“As a matter of fact, I do. His name is Stormy.”
“That’s really cool. I can’t wait to meet him.”
She reached over and put her arms around my neck. “Thank you for coming to get me, Titus. I knew my daddy would send someone to take care of me.”
* * * *
Now, as I sat at the airport and watched Nikki and Eleanor interacting with each other, I thought about how much my life had changed.
I never imagined falling in love with anyone as wonderful as Nikki, and I certainly never imagined sharing my life with a little blue-eyed blond-haired girl who made me smile every time I looked at her.
I also never imagined I’d be looking forward to getting back to Oklahoma so I could wrestle with my dog and help Nikki decorate a Christmas tree.
It made me wonder what the next year held for me.
If I were offered the station chief position in Baghdad, should I turn it down? Would Nikki be willing to come with me if I took it?
What about Eleanor? What was going to happen to her?
Nikki waved at me to get my attention, and then she pointed off to her right. When I looked in that direction, I spotted a familiar face.
It was Carlton.
I hadn’t spoken to him since Friday when I’d asked him to help me get custody of Eleanor. He hadn’t made it to Jeremy Taylor’s funeral on Saturday.
That hadn’t surprised me.
Carlton had stopped attending funerals after Gladys had passed away.
He was rolling a small carryall behind him, but I figured he wasn’t flying overseas because he didn’t have any bodyguards with him.
When he came over and sat down beside me, he said, “I thought I might find you here. Millie said you were flying back to Oklahoma today.”
“Are you catching a flight?” I asked.
“Of course I am. Why else would I be here?”
“Since you went to so much trouble to make sure I got custody of Eleanor, I thought perhaps you’d decided to come by the airport and make her acquaintance.”
“I just made one phone call. It wasn’t that much trouble.”
The fact that he didn’t deny the second part of my statement told me everything I needed to know.
“Yes, but the one phone call you made was to Sasha Gail Pack, and that was worth more than a hundred phone calls.”
I wasn’t sure Carlton had heard me.
His attention was focused on Eleanor and Nikki who were laughing at a baggage handler performing dance steps while loading our luggage on a conveyor belt.
The shadow of a smile appeared on Carlton’s face as he listened to them giggling, and then he said, “I’m glad it all worked out.”
“What seemed to impress Ms. Brooks the most was my connection to the President. Perhaps you’d like to tell me how Titus Ray, a Senior Fellow at CIS, is connected to the President.”
“I have no idea. I left the details of the phone call up to Sasha Gail.”
“Well, if you ask me, she went a little overboard with her creativity.”
“She works at The White House. What did you expect?”
“I expected—”
Carlton and I stopped talking when Nikki and Eleanor walked over to where we were seated.
“Eleanor,” Nikki said, “I’d like you to meet Mr. Carlton.”
“Hi, Mr. Carlton. Are you flying to Oklahoma with us today?”
“No, but I’m really glad to hear that’s where you’re going today.”
“Eleanor,” Nikki said, “did you know that the house we stayed at last night belongs to Mr. Carlton?”
“You have a beautiful house, Mr. Carlton,” Eleanor said, “but what I liked best about it was your dog Frisco.”
“Is that right?”
“Titus has a dog named Stormy. Did you know that?”
“Yes, and I’m sure you’ll like him too.”
“Of course I will. Everybody likes dogs.”
* * * *
A few minutes later, when Nikki and Eleanor went off to the restroom, Carlton asked me what I planned to do with my free time during the next three months.
“I doubt if I’ll have any free time since I promised to help Nikki plan our wedding. And, from what I’ve experienced the last two days, I may spend a lot of my time answering Eleanor’s questions.”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
Carlton quickly scanned the empty seats around us, and then he leaned in toward me and asked, “Have you thought any more about what we discussed the other night regarding your change in status? I’m not asking you if you’ve made a decision yet. I’d just like to know if you’ve given it some thought.”
“No, not really.”
“If you—”
“Well, I did give it a little thought.”
“Okay, that’s good.”
“It’s not a decision I can make without talking it over with Nikki, and even if she were to agree to come with me, I’m still not sure I’d be willing to take the chief of station position. Yes, I heard what you said the other night about my qualifications, but I’ve worked with enough station chiefs to know it takes an even temperament to run a field office, and you and I both know that’s not my forte.”
“You’re right, but you’ve made some steps in the right direction in the last few months.”
“You know the old saying, Douglas; one step forward, two steps back.”
“I’ve always hated that old adage. You’d be better off to think of your life as one step back and two steps forward.”
Douglas stood to his feet and grabbed the handle of his carryall—which I suspected contained nothing at all but was simply a prop he’d used to create the illusion he was traveling somewhere, when, in reality, he was at the airport either to see Eleanor or to give me a nudge toward accepting the position of CIA station chief in Iraq.
Perhaps, it was both.
Just before he walked away, he said, “I’ll be in touch soon.”
As I sat there waiting for Nikki and Eleanor to return, I prayed a short prayer asking God to give me wisdom about taking the station chief position.
When I looked up, Nikki was standing in front of me. “What did Douglas have to say?” she asked.
“He told me I should think of my life as one step back and two steps forward.”
“I like the two steps forward part.”
I reached down and took Eleanor’s hand, and then I leaned over and gave Nikki a kiss. “So do I.”
Never The End, Always A Beginning
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many people have given me support and encouragement in the process of writing Five Years in Yemen, but first and foremost, I wish to thank my husband, James, and my daughter, Karis, who have never failed to uplift me with their prayers, strengthen me with their love, and bolster me with their confidence.
This book could not have been written without the expertise, advice, and assistance of Computer Programmer, Richard Hanham; Librarian, Michelle Grogan; Professional Esports Gamer, Justin Barnett, and Air Force Chaplain, Captain Andy Peck, plus other sources who shall forever remain nameless.
I also wish to thank my beta readers for providing critiques and suggestions.
Saving the best for last, I wish to thank my faithful readers, many of whom write to me on a weekly basis. Your love of Titus Ray Thrillers keeps me writing past midnight. May you never stop asking, “When is your next book coming out?”
All of you serve as my inspiration.
A NOTE TO MY READERS
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading Five Years in Yemen. If you enjoyed it, you might also enjoy the other books in this series, One Night in Tehran, Two Days in Caracas, Three Weeks in Washington, and Four Months in Cuba, plus the prequel to the series, One Step Back, a novella providing the backstory to One Night in Tehran.
The next book in the Titus Ray Thriller Series is Two Steps Forward, Book VI. Download it from Amazon here. I’ll include an excerpt of
Two Steps Forward on the following pages.
I’d love for you to do a review of Five Years in Yemen on Amazon. Since word-of-mouth testimonies and written reviews are usually the deciding factor in helping readers pick out a book, they are an author’s best friend and much appreciated. Your review doesn’t have to be extensive; a line or two is sufficient.
Would you also consider signing up for my newsletter? When you do, you’ll receive a free copy of Titus Ray Recipes and Short Stories, plus insider information about the next book in the Titus Ray series, Two Steps Forward. You can sign up on my website, LuanaEhrlich.com. or you can sign up for my newsletter here.
On the following pages, you’ll find Chapter 1 of Two Steps Forward, Book VI in the Titus Ray Thriller series.
One of my greatest blessings comes from receiving email from my readers. My email address is [email protected]. I’d love to hear from you!
BONUS EXCERPT
Two Steps Forward
Book VI in the Titus Ray Thriller Series
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Friday, May 10
I had no idea what was going on. No, that wasn’t true. I knew exactly what was going on.
I just didn’t want to admit it.
I didn’t want to admit I was having a panic attack.
I had all the classic symptoms.
My heart was racing; I was having trouble breathing.
And worst of all, I was losing control.
In reality, my situation merited a full-blown panic attack.
Tomorrow, I was getting married.
My friend Danny Jarrar had warned me I might feel this way.
According to Danny, the night before he’d gotten married, he’d been so anxious, he’d gone out to Lake Thunderbird and stared up at the stars for two hours without uttering a word.
Danny seldom went ten minutes without uttering several paragraphs, so I knew he had to have been seriously freaked out.
I wouldn’t say I was freaked out.
However, I was definitely feeling antsy, a bit agitated, and a little anxious.
Thirst sometimes affected me the same way, so I walked over to the refrigerator and looked inside.
Except for some lemonade and soft drinks, the shelves were empty. No surprises there. I’d cleaned them out yesterday.
Two days ago, Nikki Saxon—the woman I was about to marry—had looked inside my refrigerator and suggested I might want to get rid of all my leftovers.
She’d reminded me we were leaving on our honeymoon to Marrakesh, Morocco immediately after the wedding reception was over—as if I needed reminding.
“You know, Titus,” she said, “before we leave, you might want to clean out your refrigerator. Otherwise, by the time we get back here, these leftovers will be coated in gray furry stuff.”
I hadn’t appreciated her comment.
Here I was, a forty-nine-year old covert intelligence officer, employed by the CIA for the past twenty years, and she was acting like I wasn’t capable of knowing when I should throw out a half-eaten pork chop, a bowl of leftover potato salad, a spoonful of yogurt, and a questionable carton of milk.
Although I was a little miffed she was telling me what I should be doing with my own leftovers, I hadn’t told her that.
Instead, I’d nodded and said, “You’re right. I should get rid of this stuff before Saturday. Otherwise, the whole time we’re in Marrakesh, the only thing I’ll be thinking about is the food going bad in my refrigerator back in Oklahoma.”
She’d grinned at me and closed the refrigerator door. “Even if you don’t take my suggestion and clean out your refrigerator, I don’t believe you’ll be thinking about leftovers when we’re lounging around our hotel room in Marrakesh.”
I’d walked over and put my arm around her. “Lounging around our hotel room in Marrakesh has a nice ring to it.”
Nikki had quickly glanced over at eight-year-old Eleanor Taylor, who was curled up in a leather recliner reading a book.
Eleanor hadn’t appeared the least bit interested in us, so Nikki had leaned over and kissed me. “It does sound wonderful, doesn’t it?”
Eleanor had put her book down and said, “It would be silly for you to stay in your hotel room the whole time you’re in Marrakesh when there are so many interesting things to do there.”
I’d managed to keep from laughing and asked, “And what do you know about Marrakesh?”
“A whole bunch of stuff. I looked it up on the internet. Personally, I’d go see the ruins of the El Badi Palace as soon as I got there. The place looks awesome.”
I wasn’t surprised Eleanor had done some research on where Nikki and I would be spending our honeymoon. When I’d been on a mission with Eleanor’s father last year, he’d described her as a precocious child, highly intelligent, an avid reader, and extremely curious.
In the past five months, I’d seen nothing to dispute that.
Eleanor’s second-grade teacher, Ms. Davis, had agreed with me when I’d spoken with her a few days after Nikki had enrolled Eleanor at Washington Elementary School.
I’d specifically gone over to the school to meet with Ms. Davis in order to discuss Eleanor’s situation with her. Although Ms. Davis told me Eleanor appeared to be a gifted student, she also said she felt Eleanor had some anxiety issues.
Eleanor’s anxiety issues were understandable.
Her mother, Kaylynn, had been killed in a car accident when Eleanor was seven, and last year, her father, Jeremy, had been murdered by the commander of a Houthi rebel force in Yemen during our mission together, Operation Rebel Merchant.
Within hours of Jeremy’s death, Eleanor’s grandfather—who’d been taking care of Eleanor while Jeremy was in Yemen—had also passed away.
I’d been the primary intelligence officer for Operation Rebel Merchant, and when I’d heard Eleanor was about to be handed over to the Commonwealth of Virginia’s foster care system following Jeremy’s death, I’d pulled some strings to get temporary custody of her until her maternal grandmother could be located.
I hadn’t made that decision lightly, nor had I made it alone.
Nikki and I had made it together.
Nikki knew what it was like to be raised by foster parents, so she’d been heartbroken when I’d told her about Eleanor’s circumstances. She’d said no child should be subjected to a foster care environment after suffering such a loss, and I’d agreed with her.
After we’d gotten temporary custody of Eleanor, we’d brought her back to Norman, Oklahoma, and for the past five months, Eleanor had been living with Nikki, while also spending time at my place.
Meanwhile, the social workers in the Casualty Assistance office at the Department of Defense were still trying to locate Eleanor’s grandmother, Lisa Redding.
Jeremy had been a member of a CIA operation, but he’d actually been employed by the Defense Intelligence Agency, which was why the Defense Department was the lead agency in finding Ms. Redding.
However, their inability to locate Lisa after five months had become a source of frustration for me.
If Lisa had disappeared in the U.S., I might have given them a little more leeway, but she’d been living in Israel for several years, and a vital component of Israel’s security was tracking individuals living in their country.
Israel’s legislative body, the Knesset, had given Shin Bet, their internal security service, an unprecedented amount of freedom to delve into a person’s life without having to get a warrant, thus Shin Bet could usually locate a missing person very quickly.
I knew the investigators in our Defense Department were working closely with Shin Bet, because Tanya Brooks, the social worker in the Casualty Assistance office, had mentioned it every time she’d called to give me an update on their search for Ms. Redding.
Lately, those calls had become less frequent.
Yesterday, after talking it over with Nikki, I’d decided it was time to bring my operations officer, Douglas Carlton, into the pictu
re.
When I’d phoned him to ask if he’d mind using his connections with Shin Bet to make inquiries about Lisa Redding, I’d told him Nikki and I would be willing to cut our honeymoon short and make a side trip over to Israel to meet Ms. Redding, if he could get an address for her.
He hadn’t seemed surprised at my request, and he’d even promised to get back to me within twenty-four hours.
Twenty-three hours had gone by, and I hadn’t heard from him yet.
Even so, I knew Carlton had a thing about meeting deadlines—even self-imposed ones—and I fully expected him to call me within the hour.
In the meantime, I poured myself a glass of lemonade and stepped out on my patio.
The moment I sat down, Stormy, my one-year-old yellow Lab, came charging across the yard to see what exciting activity I had in store for him. When he realized I didn’t have his tennis ball in my hand, he let out a huge sigh of disappointment, lay down beside me, and rested his head on his front paws.
His paws were covered in mud, so I figured he’d been down at the small lake on my property. Ordinarily, I might have questioned him about what he’d been doing down there, but he didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood tonight, and neither was I.
After scratching Stormy’s ears, I reached around and removed a red pillow from behind my back, tossing it in the chair next to me.
The throw pillows were a recent addition to my patio furniture.
To be honest, I found them completely useless.
However, my bride-to-be had insisted they were the perfect decorating accessory to complete the “look” of the patio, so I was determined to live with them.
I was compromising.
Carlton had once told me marriage was all about compromise.
Although Nikki and I weren’t married yet, I’d learned about making compromises a few months ago during a discussion with Nikki.
It had been a real eye-opener.
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