by Camden Mays
“Surely you are not sleeping in here?” Liski asked.
“We stay with our equipment,” Wang replied.
“There’s a couple of hotels around the port here that I’m sure would be happy to take your euros,” Cole tossed out.
“If that’s what you call a hotel,” Capps grunted.
“Here, take my cot,” Sinha offered. “I’ll take the floor.” The others on the team were done placating their European counterpart.
“Where is the washroom?” Liski asked.
“The small fruit stand we passed two buildings back. We paid the owner to let us use the bathroom in his store. Cole must have given him a lot of money, because he gave us the key and took off. On vacation I guess,” Robinson shared.
Cole was busy firing up his secure laptop and had put on his earbuds. They would be turning down soon, but it was just past noon on Sunday at home. He wanted to connect with Hannah, and though he wished he had more privacy, he didn’t want to wait any longer. He sat on the floor, leaned against the corner, and dialed the tablet Amy had given her.
✽✽✽
Washington, DC – Wharf District
Hannah forked around an Asian stir-fry meal she had heated up. It was another blisteringly hot day in DC, and she stayed in the cool confines of her condo. Her hair was scrunched up and her eyes puffy from the sleepless night and too much wine. She nearly fell out of the stool when the boisterous ringing on the tablet startled her.
“Shit!” she yelled as she stubbed her toe on the leg of the chair, trying to get to the annoyingly loud device.
She hit the answer button, and Cole’s scrubby face came on the screen. She could see he had earbuds on and was wearing a black T-shirt against a beige-colored wall.
“Hey, honey,” he said softly with a grin and a wave.
“Hi, Cole,” Hannah said, tilting her head with mixed emotions.
“Sorry, we just got to this place and have to turn in for the night soon. Unfortunately, it’s a one-room setup, so not very private.” Hannah could hear Capps and other voices saying “hey Hannah.”
“Tell them I said hi,” Hannah said. Cole waved to everyone. “I saw some news online yesterday about Jawahir.” Cole nodded, and she knew it was him. “You need to be careful, Cole. Any idea when you’ll be back?”
“Not yet, sorry. Hey, how was your refresher training?”
“It was good. I’m so glad to get that behind me now. One of the instructors was actually in the NAT program with me eleven years ago. He’s the one that beat me out for the award.”
“Yeah, I remember you telling me about that . . . Wait, isn’t he the one that you had a thing for?” Cole asked.
Good, he remembered, Hannah thought, wanting him to deal with his own questions like she had to do.
“Well, that was a long time ago, Cole,” Hannah said.
“Hannah, I trust you completely.” He looked around the room after saying it, hoping he wasn’t too loud. Dang it. That didn’t work. Didn’t even phase him, she thought.
“OK, Cole, I hate doing this over the video chat like this,” Hannah started.
“Wait, Hannah, what’s wrong?” Cole scrunched his brow.
She held up the picture one at a time for him to see and then shrugged. “So who is she? And why did someone give these to me?”
Cole chuckled.
“I don’t see the humor, Cole. You know I’ve been hurt in the past. Don’t do this to me.”
“Babe, I’m not doing anything to you. Can’t you see it’s a setup? What they didn’t give you is a picture of me removing her hand when she put it on mine. And who’s doing the kissing there? I’m not even standing up as she leaves. You know I always stand for a lady,” Cole said.
“Well dammit, Cole. Who is she?” Hannah yelled.
Cole adjusted his earpiece and looked over the top of the laptop to gauge who was listening. “Remember the Gala? It’s related to that, but I can’t discuss it.”
“I hate your job. I hate not knowing when you’ll be back or when I’ll hear from you. And I hate that you’re not here with me.”
“I’m sorry. I really miss you. I don’t know why they would waste time playing this game, but I’ll find out when I get back.”
Hannah blew out her cheeks again. “I want you to come home.” Her eyes teared up. She hated that she felt this way. She didn’t need this kind of emotional turmoil.
“I know. I miss you too, babe,” Cole said patting his chest to signal “I love you.”
Hannah pulled the necklace out from under the T-shirt and held the pendant between her fingers and kissed it to send her signal as well.
“Be safe, Cole,” Hannah said.
“You too, and tell Jess I called.”
“I will,” Hannah said, then paused before reaching for the disconnect button.
“Wait, that Quantico instructor, is he hitting on you?”
Hannah swatted at the screen. “Good night, Cole.”
“Of course he is, dammit!” Cole said, making a fist.
Hannah blew him a kiss as the call disconnected. Hmm, guess it did phase him a little. She laid the tablet down, picked up the photos, and looked at the pictures once again.
Chapter 12
Washington, DC – XX+ Bar
The bartender at the XX+ placed Darcy Regis’s margarita down on the napkin. “Here you go, sweetie,” she said, working for the tip at the newer LGBTQ women’s bar and lounge in DC. The couches and pool table made it a comfortable setting with a local-bar feel. It offered an intimate and relaxed vibe, and the spacing encouraged human-to-human contact that the young twenty-eight-year-old reporter longed for.
Darcy turned on her stool to see if she recognized any faces as more patrons entered the bar. An attractive blonde sitting alone on a dark sofa over in the lounge area caught her eye. Darcy built up the courage to approach the stranger, but as she moved that direction, she was cut off by a group making their way into the bar. When they finally cleared, the blonde was gone.
“C’est la vie,” Darcy mumbled to herself. A familiar face approached and with it the anticipation of an awkward conversation.
“Darcy! Darcy!” the woman said, pushing her way through the growing crowd.
“Hi, Kim,” Darcy said, forcing a smile.
“What the hell, girl?” Kim put her free hand on her hip. “Two weeks and no call?”
“I told you no strings, no commitment. It was just for fun. You knew my rules.” Darcy sipped her drink and looked for an escape route.
“Whatever, bitch.” Kim gave a dismissive hand gesture and squeezed her way past others toward the bar.
Darcy saw an open spot on one of the sofas in the lounge area and knew it wouldn’t last long. She held her drink high, maneuvering through the crowd, and arrived at the corner of the couch at the same time as the blonde she had seen earlier.
“Oh, sorry. Were you sitting here?” Darcy asked over the noise.
“No, you go ahead,” the blonde said.
“You sure?” While the two waffled, someone else scooted in behind Darcy and grabbed the seat.
“Oops!”
“Ah, c’est la vie,” Darcy said.
“Are you French?”
“No, just something my dad would always say. I’m Darcy, by the way.”
“Emma.” Katrina Nikolin used her alias.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before, Emma. I mean, there’s only so many LGBTQ bars in DC.”
“I’m new to the area.” Katrina Nikolin hesitated. “I’m hoping to make new friends.” She touched Darcy’s hand just as someone bumped into her, causing the drink to spill a small dribble.
“Would you like to get out of here?” Darcy asked.
“I would like that very much.” Katrina smiled. Darcy grabbed her hand and led her through the crowd, down the stairs, and out onto Ninth Street. They caught the first available cab, making out in the back seat until the taxi arrived at Darcy’s modest high-rise studio apartment on I Street.
“Thank you for a wonderful night,” Katrina said, putting her shoes on.
Darcy was not used to having to chase after her lovers. Usually she was the one being pursued. When they pushed too hard or tried to progress the relationship too fast, she would shut it down, as she preferred to remain untangled by the chains of complication that came with social connections. But this attractive blonde had stepped into her life last night and driven her insane with her tantalizing sexual chemistry. She couldn’t resist. Now she had to be the pursuer, but she knew what it felt like to be pushed too hard.
“Would you like to get together again?” Darcy managed to ask.
“Sure. I left my number on the counter. But I understand if you don’t call.” Katrina played coy, knowing the best way to get Darcy hooked was to play somewhat aloof. She had tasted the carrot, and now all Katrina had to do was tie it to the proverbial stick and keep it out in front of her.
Darcy’s phone vibrated on the kitchen counter, breaking the moment. Katrina nodded for permission, then grabbed the phone to hand to Darcy who had pulled the sheets up to cover herself on the bed. It gave Katrina a chance to view the caller ID. Unknown.
“You have a call, so I’ll just let myself out,” Katrina said.
Darcy’s desire was for more time with her new lover. She knew who was calling, but clicked the decline icon. “It’s just my dad’s old girlfriend. I’m sort of doing a favor for her. I’m a reporter for the Washington Post.” Darcy kicked herself as soon as she said it. She was trying too hard to impress.
“Oh, how exciting.” Katrina picked up her bag and smiled at Darcy. “I’m sorry, but I really have to leave now,” she said as she left.
As the door closed, Darcy fell back on the bed, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it. “Agh! I’m such an idiot!”
She looked at her phone as if it had betrayed her, then dialed McCune’s number. “Hello.”
“I thought we understood our arrangement,” McCune said. “When I call, you answer.”
Darcy shot the middle finger up in the air and scrunched her face, wishing she could speak her mind to her dad’s former girlfriend and CIA source. McCune continued. “If you want the scoop, you’ll have to be ready to grab it. Surely your father taught you that. I’m inaccessible ninety percent of the time.”
“Yeah, just like you were inaccessible for Dad.” Darcy couldn’t resist the jab, knowing her father was crushed when the relationship had ended.
“Shall we continue our relationship? Or should I find another eager journalist to work with?”
“I’m on the phone, aren’t I?”
“OK then. I have some information related to the Mogadishu incident I can give you. In return, I want to see another article on some of the dirt I gave you about Scott Shepherd.” Darcy assumed McCune was determined to keep the congressman at bay, forcing him to deal with scandalous assertions instead of getting into the CIA business and harpooning her career.
“I wrote it up, but the editor wouldn’t publish it.”
“So make him publish it. Rewrite. Do whatever you need to do. I need that bastard cringing every time the paper hits the street or the people retweet your stories online.”
“Got it.” The call ended. Darcy tossed her phone on the bed, then yelled at it as if McCune could still hear her.
“Thanks for ruining my goodbye this morning! You intrusive bitch!”
✽✽✽
Counterterrorism Center – Langley
McCune made her usual fast-paced walk to the elevator as her admin Charlie rode her heels, trying desperately to get his boss’s signatures on overdue paperwork. She signed one last piece as the elevator doors closed, and the metal box descended to basement level three. McCune and Cole had become close through their shared struggle against the AIJB. Their bond was strengthened by the events that shaped their lives. Cole had proven himself to be one of the most capable leaders she had worked with, and he possessed some endearing qualities that she had failed to appreciate when she first came to the CTC. Now, Cole Cameron was her most trusted associate.
She also found Cole Cameron’s team to be the most enjoyable group to work with. She was surrounded by capable and intelligent people everywhere she turned, but Cameron had somehow built a team culture with his unit in the den that was atypical of the CIA environment. She had even joined in on the culture by dropping some of her formalities, using first names, and sharing in some of the lighthearted banter. It went against her MO, but Cameron had insisted that it was his den, and when you visit someone’s home, you abide by their rules. She chuckled, thinking of rule number one. No assholes allowed. As the eye scanner released the bolted door, she reminded herself, Don’t be an asshole today.
The pit area was busy with activity as the half-dozen analysts on duty were prepping for the Port of Aden operation. Cole and his team were working the arms shipment set to be off-loaded in the container terminal at the port. The objective was to follow the materials to learn their destination, hopefully leading to a training camp or weapons cache that could then be targeted with an air strike to continue to cripple the AIJB’s efforts.
“Good evening, ma’am,” Amy Wiggins said, seeing McCune standing at the back of the room.
“Hi, Amy. Has the team checked in yet?”
“No, ma’am. Wang indicated she would dial in with a comm check about thirty minutes before they head to the terminal.”
“OK. Any other updates on Jawahir takedown?”
“Yes, ma’am. Doesn’t look like he was the Lion of Aden. We have a new video where the Lion is praising Jawahir and mourning his passing and . . .” Amy paused.
“Let me guess—calling for the death of Cole Cameron.” McCune folded her arms and shook her head. She could see Amy’s concern. “He’ll be alright. He’s got a great team.”
“There’s something else that’s starting to get some internet buzz.”
“What’s that?”
“Someone posted a video recording showing Cole shooting Jawahir.”
“Let me see it.”
Amy tapped a few keys and the video clip played on the screen. “Well, it doesn’t really show his face, but we should try to scrub it out before it spreads further,” McCune said.
“We’ve been working on our end and have made the requests to the NSA for priority, but we could use your pull to get them to act with more urgency.”
“OK. I’ll take care of it.”
✽✽✽
Port of Aden, Yemen
The team rechecked the gear, ensuring everything was properly functioning before heading to the container terminal. As Cole placed his extra mags of ammo in pouches, Sasha Liski walked up beside him. “Where did you and your friend go last night?” she whispered.
“What do you mean? We were here all night.”
“No, the night before in Mogadishu, after the gunfight and before we shipped out. I saw you two leave the compound at maybe three in the morning.”
“You spying on me, Sasha?” Cole asked as he closed up his bag and turned to leave. It was none of her damn business.
“Typical male American response,” Liski piped for the room to hear.
Capps and Cole had decided to eliminate the man who hosted Jawahir in his house. Most assuredly he was a terrorist, and Cole’s mission was to eradicate the AIJB, one at a time if necessary. The home had at the very least served as an Airbnb for the known killer with ties to car and bus bombings throughout the region. As Cole saw it, anyone willing to provide cover for the evil man deserved a similar fate.
The two used the cover of night to slip into the house, their weapons ready and equipped with suppressors. Cole planned to put one tap into the head of the man and leave. He stood over the man, prepared to assassinate him, when a small-framed boy, maybe ten years old, e
ntered the room and saw him.
Capps grabbed the boy, covering his mouth to muffle the screams and nodded for Cole to finish it. But Cole saw the pleading in the eyes of the boy, who brought his hands together as if praying. Cole thought of the hell that he would bring upon the boy if he pulled the trigger. And for what purpose? So that his vengeful lust could be satisfied? He had become like his adversaries, Hasni and al-Himyari.
“I can’t do it. I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to make this boy an orphan,” Cole whispered that night. They motioned for the boy to sit and remain quiet. He complied, and they left the house and the old man and boy alive.
Ricky had driven them in the car he had purchased with CIA reimbursement after his other car was shot full of holes. He sat a few houses down the street near the place they had parked the day before when they were on the rooftop stakeout. He smiled as the two men returned to the car. “Everyone OK?” he asked with cheer in his African accent.
“Yes, Ricky. Everyone is OK,” Cole said as they drove back to the compound.
Now at the Port of Aden, Cole thought about the boy and the old man they had let live and was glad that he had not crossed that line yet. It was a gray area for sure, and he had been ordained and sanctioned to hunt and destroy the enemy. But killing a questionable associate—an old man at that—in his sleep was beyond anything he had ever imagined he was capable of doing. Yet, had it not been for the boy, Cole most certainly would have crossed that line. Initially, he thought he had spared the boy, but it was the boy that had saved him or at least what remained of his soul.
“Let’s go get eyes on that shipment,” Cole said, leading the field team out of the room.
Chapter 13
Port of Aden, Yemen
“Boss! Boss, get up. We’ve got movement.” Wang shoved Cole’s cot with her black boot to wake him from his slumber. For the last seventy-two hours, the team had kept the containers of arms under surveillance. They had hoped the containers would be picked up immediately after being off-loaded from the ship that came from Mogadishu, but they remained untouched in the terminal, so the team operated in shifts. Capps and Robinson took midnight to noon, while Cole was stuck with Matilda from noon to midnight.