites and drones, they had gone low tech, using hand-delivered messages rather than communicating with phones or radios. This made eyes on the ground indispensable despite the obvious risk involved.
A break had finally come for the United States when a prisoner had leaked the name of a courier possibly attached to Ahmed during an intense interrogation. From that small tidbit of information, data had been compiled, surveillance initiated, and intelligence gathered. After more than three years, the pieces pointed toward this village, and under Lauren’s vigilant watch for the past year, she felt she now knew the exact compound where he lived.
Lauren smiled grimly. All the United States wanted from her now was one hundred percent proof. Only then would they make their move.
Gazing up at the compound that loomed in front of her, Lauren opened the gate and grimaced when it whined and groaned beneath her hand. An adobe-colored building with a sagging roof and grime-covered windows appeared before her as she stepped through. “There’s no place like home,” she murmured to herself as she climbed up the steps of the dilapidated building. The sour stench of human filth assaulted her and again made her long for a deep breath of ocean air.
Lauren put the wood she had gathered on the porch and paused for a moment as she took in her surroundings. During the day she visited women at their homes, but in the evenings she could expect visits from others who needed health advice or first aid. This building where she lived was known throughout the region as the “health house,” affording her a valuable cover as well as a sense of satisfaction. In a country where direct interaction between women and men was, for the most part forbidden, a female health care worker fulfilled a definite need.
With her mind wandering, Lauren thought about all the twists of fate that had brought her here. She had a feeling her neighbor, Ahmed, ironically had something to do with it. When the town leaders had been asked to suggest a location for the lady health worker assigned to them, this empty house on the edge of town had been Lauren’s top choice. In the first place it sat higher than the other compounds, affording her a good view of the streets below. But more importantly was its close location to where she suspected the terrorist resided—directly across the street.
Apparently Ahmed had given his blessing to having her as a neighbor, probably assuming such an establishment—often teeming with civilians—would spare him from random drone attacks. Lauren had resided here for a year now, and although she had never actually seen him, she still believed Ahmed lived in the house across the street. She had no intention of leaving until she could prove it.
Lauren had no illusions about the deadly business in which she was engag
ed. It was hard to have any illusions as soon as one’s feet touched the ground in this godforsaken country. Despite the fact that only a week earlier she had been a little tipsy playing volleyball on the beach, she was now focused on her agenda. It was a bit like being handed a free ticket to a wild and exciting adventure.
No, she decided, as she opened the creaking door and entered the musty-smelling building. Actually it was more like being given the chance to try to survive in one of the most dangerous and threatening places on earth.
Lauren’s thoughts drifted back to the final twenty-four hours she’d spent in the United States and found it hard to grasp that it hadn’t all been a dream. In the space of a little more than a week, she felt like she had somehow been transported in a time machine to a world two thousand years older than the one she’d left behind. She longed to return to the laughter, the light-heartedness, and the family-like comradery she’d experienced during her short trip.
As Lauren dumped some tepid water into a bowl and splashed the grime from her face, it occurred to her that she’d spent almost five years in this country, never thinking twice about the loneliness of her life or the pressures of her job. But that was before she had been wrapped in the warmth of strong arms, lying content by the ocean. That was before him.
In the middle of her daydream, Lauren realized just thinking about that day had brought a smile to her face. How strange. Here she stood, a woman on her own involved in a highly classified mission, living in a high-danger shithole of an environment, and she was grinning.
And here she was at the ripe old age of thirty, thinking about something she had never done before—enjoyed the vulnerability and the security of being held in a man’s arms. The experience had shattered all previous conceptions and hit her even harder since she hadn’t been expecting it, or even looking for it.
Lauren tried to change her thoughts to something else, to rouse herself from the numbness that weighed her down. She put her hand to her heart and wondered how it had changed so. She could feel it throbbing in there, yet there was also an undeniable void that made each pulsing beat almost painful.
She had always been independent and alone. Enjoyed it that way. But now she was powerless to resist this attraction to someone she didn’t know if she would ever see again.
A year ago—heck, a month ago—Lauren would have laughed at anyone who believed in love at first sight. But what else would you call it? She had been entranced with Rad from the first moment their eyes met—and not just because of his blatant good looks. Something had sparked between them, something tangible and vibrant and real. Just thinking of him and the time they had shared caused a sensation of peace and contentment to wash over her.
Maybe it was time for a change. Maybe she was ready to give up her independence and rely on someone else. Trust someone else. And maybe Rad was what she needed. He was strength and comfort and calm… the key that could unlock her heart and soul.
But with these thoughts came a feeling of foreboding, a sense of apprehension so strong it almost made her shiver. It was as if an icy hand had wrapped its fingers around her heart in warning. She knew instinctively the message the warning conveyed.
She had met him too late.
Three days later, Lauren sat in the steamy top floor of her building taking notes on the compound across the street. With her clothes wet with sweat and beads of perspiration dripping down her face, she tried to imagine the feel of an ocean breeze. The more you sweat in peace, the less you bleed in war was one of her father’s favorite expressions. Today, more than any other day, that sweat was worth it. She’d not realized what day it was until recording the date on the top of the journal, but the surge of emotion the realization caused was no less intense than that of previous years.
Today was September 11th.
Suddenly her phone vibrated, making her jump.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end of the line sounded scratchy and far away. “Hey, it’s Rad from the beach.”
“Hey, Rad from the beach.” Lauren’s heart pounded—not because of the phone call—but because the target she’d been waiting for had just stepped outside the compound across the street and was walking toward a waiting pickup truck.
“This is the first chance I had to call.” He sounded muffled, like he was trying to keep others from hearing the conversation. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Doing great.” Lauren grabbed her camera as she talked, focusing on the face of the man walking to the car below and clicking away.
“Is this a good time?” the voice on the other end said. “Sounds like you’re in the middle of a photo shoot.”
“Oh, that’s okay, but hold on one sec.” She put the phone down and moved to a different window for a better angle, being careful to keep her body hidden from view. When the wall of her own compound began to block out the man, she stepped up on a chair so she could get a better angle. A few more shots of the truck, and he was gone.
She picked up the phone. “Sorry about that. I was just sitting here on the beach having a drink with a little umbrella in it when this school of dolphins swam up.”
She tried not to breathe too heavily because Rad was quiet on the other end.
“Funny, I didn’t get the feeling you were going anywhere that had dolphins.”
Lauren didn’t have an answer for that and couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Well I won’t hold you up. Just wanted to call so you wouldn’t forget about me.”
“Don’t worry, Rad.” She was perfectly serious now. “That won’t happen.”
“Good to hear.”
The signal got scratchy, and Lauren pushed the phone hard against her ear so she could hear. Finally he spoke again. “I, um, won’t be able to call for a while, just so you know.”
“Okay. Thanks for that.”
“Sounds like we’re breaking up. I better go. Take care, Lauren.”
“You too, Rad.”
Click.
Lauren’s legs began to shake, and her entire body to tremble. She sat down on a wooden crate, put her head in her hands, and began to sob violently as a surge of emotions washed over her. Whether it was the fact that after five years of sacrifice she finally had proof her target was here, or that she had just heard the voice of the man she had not even dared hope she would ever hear again, she didn’t know or try to figure out.
Taking deep breaths to calm herself, Lauren pulled herself together. Remember what you’re here for.
Images of her parents entered her mind as with shaky hands she prepared a data link to get the photos to someone who had the power to do something about them.
Chapter 15
Rad sat at a picnic table in a small dirt courtyard with a couple of other men in Jalalabad, killing time before a briefing. The brick-and-mortar fire pit in front of him, built by one rotation of men and added to by others, was now a sort of town square for the military compound. The men gathered here when not on duty, sitting on cheap lawn chairs and benches while drinking coffee, smoking cigars, or just bullshitting.
“Looks like the briefing’s going to be on time for a change.” Bipp nodded toward a small hangar where a group of officials was entering.
“Yeah. This ought to be a good one.” Crockett sat back in his lawn chair and kicked out his feet in front of him. “I heard they have HUMINT on our HVT, and it’s a definite go.”
“They always spread that shit to get us pumped,” Reese said. “Then they turn around and cancel the mission.”
Everyone laughed except Pops. “I heard it’s for real this time. Like Crock said, they have human intelligence.”
“Really?” Bipp took a long slug of water from a bottle. “Some crazy ass CIA spook actually has eyes on him?
“Thank God for those guys, but I don’t get them.” Pop sat down on the picnic table with his feet on the bench. “They’re sitting ducks when shit hits the fan.”
“Yeah.” Reese shook his head. “Eve
ryone thinks we have balls—those dudes are crazy.”
“Crazy is right,” Rad said.
Even without human intelligence as proof, his team had been preparing for this raid for more than a month—first in the United States with intense training in a simulated compound, and then here, formulating a force list, staging vehicles, creating time-on-target calculations, and identifying contingency plans. Strategies had now been game-boarded and gone over with a fine-tooth comb. Rad knew his team was ready and itching to go and get the job done.
He wondered if the reports of confirmation were true. More often than not, they would get word that a mission was under consideration, and after prepping gear and arranging transport, would be told at the last minute it was a no go. If positive ID had been made, was it going to be a grainy drone image? Or did they actually have human intelligence as Crockett said? In any case, his men were ready and focused, having planned, trained, and drilled in country for the past two weeks.
Rad joked with Reese as he walked toward the briefing room with large lumbering strides. Throwing the folder he’d been handed onto the table inside, he took a seat on a straight-back chair while a couple of the other men collapsed on a stained, smelly couch in the back.
Besides the collection of rough benches and mismatched chairs, the briefing room contained a large projection screen for watching PowerPoint presentations or drone footage. The wall on one side was covered with maps of the region and diagrams depicting the hierarchy of the terrorists they sought.
As usual, their CO, John McDunna, didn’t waste any time. “Take a seat. Let’s get started. We have a lot to cover.”
The lights went out and a projector in the middle of the room came to life. “Gentlemen, I’m going to tell you everything I know, which isn’t much, but I’m happy to announce we now have positive confirmation our HVT is holed up in a compound in Pakistan.
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