“You haven’t figured it all out yet, have you?”
“The answer is in Hamed’s document. I will figure it out. It shouldn’t take all that long.”
I didn’t reply immediately. Right from the beginning, I sensed there was more to this op than appeared on the surface. Pete was like a bulldog. Once he got his teeth into something, he didn’t let go. What information did Hamed’s document hold that was so important?
I decided not to let go. In some ways, Pete and I were two of a kind.
Why did she still need me? Backup? Maybe more than backup.
“Good cookies,” she said quietly. “Have one.”
“They are good,” I said after a couple of bites.
So she wanted me in D.C. I decided I’d go along, but now I’d be doing things for my own reasons.
After another minute, I said, “I’ll book that flight to Dulles.” When I got to my feet, she pointed me back into the chair.
“There’s more.” She was giving orders again. “Have you been in touch with Wanda Hansen?”
Recalling my last visit to Wanda’s hotel room, I said, “She was irritated with me when I last saw her.”
“She’s a widow. Don’t you have any sympathy for a woman who lost her husband?”
“Of course I do.”
“I would think you’d want to mention how you were following up on her husband’s attempts to find out just how the bank fraud was carried out. The three of you were friends at one time.” She reached for another cookie.
“Anything else?”
“You’ll be staying in an apartment just outside D.C. After you arrive, take a look under the living room rug. Look for some loose floorboards. You’ll find a small compartment. Remove whatever you find in there. It may be useful.”
“Is that all?”
“At 1520 my flight leaves for Kabul. I’ll be there for two or three days. Then I’ll fly to D.C. I’ll be staying in the same building you’re in. We’ll be able to work together.”
Work together doing what?
What would we be trying to accomplish?
I said, “I look forward to seeing you in D.C.”
I hoped my words sounded as if I meant them.
CHAPTER 29
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 2013
THERE WERE ANY number of things I didn’t intend to tell Leslie Corley. The first was, I intended to make a stop in Munich on my way back to D.C. Less than a day had elapsed since Irmie had officially called off our engagement. I wanted her to know how I felt. I booked an afternoon flight on Emirates, which got me into Munich’s Franz Josef Strauss Airport at 7:40 p.m. It was already dark. At an airport flower shop I picked up a large mixed bouquet, mums, carnations, and blue irises, which I knew to be Irmie’s favorite flower.
Since Irmie lives in a suburb of Munich, I rented a car. It was already a few minutes after ten when I arrived at her building in Gröbenzell. After parking in the rear, I walked around to the entrance just as two young men were leaving. Smiling at the flowers, one of the men held the door. Irmie lived in the garden apartment. I pushed the bell, and seconds later heard the peephole slide open. There was a brief pause, during which I felt my heart going into double-time, wondering if she would open. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, I heard the lock click.
Irmie has a soft heart.
“Alex.” Her voice was a soft whisper. She opened the door wider, closed it, and we were together, alone in her apartment. I put my arms around her, gave her a gentle kiss. No response. I knew I would have to overcome a mountain of disappointments and frustrations.
“It’s wonderful to see you, Irmie.”
Her eyes did light up when she saw the flowers. Holding the irises against her cheek, she said, “Why did you come, Alex? You’re only making things more difficult.” Her voice was a whisper.
“I came to tell you I love you. I will always love you.”
I watched as she found a vase in her kitchen. She filled it with water, arranged the flowers, and placed it on a small table in her living room.
“It’s over with us, Alex,” she said, turning toward me.
Irmie had a round face, wide blue eyes, blond hair. She was wearing a green nightgown. I’d obviously arrived just as she was going to bed. “I wish you hadn’t come.” She turned away, trying to conceal the tears dripping down her cheeks. I followed her back into the kitchen. “I’ll make you some tea. Then you’ll have to leave.”
“We’re engaged, Irmie. I want to marry you. Nothing’s changed.”
Irmie only shook her head. For the next five minutes, I watched silently as she boiled water and set out the places.
Then she said, “Is it finished? Your assignment, is it over?”
“I wish it was, but it’s not.”
Her face fell when I said that.
“I have to go back to America. I’m hoping it will soon be over.”
She sighed, shook her head. “You never change.” She didn’t say anything more, but I knew what she was thinking.
Seated opposite me at the dinette, she took a sip of tea. “How often have you said you’ll never take another assignment? My only thought is, if we were married you’d still be accepting assignments.”
I tried to explain. “This was an exception. One of my oldest friends was murdered. They asked me. I had to go.”
“In all America, they couldn’t find someone else? No, Alex. I can’t accept that.” She shook her head. “I just can’t.”
Irmie was right. There were other people they could have sent. I saw no sense in arguing. For nearly ten minutes Irmie and I sat silently in her dinette sipping tea. The funny thing was, I felt comfortable and relaxed in her company. Without being too obvious, I stole glances, at the smoothness of her skin, her hair, at her hands and the way she lifted her tea cup. I realized how much I’d missed her.
Strangely, I had a feeling she, too, was enjoying the moment. The fact we weren’t talking didn’t seem important. We communicated in other ways.
Finally, she said, “I have to be at work early tomorrow, Alex. I’m going to ask you to leave.” She got to her feet.
“I know I’ve made you unhappy, Irmie—”
Irmie shook her head. “You said all that on the telephone.”
“I’m going to come back. When this is over, I’m coming back.” Then, standing at the door, I took her in my arms, and as I held her, I felt her arm around my neck. This time, the kiss wasn’t completely one-sided. Her emotions were there, restrained, but they were real, tangible. Irmie couldn’t completely restrain her feelings. I’d hoped for a different kind of response, a stronger response, but as I held her, I felt her relax, still finding that sense of tranquility she had when we were together. I hated the thought of leaving her.
“Good night, Irmie.” I whispered the words.
I was surprised when she touched my face and gave me a gentle kiss.
I had wanted to stay with her, but as I drove back to the airport, I realized that had been too much to hope for right now.
While seated in the airport’s waiting hall, I texted Corley my flight info, that I would be on the noon flight from Munich to D.C. As I waited, I continued to think about Irmie and our relationship.
Irmie had been a police detective when we’d met at a Christmas party in Munich’s police headquarters. I still recall talking with her that evening and thinking, This is the woman for me. Although in the succeeding years, circumstances had kept us apart, I’d never forgotten that first evening. The main factor that had kept us apart was the frequent overseas assignments I kept receiving. The fact I was technically retired hadn’t been important after the need for experienced case officers after 9/11.
The other factor—we were an ocean apart. But we always remained in contact, and about a year ago, we realized that we’d be happier together than apart. That’s when we got engaged. Our relationship had been running smoothly until I accepted the Afghanistan assignment.
I wondered now whether I’d lo
st Irmie forever and what my life would amount to without her.
The flight to D.C. lasted eight hours, and it was still afternoon when I arrived in Dulles. I was greeted there by a uniformed chauffeur holding up a sign with my name on it.
I let him carry my flight bag out to the car, a comfortable limo. When I asked where we were headed, he said, “I’ve been told to take you to Addison Heights, sir.”
Addison Heights. I’d heard of it. “Where is that?”
“It’s just beyond Crystal City, sir.” Crystal City I knew. It was one of our nation capital’s quieter suburbs, across the Potomac, definitely out of the way.
After placing my bag in the trunk, the driver gave me an envelope, which contained an address, an apartment number, and a key. I had an idea the U.S. government wasn’t paying the freight for this end of the trip, and I wondered who was. From the backseat of the limo I asked the driver if he knew who had made these arrangements.
“I have no idea, sir.”
His answer didn’t surprise me. I already realized that what I was involved in wasn’t just a black op—it wasn’t an American operation.
He let me off in front of a three-story red brick apartment building in Addison Heights, a few blocks from Virginia Highlands Park. Behind the building were overflowing garbage cans. Someone had stuffed tissue paper into the lock of the front door to keep it from closing. There were four mailboxes, and I assumed four apartments. The stairs were narrow and covered with frayed blue carpet.
My surmise about the apartment was confirmed when I was inside. Our government has put me up in any number of living quarters, and they all had one thing in common: They were reasonably well maintained and as comfortable as circumstances permitted. I even recall a low-profile safe house in East Berlin where, despite ancient furniture and a kitchen out of the 1920s, I never saw a speck of dust and the bed linen was spanking clean.
The first thing that struck me here was the dust. In the kitchen, I wiped the countertop with my fingers, and as I suspected, it hadn’t been cleaned recently. Although the bed was made with fresh linen, someone had forgotten to empty a couple of wastepaper baskets. While American government quarters are usually well stocked with firewater, here there was no booze, not even a bottle of beer. There was an ancient TV, which I didn’t bother to turn on.
The books on the shelves were mostly in foreign languages, Russian, Arabic, and French. The apartment appeared to have been empty for a while.
Was Captain Corley working for the American government?
If not, who was she working for?
Pete had been investigating the looting of the Kabul Bank. What had he been looking for?
CHAPTER 30
FRIDAY, MARCH 1, 2013
“WHAT WAS IT like in Dubai?” Doug Greer asked when I called the next day.
“It was hot,” I said.
Doug laughed. “When I’m there, I like to go sailing if I have time. It’s beautiful out on the Gulf. You’ve never seen such blue water. What about the bank stuff?”
“We didn’t make any progress on that. We got some shopping in. That was about it.” I paused. “I owe you a lunch, Doug. Would you be able to—”
“Next week is bad. Really bad. Cabinet meetings one after the other. I’ll be staying late every night. We’re the guys who do the behind-the-scenes work. Can we shoot for the following week?”
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll call.”
After another cup of java, I followed Corley’s direction, rolling back the living room rug and looking for the loose floorboards. With the rug gone, they were easy to spot and, using a screwdriver, easy to pry up. It was a shallow compartment, and lying at the bottom was an M9 Beretta automatic and two ammunition magazines. I wondered why Corley had made a point of mentioning a firearm. Some thoughtful person even had gone to the trouble of cleaning and oiling the weapon not that long ago.
Why would I need a weapon? Again, I had the premonition I’d be wise to disassociate myself from whatever scheme this woman had in mind. But it may be too late for that now.
I should have known better right at the start. That’s why these kinds of “ops” are called “black.”
I had a feeling Corley was worried. Which meant, I suppose, that I should also be worried.
After replacing the rug, I took the weapon into the bedroom, clicked the safety on and off, worked the trigger, and then laid it together with the two ammunition clips in the night table drawer.
Everything about this situation was strange, weird even. The person to ask what it was all about would be Jerry Shenlee, but Jerry had taken himself out of the picture very nicely. He’d even forgotten telling me it was crucial that I go back to Afghanistan. No doubt he’d also forgotten telling me I wouldn’t be gone more than two weeks. It was now four weeks, with no end in sight. When I saw Jerry again, I’d let him know his crystal ball needs polishing.
I spent a couple of hours during the early afternoon in downtown D.C., stretching my legs and looking over my shoulder. I didn’t see anyone. At one of the mobile telephone shops, I bought a couple of cell phones, using a false name and address.
In a car rental office I rented a maroon Honda Accord, a reliable vehicle but not one that would attract attention. On the way back to the apartment, I did some food shopping and picked up a six-pack of Samuel Adams beer.
In the evening, Corley called. When I asked where she was, she said, “I’m in Kabul. I can’t leave at this moment.”
I said, “Thank you for arranging things. I’m living in Addison Heights.”
“Why did the trip take so long? You went to Munich.”
“I stopped briefly in Munich, to see my fiancée. I’m planning to get married. I’m wondering when this op will ever be over.”
“I’ll call tomorrow evening. I’m not sure when.”
A few minutes later, I fished the card Wanda had given me out of my billfold and dialed her home number.
“How’s everything in Alexandria?”
“Alex! It’s so nice to hear from you. Where are you?”
“I’m not that far away. In Addison Heights. If you’re free tomorrow evening, I thought—”
“I’d like to get together, but we’re working weekends now. I’ll probably be tied up at the office into the evening. Why not come over to the Pentagon tomorrow? We could have lunch.”
“I have a better idea. How about the Army Navy Club? Tomorrow night. The Eagle Grill is closed Saturdays. But the dining room stays open.”
“Fine. I’ll get there as soon as I can make it.”
* * *
“I’m so sorry, Alex,” Wanda Hansen said as she pulled back a chair and sat down. We were at a table toward the rear of the quietly elegant Army Navy Club dining room. When I said, “For what?” she sighed. “I hate being late.” Pointing at my half-finished mug of beer and speaking rapidly, she said, “One of those would be great. Have you been here long?”
“This is my first. I’ve had two swallows.”
Wanda grinned. “I wish I could believe that. Your third, probably.” Wanda, who was still in uniform, shook her head, picked up a menu. “I think I’ll have a steak sandwich. It’s hectic at work, believe me.”
After giving our order to the waitress, I said, “You don’t look hassled. In fact you look great.”
Wanda smiled, reached out and touched my hand. I wondered why she seemed so agitated. “Thank you, Alex. I needed that.”
“What’s going on at the office?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Probably not.”
“The military has become more and more bureaucratic. Pete used to complain, too. He used to talk about the Army the way it was, ‘the Brown Shoe Army,’ he used to call it. What happened to it? Where did it go?”
“Where are the snows of yesteryear?”
“I’m still recovering from Afghanistan. It was different over there from what I thought it would be. I’m thinking now I never should have gone.” Wanda shudder
ed. “I was nervous the whole time.” As she watched the waitress set down her mug of beer, Wanda said, “Those green-on-blue killings are just so awful.”
“Agreed.”
After we’d touched glasses, Wanda took a long swallow. “I mean, you never know when someone you’re talking with might pull out a gun and shoot you. And the IEDs all over. You drove over one, Alex. On your trip in from the airport, right?”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“I don’t know how you can remain so calm.” After taking another long swallow of beer, she pointed across the room. Through the window on the far wall the lights of Farragut Square twinkled. “That’s a nice sight. I’ve always liked the club. Pete did, too. He and I used to play tennis, then come over here. That was when he was stationed over at Meade.” Wanda watched the waitress set down our sandwiches. After I’d ordered another beer for each of us, she said, “Tell me what you’ve been doing lately.”
“I’ve been traveling. I went back to Dubai.”
“So that’s where you were! Dubai! I wondered why you didn’t call.” She paused to take a swallow of beer. “You were there only the previous week. Why go back?”
“Unfinished business. On the first trip I was following up on some things Pete was involved with.”
“Yes, you told me that. You also said it hadn’t worked out all that well. I’m assuming that this time they—”
“This time they worked out a little better.”
“Which means?”
“How much do you know about what Pete was working on?”
“The bank fraud? He never said very much. You know how Pete was. He wasn’t the type to broadcast what he was doing.”
“Married people shouldn’t have secrets from each other.”
“Ha ha. Tell that to the military. The left hand’s not supposed to know what the right hand is doing.” Wanda caught the waitress’s eye. When she said we wanted two brandies, I didn’t comment. “I remember the last time we spoke you said something about the trial.”
“You have a good memory.”
“When’s it going to be over?”
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