Five Years in Yemen

by Luana Ehrlich

  Since there was no way to know for sure, once I’d loaded the groceries in the Suburban and was on my way back to Carla’s place, I gave my boss a call.

  Carlton said he was just leaving Langley and headed out to The Meadows where he planned to spend the Thanksgiving weekend. He didn’t sound too pleased when I told him some DIA guys were conducting surveillance on Gault, and I’d caught one of them shadowing me.

  “They must have spotted you at Gault’s building yesterday.”

  “I took precautions so I wouldn’t be seen by anyone inside the building, but it never occurred to me someone might be watching the building from the outside.”

  Although I was tempted to mention Nikki had been suspicious of the men in the gray van, I quickly dismissed that idea—it would have only made me look bad, and, like everyone else on the planet, I was only interested in making myself look good.

  “I’ll contact Dirk Andersen over at DIA and find out what’s going on with his guys. I can’t imagine why he had them shadowing you.”

  After I told him I’d gotten their names, and that I’d set up a meeting with Jeremy Taylor, he offered to contact the Agency’s Domestic Desk and let them know I’d be having a meeting with an operative from DIA.

  Carlton said, “We need to have this meeting on the books, Titus. I want an official recording of it.”

  “I understand, and that’s probably a good idea, because I got the feeling Taylor thought I might have some intel on Gault that I’d be willing to exchange for the intel he had on him.”

  “If he knows something about Gault that might be relevant to Jacob Levin’s disappearance, it might be a good idea to negotiate for it. You’ll have to make that decision yourself, but I’m not opposed to it.”

  I agreed to update Carlton once I’d had my meeting with Taylor, and, just before I hung up, I wished him a Happy Thanksgiving.

  “Happy Thanksgiving to you as well,” he said, “and this time, you can tell Ms. Saxon that I wish her the same.”

  * * * *

  The moment I pulled up in front of Carla’s house, I noticed another vehicle pulling up behind me.

  For a millisecond, I thought it was Sandusky’s blue van.

  It wasn’t.

  It was my Uncle Harold’s dark blue Lexus.

  “Well, look who’s here for Thanksgiving,” he said, when I walked over and opened the car door for him. “Did somebody die? Is that why you’re here?”

  He punched me on the shoulder. “Just kidding, Titus. I have to say, though, it might be nice if you’d come here to see your sister a little more often.”

  “It’s good to see you, Uncle Harold. Where’s Aunt Dorothy?”

  “Oh, she decided to ride over with Eddie. She was miffed at me for thinking I’d locked my keys in the car when it turned out I had them in my pocket the whole time.”

  “She’ll forgive you eventually.”

  “She thinks I’m losing it, but I tell her I’m just trying to keep her on her toes and make sure her life has some excitement in it.”

  When I started removing the groceries from the Suburban, Harold offered to help me carry them into the house, and, as we walked up to the front door, he congratulated me on my engagement to Nikki.

  “I expect that’s what Nikki will do for you, Titus. She’ll bring some excitement into your life, give you a few thrills, get you out of the rut you’re in.”

  “You’re right, Uncle Harold. That’s what I need; more excitement in my life.”

  Chapter 12

  Thursday, November 26

  I waited until Nikki and I were having breakfast together in the hotel’s breakfast bar the next morning before I told her about my encounter with the blue van.

  Since there were only two other couples in the room with us, and they were all seated together at the other end of the room, I didn’t think we were in any danger of being overheard, but I still kept my voice low as I told her about what had happened.

  Once I’d finished, I complimented Nikki on her observation skills.

  “You were right about the gray van. The men inside were definitely doing surveillance on Stephen Gault; they just weren’t part of our Agency surveillance team. They were with Defense Intelligence.”

  Her reaction surprised me.

  “Then why didn’t you notice them? I don’t have your training, and, when it comes to spotting surveillance, I certainly don’t have your experience. Shouldn’t you have been the one who picked up on their behavior?”

  As I studied her face, trying to figure out what was going on with her, I happened to notice her throat was covered with red splotches.

  “It’s true. I should have been more observant. For example, right now, I’m observing an obvious sign you’re angry with me.”

  She set her coffee cup down and placed her hand over her throat. “I’m flushed, aren’t I? It always happens when I get upset. I should probably invest in some turtleneck sweaters.”

  “So you really are angry with me?”

  She took a deep breath. “No, not really. It’s just that whenever you’re on an assignment, and I start thinking about the danger you’re in, I always tell myself you’re a highly trained intelligence officer with tons of experience, and you have great instincts. With those kinds of credentials, you should always be able to stay one step ahead of the bad guys. Now, since you didn’t pick up on the DIA surveillance team, I’ll worry about you a lot more. I’m sure that’s why I sounded angry.”

  “There’s really nothing for you to worry about because there’s a big difference in what went down at Gault’s building the other day, and what happens when I’m in the field.”

  She looked skeptical. “How so?”

  “Well, for one thing, the DIA operatives aren’t the bad guys, and, for another, I was completely distracted by having you there next to me in the car.”

  She smiled. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “Yes,” I said, nodding my head, “I’m definitely trying to make you feel better, but I’m also telling you the truth. When I’m on an assignment, I’m operating on foreign soil, I’m using another identity, and I’m speaking another language. These are all powerful incentives to keep me focused and observant of my environment.”

  She looked thoughtful. “Either you’re very convincing, or I desperately want to believe you.”

  “To show you how sharp my observation skills are,” I said, pointing over to the doorway, “this breakfast bar is about to be taken over by a horde of hungry people.”

  She looked over at the entrance where at least a dozen people had entered the room. “Maybe we should leave. It looks like they may need our table.”

  “Before we go, I need to ask you to do me a favor this afternoon.”

  “Does it have anything to do with meeting the DIA guy?”

  “That’s right, Detective. I need an excuse to slip away from Carla’s house, so I can meet him back here at the hotel at three o’clock.”

  “Do you have something in mind?”

  “Yesterday, I heard you tell Carla you planned to bring one of your bride’s magazines over to the house today. I’d like you to leave the magazine here at the hotel. Then, after we’re finished with dinner—say around two o’clock or so—I’d like you to ask me to drive back over to the hotel and pick it up for you.”

  She smiled. “I bet you never thought you’d be using a bride’s magazine as an excuse for having a secret meeting.”

  “Until a few weeks ago, I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a bride’s magazine.”

  * * * *

  This time, when Nikki and I arrived at Carla’s house, the driveway was filled with cars, and when Eddie opened the door for us, we walked into a room full of people.

  Besides Carla’s immediate family and Uncle Harold and Aunt Dorothy, there were relatives from Eddie’s side of the family, plus a few people I didn’t recognize. These turned out to be neighbors from down the street who had only stopped by the ho
use to meet Nikki—at least that was my impression.

  I did the socially acceptable thing and sat down and made small talk with everyone in the room until I couldn’t stand it any longer. After that, I made up some excuse to wander out to the kitchen.

  This maneuver turned out to be a huge mistake.

  The kitchen was a beehive of organized chaos. Carla was issuing orders to the other ladies telling them how she wanted things done, and the other ladies were telling her how they would do things if they were in charge.

  I managed to escape from the kitchen into the den, where I encountered much less chaos.

  It was far less chaotic because only Brian and his girlfriend were in the room, and I found the two of them locked in an embrace.

  When I walked in on them, I immediately mumbled an apology and started to walk out.

  “Hey, Titus, don’t leave,” Brian said, when he spotted me.

  The girl had her back to me, but the moment she turned around, a flicker of recognition crossed her face.

  I recognized her as well.

  Her name was Shirley, and we’d met one day when I was visiting Senator Mitchell’s office shortly after the Senator’s son had been kidnapped by the Los Zetas drug cartel.

  Shirley had been the receptionist who’d ushered me into the Senator’s office, but she’d left before the Senator and I had argued about the best way to go about finding Ben.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I said.

  “Are you kidding? You didn’t disturb us,” Brian said. “Come on in. I want you to meet someone.”

  As I walked in the room, he gestured over at his girlfriend. “Shirley Powell, meet my uncle, Titus Ray. Shirley and I worked together this summer in Senator Mitchell’s office.”

  Shirley had long blond hair, a beautiful smile and was wearing bright red lipstick. She appeared to be every college boy’s dream.

  “I believe we’ve met already,” I said, offering Shirley my hand. “It was several months ago, so you may not remember me.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, as she shook my hand, “I remember you. You work for CIS, right? You came by the Senator’s office to interview him about a policy paper the Consortium was doing on the Iranian deal.”

  “Wow, you have a good memory.”

  “I remember he was extremely disturbed before you showed up, and then, after you left, he was even more agitated.”

  “I often have that effect on people.”

  “I’m surprised you were able to get in to see the Senator,” Brian said, as we sat down. “When I was there, I noticed he seldom gave interviews, and the only people I ever saw him invite into his private office were other congressmen.”

  “Maybe that’s why I remembered you,” Shirley said. “You weren’t on his schedule that day, and I had to rearrange his other appointments when he told me you were coming in to talk to him.”

  They both looked at me as if they expected me to offer them some explanation for the Senator’s odd behavior.

  Instead, I changed the subject by asking Brian a question.

  “Did working for the Senator help you make up your mind about what you want to do when you graduate? The last time we talked, I believe you said you wanted to do some kind of government work.”

  Brian looked over at Shirley. “We were talking about that as we were driving up here. I have to admit working in Washington gets in your blood. Maybe it’s because there’s always the feeling you’re right in the middle of making history.”

  “So you plan to return to Washington?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding his head. “I’ve just applied to become a legislative assistant in Senator Mitchell’s office.” He gestured at Shirley. “The Senator has already told Shirley she has a job in his office when she graduates.”

  Shirley said, “If you’re a regular visitor to the Senator’s office, I’ll probably be seeing a lot more of you next year.”

  “No, I’m not a regular visitor. I try to stay away from politicians as much as possible.”

  Brian looked puzzled. “How’s that possible in your line of work? Isn’t your job writing policy papers so politicians can appear in front of the media and sound like they know what they’re talking about?”

  I smiled. “Pretty much.”

  “Since the Senator was upset after you left his office, does that mean he didn’t share your opinion on the Iranian deal?”

  I had no idea what the Senator thought about the Iranian deal, but to maintain my original lie, I lied again. “Yes, we had a disagreement about the Iranian deal.”

  “In what specific areas?”

  My nephew had just managed to box me in a corner, and while I was amused by his ability to do so, I was also desperately trying to come up with an answer that would shut down any further questions.

  “The Senator and I disagreed about everything in the Iranian deal. In fact, even though I spent months preparing a policy paper on it, he refused to read it. In the end, my work was all for nothing.”

  Just as Brian started to respond, Carla stuck her head in the door and said, “Dinner’s ready.”

  As we headed for the dining room, Brian said, “I’d like to hear your thoughts on the Iranian deal. Could we discuss it later?”

  “Yes, let’s do that,” I said, knowing I’d do everything I could to keep that discussion from ever taking place.

  * * * *

  Despite the turmoil in the kitchen, Carla’s Thanksgiving dinner turned out to be delicious, and once everyone had finished stuffing themselves, Eddie announced he was heading to the living room to watch the Dallas Cowboys’ pre-game show.

  “Are you still a Cowboys’ fan?” Eddie asked, as I followed him into the living room.

  “Oh, you bet,” I said.

  “I can’t imagine what it’s like living in the Washington area. Aren’t all of your co-workers Redskins’ fans?”

  I’d never discussed football with Carlton, but that wasn’t true of other Agency personnel, so I said, “You’re right. I’m surrounded by Redskins’ fans, and I always take a lot of heat for supporting the Dallas Cowboys. My boss won’t even discuss football with me.”

  “This should be a great game,” Brian said, as he and Shirley snuggled up on the couch together. “The Cowboys will clinch their division if they win this one.”

  Eddie’s brother, who lived in Green Bay, Wisconsin, said, “The Packers clinched their division last week. Isn’t that right, boys?”

  His two teenage sons, who were sprawled out on the living room floor, shouted their approval. “Go Packers,” they said in unison.

  Uncle Harold wandered into the living room a few minutes later and asked, “Has the Super Bowl started yet?”

  * * * *

  About thirty minutes later, as the commentators began making their predictions about the game, Nikki came in the room.

  “Titus, could I borrow the keys to the Suburban?” she asked. “I left my bride’s magazine over at the hotel, and I need to run back over there and get it. I want to show the ladies a couple of dresses I like.”

  When I pulled the keys out of my pocket, I said, “I’ll run back over there and get it for you.”

  Everyone in the room—except for Nikki—looked at me like I was crazy.

  Eddie said, “But the game’s about to start.”

  “This won’t take long,” I said. “We’re just down the street at the Holiday Inn Express.”

  Nikki said, “Are you sure you don’t mind? I could run over there and get it myself.”

  By this time, I had already walked over to the front door where Nikki was standing. “No, I don’t mind at all,” I said, “but I’ll need your room key.”

  She reached inside the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her key card. When I took it from her, she kissed me and said, “You have to be the sweetest man in the world.”

  One of the teenagers said, “Oh, yuck.”

  Uncle Harold said, “I could ride over to the hotel with you,
Titus. I’m not that interested in the Super Bowl.”

  Nikki immediately said, “Harold, why don’t you stay here with me? We could play a game of Scrabble. I hear you’re a pretty good wordsmith.”

  He smiled at her and said, “I may not be at the top of my game anymore, but I still remember how to spell.”

  As I opened the front door, I turned around and waved. “I’ll probably be back before the Cowboys make their first touchdown.”

  Harold shook his head. “I can’t believe the Cowboys actually made it to the Super Bowl this year.”

  Chapter 13

  When I got over to the hotel, I used Nikki’s key card to let myself into her room. After grabbing the magazine she’d left out on the nightstand, I walked down the hall and entered my room, where I immediately pulled my satellite phone out of my suitcase.

  I wasn’t about to talk classified secrets with anyone—even if they claimed to be from the DIA—without taking precautions, so I called Communication Services at the Agency and asked them to connect me to the Ops Center’s Domestic Desk. When the director, James Harrison, came on the line, I gave him my authorization code.

  After Harrison had verified that Carlton had notified him I was meeting with someone from the DIA, he asked me what I needed.

  “I’d like to set up a Remote Recording Session on my sat phone.”

  “Voice activated or keypad activated?”

  “Voice activated. It’s happening in the next fifteen minutes.”

  “When you hang up, key in your code, and it should be ready to go.”

  “Could you send me a copy of the recording?”

  “It should be in your inbox an hour after you disconnect.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  “Mr. Carlton will also get a copy.”

  “Of course.”

  “Anything else you need?”

  “No, that’s it. Thanks, James.

  “Take care, Titus.”

  * * * *

  After I hung up, I keyed in my personal code on my Agency phone, placed the phone on the nightstand, and left the room. Now, when I returned to my room in the company of Jeremy Taylor, the phone would start recording the moment anyone spoke.