Five Years in Yemen

by Luana Ehrlich

  “Her mother died in a car accident last year.”

  “Oh, how awful. Who’s taking care of her?”

  “She and Jeremy have been living with his father, but now he’s in the final stages of stomach cancer, so she’s staying with a neighbor.”

  When Nikki didn’t say anything for a few seconds, I wondered if she might be remembering her own experience of being abandoned as a child.

  She said, “I have to admit I’m speechless. I can only imagine what that poor child must be thinking. No wonder you sound so sad.”

  “I didn’t realize I sounded sad. If you could see me, you might be asking me why I have this silly grin on my face.”

  “Why do you have that silly grin on your face?”

  “Because I’m getting to talk to you, and, in a few days, I’ll be seeing you in person.”

  She laughed.

  I laughed with her.

  * * * *

  I ended our conversation a few minutes later when I spotted Greg’s car in the parking lot. None of us had any luggage, so after Mitchell introduced Delaney to Greg, we were on our way.

  The thirty-minute ride over to The Gray was uneventful, and when Greg pulled up in the circle drive at the safe house, Martha immediately opened the front door and gave us a warm welcome. She even gave Delaney a big hug when I introduced her.

  “It smells like Thanksgiving in here,” Delaney said.

  “That’s because I’m having turkey and dressing for dinner. I specialize in comfort food, and all of you look like you could use some.”

  Besides managing the household staff at the safe house, Martha’s other responsibility included cooking for the “guests” who stayed there. I knew some of them resented being confined to the house and grounds—count me in that group—but I’d never heard any of them complain about Martha’s cooking.

  After letting us know dinner would be served in the formal dining room at seven o’clock, Martha asked Greg to show us to our rooms.

  As usual, Greg recited the house rules—no outside communication, no internet, no television, no leaving the grounds—and then he confiscated our phones.

  However, that didn’t mean Agency personnel couldn’t get in touch with me, and after dinner, a few minutes after I’d selected a book from the library and gone upstairs to my bedroom, Greg knocked on the door and handed me a cell phone.

  “It’s Mr. Carlton,” he said. “He wants to speak to you. I’ll come back in a few minutes to get my phone.”

  I waited until Greg had shut the door before putting the phone up to my ear. “Hi, Douglas. I didn’t think I’d hear from you tonight.”

  “Something’s come up, and I thought you ought to know about it.”

  “Is this about Jacob?”

  “No, I checked on him earlier, and Frank said he’s being very cooperative. This is about Max Taylor, Jeremy’s father. I’m sorry to say he passed away this afternoon.”

  I sat down on the edge of the bed as I absorbed this news.

  “That’s too bad. I was looking forward to talking to him about Jeremy.”

  “According to Dirk Andersen, Max had been unconscious for the past two days, so he was never told Jeremy had been killed during the operation. I thought you’d want to know about his passing.”

  “I appreciate the phone call. As long as I have you on the phone, do you know anything about Jeremy’s funeral? I assume the Defense Department’s in charge of making those arrangements.”

  “Yes, their office of Mortuary Affairs is taking care of it, and when I talked to Dirk a few minutes ago, he indicated they’re planning to hold a joint funeral service that will include both father and son. I just heard Jeremy’s father was also in the military prior to his retirement.”

  “I had no idea. Jeremy never said much about his father.”

  “Their funeral will be held either Friday or Saturday, but you can ask Dirk about the arrangements tomorrow. He’s been assigned to your debriefing committee.”

  “Did he mention anything about what’s going to happen to Jeremy’s daughter now?”

  “Yes, he said her maternal grandmother will become her guardian.”

  “Jeremy told me she hasn’t been around since his wife died.”

  “If Dirk knew that, he didn’t say anything to me about it.”

  “I’ll speak to him about Eleanor tomorrow. I still plan to see her, but if the funeral’s on Friday, I’ll probably have to wait until Saturday.”

  “As long as you have to stick around here for several days, you’re welcome to stay out at The Meadows.”

  “I was thinking—”

  “As a matter of fact,” Carlton said, cutting me off, “I plan to drive out there after your debriefing session tomorrow. Unless you’ve made other plans, you could ride with me.”

  “To be truthful, I was thinking about asking you if I could stay at The Meadows. Why are you driving out there on a weekday?”

  “Millie insists on continuing Gladys’ tradition of hosting the neighborhood Christmas party every year, and she seems to think having my personal signature on every invitation is a necessity. I’m driving out there so I can personally sign twenty-five invitations. Of course, she bribed me to come out to the house by promising to let me sample some of the Christmas goodies she plans to serve at the party.”

  “When is this party?”

  “In ten days. Gladys always held it on the Saturday before Christmas.” He gave a short laugh. “Just think, Titus, you and Nikki will be making your own Christmas traditions soon.”

  When Carlton mentioned both Nikki and Christmas together in the same sentence, I suddenly experienced a flashback to the dream I’d had on the airplane.

  However, I told myself the dream was simply the neurons in the cerebral cortex trying to make sense of the day’s events and not a harbinger of my future with Nikki.

  Or rather, my future without Nikki.

  Chapter 43

  Thursday, December 10

  Although the debrief for Operation Rebel Merchant was shorter than some of my other operational debriefs, it was much longer than I would have liked it to be.

  Still, as the debrief came to a conclusion, I realized I had nothing to complain about since it was over by three o’clock.

  For whatever reason, the DDO had chosen not to attend, and the outside observer—a person from another division who was not involved in the mission—hadn’t asked a single question.

  Monique Albritton was her name. I’d committed it to memory in order to send her an email later and thank her for not prolonging the debriefing process by asking unnecessary questions—something most outside observers usually did.

  Also in attendance were Katherine Broward and Dirk Andersen. Because of the questions they’d asked, I knew Carlton must have told them how the mission had unfolded prior to the debriefing session.

  Katherine, who took her job as a counterintelligence analyst very seriously, had quizzed me about my impression of how the war in Yemen was going.

  Andersen, the DIA’s Middle East division head, had been particularly intrigued by the Saudi soldiers I’d seen at the Al-Firdaus compound and at the Marlize refugee center.

  In addition, he’d asked me for more details about the moments leading up to Taylor’s death and about the Houthi commander’s actions when Taylor had shown him his press credentials. Both Katherine and Andersen had grilled me for several minutes about that scenario.

  Delaney and Mitchell had been responsible for their own narratives, and their recollection of events had matched mine, except that Delaney had told the debriefers I’d shouted something at the commander before I’d shot him.

  I couldn’t recall doing that.

  Mitchell’s take on the scene had also been a little different. He’d described seeing five Houthi soldiers standing alongside the commander when Taylor had approached him.

  I’d only reported seeing four of them.

  However, I’d readily agreed I could have been mistaken.


  After everyone on the committee appeared satisfied with the narratives we’d provided, Carlton congratulated us on a job well done and logged us out of the debrief.

  Now, I gestured toward Dirk Andersen who was seated on the opposite side of the conference table from me and said, “Dirk, before you leave, could I speak with you?”

  “Sure. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee,” he said, motioning over to a serving cart where Martha had left us a carafe of hot coffee and some bottled drinks inside a large ice bucket.

  As we headed over toward the cart, Katherine got my attention by waving at me just as she and Delaney were about to walk out of the room with Mitchell.

  When I waved back, she gave me a big smile and mouthed the words, “good job,” while executing a short fist pump.

  I wasn’t sure what to make of her actions.

  Maybe she thought I needed cheering up.

  * * * *

  As Dirk poured himself a cup of coffee, I glanced over at the conference table where Carlton and Monique were engaged in conversation. I noticed he was listening intently to whatever she was telling him, but he didn’t appear to like what he was hearing.

  Carlton seldom got upset about anything, so the expression on his face made me more intrigued than ever about what position Monique held at the Agency and what they could be discussing. However, I tried to put aside my curiosity for a moment and concentrate on getting some information out of Dirk Andersen.

  It wasn’t that hard; he appeared eager to talk to me.

  After taking a sip of his coffee, he said, “I remember seeing you at the interagency meeting Deputy Ira held in his office a couple of weeks ago. You were sitting directly behind Douglas, and, at the time, I thought you must be his assistant. I had no idea you were one of his operatives.”

  “You wouldn’t believe what Douglas does to keep his intelligence officers in line. Having us attend a boring meeting is just one of the tortures he inflicts upon us.”

  He smiled for a moment, but then he turned serious. “I’m sure you want to talk to me about Jeremy.” He shook his head. “He was one of the good guys. I can’t tell you how much he’ll be missed.”

  “I’m sure that’s true. Even though I only knew him for a short time, it’s hard for me to believe he’s really gone.”

  He nodded. “I knew you didn’t take his death lightly by the way you answered our questions, but rest assured, Jeremy would never want you to blame yourself. He was familiar with Yemen, so he knew the risks he was taking.”

  “During the operation he talked to me a lot about his daughter Eleanor, and I was wondering what’s going to happen to her. Douglas mentioned something about Jeremy’s mother-in-law becoming her legal guardian.”

  “That’s right. Her name is Lisa Redding, and she’s listed in Jeremy’s will as Eleanor’s legal guardian in the event of Max’s death.”

  “Are you aware she’s living in Israel now? Jeremy said she hasn’t seen Eleanor since her daughter’s car accident.”

  “I didn’t have this information until I was driving over here this morning and got a call from someone in our Casualty Assistance office. They’re in the process of trying to contact Ms. Redding now, but they said the phone number we have on file for her is no longer in service.”

  “Locating her in Israel shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “No, finding someone in Israel isn’t that difficult, and Shabak usually responds to our requests immediately.”

  Shabak was Israel’s internal security service, equivalent to the FBI in the U.S., except their ability to run surveillance on their citizenry was much broader, and they had far less legal restrictions.

  After I agreed with him, he said, “I’m sure when Ms. Redding hears about Eleanor’s circumstances, she’ll return to the States immediately. Whether she remains in the States or takes the child back to Israel will be entirely up to her.”

  “Does that mean Jeremy’s neighbor has been given temporary custody of Eleanor until Ms. Redding gets here?”

  “I have no idea, but if you’re that interested, I can give you the name of the social worker who’s handling Jeremy’s case. I assume you’ll be able to come up with a suitable story that will keep your identity a secret.”

  “I’ll think of something. Thanks, Dirk. I really appreciate this.”

  He pulled out his cell phone and gave me the information, and then I asked him about Jeremy’s funeral, which he said would take place on Saturday afternoon at Everly Funeral Home in Falls Church, Virginia.

  A few minutes later, he tossed his coffee cup in the trash, told me he’d see me at the funeral on Saturday, and headed out the door.

  After he left, I decided to hang around the serving cart for a few minutes to see if I could overhear what Carlton and Monique were discussing. But, as I was getting myself a second cup of coffee, Carlton looked over at me and said, “I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes, Titus.”

  As much as I hated to admit it, the spy had been caught spying.

  * * * *

  I took the elevator up to the second floor where I ran into Mitchell and Delaney in the hallway outside my bedroom. After telling them what I’d found out about Jeremy’s funeral, I went in search of Greg.

  I found him in the study across from the living room, and once I told him our debrief was over, he unlocked the safe and gave me back my phone. “Do you need me to take you somewhere?” he asked.

  “No, I’m riding out to The Meadows with Douglas, but it may be awhile before we leave.”

  “Why? I thought you were finished here.”

  “Douglas and Ms. Albritton are having quite the discussion downstairs in the conference room. It didn’t look like it would be over anytime soon.”

  “I imagine they have several things to discuss.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  Greg shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Ah . . . I probably shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Anything about what?”

  Greg had never minded sharing the latest Agency gossip with me when I’d been staying at The Gray, so I gave him a little nudge in that direction.

  “You can’t leave me in suspense, Greg. What does Ms. Albritton have to discuss with Douglas?”

  “Well,” he said, taking a quick peek out the door to make sure we were alone, “you know Ms. Albritton is the Assistant Director in the Field Operations Division.”

  “Sure, I knew that.”

  Except, I didn’t.

  Operatives weren’t supposed to know the identity of the outside observer until after their debrief was over.

  Besides that, Field Operations wasn’t a division that directly affected me. Their primary responsibilities were staffing and managing the Agency’s field offices around the world, and I didn’t come in contact with those offices unless I was working with a station chief during an operation.

  “As of last week,” Greg said, “Field Operations has a new director, and I’ve heard he’s already making big changes in the field offices.”

  “What kind of changes?”

  “I don’t know any of the specifics, but I know he’s moving some of the stations chiefs around, getting rid of all the old-timers, and assigning more covert officers to head our field offices in country.”

  Carlton hated change.

  He especially hated any change that affected his division.

  If Ms. Albritton had been letting him know about changes directly affecting his division, that would account for the expression I’d seen on his face.

  On the other hand, they might have been discussing something unrelated to the changes in Field Operations. In that case, I couldn’t begin to guess what might have disturbed him, because, ordinarily, he ignored matters that didn’t pertain to his division or his operatives.

  As I began considering how I would bring up the subject with him on our way out to The Meadows, I reminded myself I’d have to be subtle in the way I introduced the
topic.

  Subtlety would be a necessity with Carlton because he usually refused to acknowledge he was upset with anyone or anything—the exception being the DDO and some of his decisions.

  According to Olivia, subtlety wasn’t my strong suit.

  For obvious reasons, I had a tendency to discount her opinion on the matter.

  * * * *

  After leaving Greg in the study, I walked across the hall to the library and called Nikki.

  She didn’t answer.

  I thought it was strange she didn’t pick up, especially since I knew she wasn’t working.

  However, since I told her I wouldn’t be able to call her for twenty-four hours, I convinced myself it was no big deal that I couldn’t get in touch with her.

  Five minutes later, I decided to try again, but then I heard Carlton in the foyer asking Greg if he’d seen me, so I sent her a quick text to let her know my debrief was over, and I was headed out to The Meadows to spend the night.

  After hesitating a moment, I did something I’d never done before and added an emoticon heart to my text message.

  “What are you smiling about?” Carlton asked when he walked in the library.

  “Was I smiling?”

  “I know a smile when I see one.”

  Either Carlton hadn’t had enough sleep, or he was still dealing with the aftereffects of the discussion he’d had with Monique.

  Whichever one it was, I decided to tread lightly.

  “I was smiling because I was texting Nikki to let her know where I’ll be staying tonight.”

  That seemed to brighten his mood.

  “That’s good. Communication is one of the keys to a successful marriage.”

  “How many keys are there?”

  “You’ll have to figure that one out for yourself.”

  Chapter 44

  By the time Carlton had turned off the Capital Beltway and was headed west on I-66, he looked more relaxed. I attributed his attitude adjustment to his Lincoln Town Car.