“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to answer it.”
“There is some good news.”
“What?”
“Janet DiCarlo came out of her coma.”
Reel’s eyes widened. “Robie, there might be others out there. If they know that, she’ll be dead in—”
He held up his hand. “No she won’t.”
“Why?”
“Cerebral hemorrhage. She’s not...she’ll never be the same as she once was.”
“And that’s good news?”
“She’ll get to live.” He paused. “Would you like to see her?”
Reel nodded.
Two hours later they stood at the bedside of Janet DiCarlo. Her head had been shaved and deep suture marks were stamped on her scalp where major surgery had been performed to relieve pressure on her brain. Her eyes were open and she stared up at them.
Reel reached out and took her hand. “Hello, Janet,” she said in a husky voice. “Do you remember me?”
DiCarlo stared up, but no recognition came to her features.
“My name is—” Reel broke off. “I’m just a friend. An old friend who you helped a long time ago.”
Reel looked down when DiCarlo squeezed her fingers. Reel smiled.
“You’re going to be okay,” she said.
Reel looked over at Robie. “We’re going to be okay.”
No we’re not, thought Robie.
A few seconds later his cell phone buzzed. He looked down at the screen. The message was short but definitely to the point.
They were being summoned.
And now it starts.
CHAPTER
82
THE CONFERENCE ROOM SEEMED TOO small to hold everyone who was there. On one side of the table sat Robie and Reel. On the other side were Evan Tucker, Blue Man, and the acting APNSA, Josh Potter, who was much younger than Gus Whitcomb, barely fifty. Robie didn’t envy his coming into this situation.
Tucker slid a USB stick across the table. Robie and Reel looked at it, but neither made a move to pick it up.
Tucker said, “New mission.”
“For both of you,” added Potter.
Tucker said, “We’re giving you a second chance, Reel.”
“I never asked for one.”
“Let me put it this way. We’re giving you your only chance. You murdered two people from the CIA, for God’s sake. You should be in prison. Do you know how unbelievably generous this offer is?”
Potter cleared his throat and sat forward. “Let me just say that these are extraordinary conditions and that everyone here is under enormous stress. As the new man in the loop I also want to say that putting this behind us is a priority. I think we can all agree on that.”
Reel said, “Gelder and Jacobs were traitors. I just didn’t wait for the sanction order. I’m sure it would have been forthcoming.”
Blue Man added, “And the agency has uncovered evidence tying both of them to the plot. Sam Kent left files behind. So what Ms. Reel did was serve her country.”
“Bullshit!” snapped Tucker. “You are a murderer, Reel, nothing will ever change that.”
“Your objection is duly noted, Director,” said Potter in a calming tone. “But the ‘offer’ has been authorized at a level above any in this room. So let’s just focus on that instead of exercising histrionics.”
Robie was not looking at Tucker or Potter. He was looking at Blue Man.
And Blue Man was doodling on a piece of paper.
Robie did not take this as a good sign.
Robie said, “Can we get a preview?”
“Like I said, a second chance,” replied Tucker. “Ahmadi? Syria? He’s still there. We need him taken care of.”
“Little dicey to go in now,” said Robie.
“If she had done her job before instead of shooting Doug Jacobs in the back, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” barked Tucker. “It’s gotten to the critical stage. We believe that Ahmadi is partnering with al-Qaeda and will soon offer them training, resources, and official cover into other countries if he comes to power, which looks likely. That obviously can’t be allowed to happen.”
“So we both go?” said Reel, watching Tucker.
He spread his hands. “Like Robie said, it’s dicey right now. We believe the odds of success a re increased with both of you going in.”
“Which of us takes the shot?” asked Robie.
Potter pointed at Reel. “She does. You’re the spotter.”
“She has to finish the mission, Robie,” added Tucker. “That is the official deal. She does that, as far as this country is concerned, the slate is wiped clean.”
“I’d like that in writing,” said Reel.
“In writing?” Tucker scoffed. “Where the hell are you coming from asking for that?”
“From a place called ‘I don’t trust you,’” she answered.
“You don’t have a damn choice,” thundered Tucker.
Potter held up a hand. “Look, maybe we can accommodate you.”
“Whatever you want to call it, I don’t care. All I want is someone really high up’s ass on the line that says you will honor the deal.”
“We could put you in prison,” said Tucker. “So how about you go kill Ahmadi and our ‘agreement’ is you don’t rot in a jail cell?”
Reel looked at Potter. “So accommodate me.”
“How high up do you want the signatory to be?” asked Potter.
“Way higher than either of you,” she said.
“That is a short list.”
“And don’t I know it.”
Potter looked at Tucker, who sat back, folded his arms across his chest, rocked back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling, looking for all the world like an overgrown child who had just had his crayons taken away.
“Okay,” said Potter. “Consider it done.”
Reel scooped up the USB stick. “Nice haggling with you.”
She and Robie started to leave.
“Robie, hold up,” said Tucker. “We have matters to discuss with you separate from this.”
Reel looked at Robie and shrugged. “I’ll be outside.”
She left.
Tucker motioned for Robie to retake his seat. “She’s a liability.”
“I don’t see it that way,” said Robie. “And why are you really sending me along? She doesn’t need a spotter.”
“Because you are to make sure that she comes back. She is going to be held responsible for her crimes,” said Tucker.
“You mean for killing traitors?”
“I mean for murdering two of my people.”
“And the deal you gave her?”
Tucker looked triumphant. “There is no deal.”
Robie glanced at Potter. “You just told her there was a deal.”
Potter looked uncomfortable. “I’m usually a man of my word, Robie. But this is out of my hands.”
Tucker pointed a finger at Robie. “And just to be clear, if you tell her the truth your ass will be in a prison cell until the day you die. We’ve got you on all sorts of aiding and abetting the enemy, meaning Jessica Reel.”
Robie looked over at Blue Man, who was still doodling on his paper. “What do you think about this?” he asked him.
Blue Man looked up, thought for a moment. “I think you should go. And do your duty.”
Robie and Blue Man gazed at each other for a long moment. Then Robie rose. “See you on the other side,” he said, before going out the door.
Blue Man caught up with him before he left the building.
“Was that bullshit back there from you?” Robie asked.
“It was actually the best advice I could give you under the circumstances.” He put out his hand. “Good luck.”
Robie hesitated and then shook it.
Blue Man walked off and Robie left the building.
Reel was waiting for him at his car. They got in.
Reel said, “What did they want with you?”
“Does
n’t really matter, now that I know.”
“Know what?”
Robie held up the piece of paper that Blue Man had slipped him while shaking his hand.
Reel looked at the two letters Blue Man had written on it.
They were both lowercase t’s.
She gazed up at Robie. They both knew exactly what it meant.
“Double cross,” said Reel.
“Double cross,” repeated Robie.
CHAPTER
83
THE OPERATIONS ROOM WAS SMALL and the company selected to sit in on this particular mission few in number.
Potter, the APNSA.
Tucker, the DCI.
The new number two at CIA, who looked slightly gun-shy, since his two predecessors had been killed and permanently incapacitated, respectively.
The director of homeland security.
A ramrod-straight, white-haired three-star from the Pentagon.
And Blue Man.
On one wall was a mass of giant TV screens on which real-time SAT downloads were streaming across. The men sat in comfortable chairs around a rectangular table. Bottles of water sat in front of each of them. They could be getting ready to watch every NFL game being broadcast.
Or another type of contest from a half a world away.
Potter checked one of the digital clocks on the wall. “One hour away,” he said, and Tucker nodded.
“Everything in place?” asked the three-star.
“Everything’s in place,” replied Tucker. He had on a headset and was receiving communications from assets on the ground. This was hard to do in a place like Syria, but the United States had enough muscle to do just about anything just about anywhere.
He hit a button on the control console in front of his chair and one screen flicked to the sniper nest set up in an empty office building in downtown Damascus.
“It was fortunate that Ahmadi’s people never learned of the assassination attempt,” said Tucker. “In fifty-seven minutes he’s going to find himself in the crosshairs once more.”
“When does Reel arrive at the nest?” asked Potter.
“In ten minutes.”
“And Robie?”
“His spotter site is set up on the street opposite where Ahmadi will be getting out.”
“And their exit?” asked the director of homeland security.
“Planned and polished and we expect it to work,” said Tucker vaguely.
“But everything is a risk,” added Potter quickly. “Especially over there.”
The three-star nodded approvingly. “It takes balls to do what your people do. Sending two in with light weapons and no backup. We send our guys into tough situations, but they have a lot more firepower and resources. And we don’t leave people behind.”
“They’re the best we have,” said Blue Man, drawing hard stares from Tucker and Potter.
“I’m sure,” said the three-star. “Well, godspeed to them.”
“Godspeed,” mouthed Blue Man.
A voice spoke in Tucker’s ear. He turned to the others and said, “Robie has just communicated in. He’ll be in position in five minutes. Reel will be in the sniper’s nest in seven minutes. Everything looks good. Ahmadi will be leaving the government building right about now. He will be out of target for the next forty-eight minutes. Then they’ll have a two-minute window to—”
Tucker broke off speaking for a very understandable reason. On the TV screens, screaming people were suddenly running down the streets of Damascus. Guns were being fired into the air. Sirens were starting up.
“What the hell?” barked Potter.
Tucker was transfixed by what was happening on the screen.
Potter grabbed him by the shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Tucker spoke into his headset, demanding an explanation for the sudden chaos on the streets.
“They’re trying to find out. They don’t know yet.”
“Dial up Robie,” demanded Potter. “He’s right there.”
Tucker attempted to do so. “He’s not answering. He’s gone silent.”
“Reel, then. Get somebody, for God’s sake.”
“Look,” said the three-star.
Syrian security forces were hanging out the window of the room where the sniper’s nest was set up.
“How the hell did they get there so fast? Reel isn’t even there. She hasn’t fired a shot yet,” added the DHS director.
“The whole operation has been compromised,” said Tucker. “There’s been a breach somewhere.” He exchanged a glance with Potter. “This was not supposed to happen.”
“And Ahmadi got away? Again?” snapped the three-star.
“He was not supposed to get away,” Tucker muttered under his breath.
“For Christ’s sake,” said Potter. “Can’t we get anything right?”
“Hold on,” said Tucker. “Something’s coming through now.”
He listened to the voice in his ear. His expression went from stunned concern to absolute amazement.
“Copy that,” he said.
“What is it?” screamed Potter when Tucker didn’t say anything else.
Tucker turned to the others, his face white. “Ahmadi was just shot outside the government building, while he was getting into his car. He’s dead. It’s been confirmed through reliable sources.”
“Thank God for that,” said the three-star. “But I don’t understand. Did the mission change? The hit was supposed to be outside the hotel.”
“The mission didn’t change. Not on our end,” said Blue Man calmly.
The DHS director was staring at the Syrians swarming over the sniper’s nest. “What I don’t get is how they were onto the sniper’s nest so fast.” He turned to Tucker. “It’s almost like they knew the hit was coming.”
“A breach, like we said,” Tucker responded, still looking ghostly pale.
“But Reel and Robie must’ve known about it. That’s why they made the switch to the government building and did the hit there,” explained Potter quickly.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” said the three-star.
“Why not?” asked Tucker.
“You said Robie just reported in. He was getting into position as the spotter outside the hotel. And he also reported that Reel was expected to be in place in ten minutes. The hotel and government building are nowhere near each other. Why would he communicate to his own agency one thing and then do something else entirely? It was almost as though he didn’t trust—”
The three-star stopped talking and turned back to the screen, where the Syrian security forces were still screaming from the balcony of the sniper’s nest.
Then the three-star glanced back at Tucker with a suspicious look.
Tucker looked over at the DHS director and found his gaze boring into him as well.
Tucker started to say something and then stopped. All he could do was stare at the screens.
The three-star said, “But the kill was still made. Under the, um, unusual circumstances I’d say that was the finest hit I’ve ever, well, not seen.”
“Same for me,” said the DHS director.
“And me,” added Potter lamely, which drew a long glare from Tucker.
“Robie and Reel deserve this country’s thanks,” said the three-star firmly.
The DHS director added, “And we’ll see that they get it.”
“If they get out of Syria,” said the three-star darkly.
If they get out of Syria alive, thought Tucker.
CHAPTER
84
OTHER THAN NORTH KOREA AND IRAN, Syria was arguably the most difficult country in the world to escape from for a westerner.
Foreigners were inherently suspect.
Americans were hated.
American operatives who had just killed a potential Syrian leader were good for only one thing: execution and then being dragged through the streets headless.
The only positive element was that Syria’s borders were not secure. They were fli
msy and ever-changing, just as the politics of the moment were, in one of the countries constituting the “cradle of civilization.”
Robie and Reel understood this fully.
They had a chance, a slender one.
Reel had delivered the kill shot from a building across the street from where Ahmadi had been about to get into his limo. It would have been easier to don a full burqa face covering and escape that way. However, Syrian women didn’t wear traditional Islamic garb for the most part. And full facial veils had been banned in universities and other public settings by the increasingly secular government, who felt it was a security risk and promoted extremism. Thus putting one on would have been a red flag, not a disguise.
But she could still wear a hijab. This would reveal part of her face, but she had stained it darker and simulated wrinkles and sun damage. And in the long black robe she had incorporated a harness and padding that added about sixty pounds to her frame. She stooped as she walked and looked as though she were about seventy.
She picked up a market basket and left the room, waiting patiently at the elevator with another man who was standing there. The elevator doors opened and she got into the car. It headed down. When it reached the ground floor she stepped off.
She was swept to the side as police flooded the building. They grabbed the man who had been in the elevator car with her and pulled him, as well as several other Syrian men, along with them. They stormed into the elevator and up the stairwell.
Reel waited for a few moments and then continued on. When she got outside, police cars were everywhere. Swarms of people were screaming. People were crying. Others were marching in the streets, chanting.
A car caught on fire. Guns were racked back and fired into the air. Shop windows were smashed. There was a small explosion down the street.
Reel followed another group of women down the street and into an alley.
Under normal circumstances, it would have been unthinkable for men to search a woman on a Syrian public street.
These were not normal circumstances.
Police swept into the alley and started grabbing everyone, pulling at their clothing, looking for weapons or other signs of culpability.
The Hit (2013) Page 35