Two Days in Caracas

by Luana Ehrlich

  After turning on the lights in the house and cranking up the air conditioning, I went back out to the garage to get my stuff out of the Range Rover. That’s when I saw a black Buick Enclave coming up the driveway towards the house.

  Besides Eric Hawley, only Nikki had the security code to the gate, and since she drove a silver Toyota sedan, I immediately started reaching for my gun. Within seconds, though, I recognized it was Nikki driving the SUV, and Stormy was sitting beside her in the front passenger seat.

  He appeared to be grinning from ear to ear.

  Nikki had a smile on her face too.

  When she opened the car door, Stormy bounded out and immediately headed straight for me. If I hadn’t braced myself, the yellow Lab would have bowled me over.

  “What have you been feeding this guy? He’s twice as big as when I left.”

  She laughed. “He’s certainly happy to see you.”

  Once his belly had been rubbed to his satisfaction, he rolled over and ran down towards the lake.

  I pointed at the Enclave. “Is this yours? Did you buy a new car while I was gone?”

  “I just bought it on Monday. I decided my Toyota was too small to haul around such a big dog, so I had to choose whether to get a new vehicle or get rid of your dog.”

  “You definitely made the better choice.”

  “I thought you might approve, but it wasn’t a very hard decision for me, especially after my partner asked me to pick him up in the car lot at Ferguson’s on Monday morning. That’s when I saw this beauty and found I just couldn’t resist her.”

  I understood the concept.

  I asked, “Was this the news you wanted to share with me?”

  “No, I’m saving that for later.”

  Once we were inside the house, I took Nikki in my arms and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  “I’ve missed you,” I said.

  She pulled me closer and kissed me back.

  When we finally drew apart, she said, “I’ve missed you too.”

  For a few short minutes, I didn’t think about chemical weapons, Islamic terrorists, or a dead assassin. Instead, I lost myself in the scent of her hair and the smoothness of her skin.

  Finally, when it dawned on me Stormy had been barking at the patio doors for several minutes, I let go of her and went out to the kitchen to let him in the house.

  After Nikki retrieved Stormy’s food and water dishes from her car, I asked her where she’d like to go for dinner. She suggested Charleston’s on the west side of Norman, and she insisted on driving me to the restaurant in her new car.

  I didn’t protest.

  Little did she know, at that moment, she could have asked me for anything, and I would have given it to her.

  * * * *

  The décor at Charleston’s restaurant was all dark wood and ambient lighting and it appeared to be the perfect place to take a beautiful woman for dinner.

  Nikki and I were seated in an elevated portion of the restaurant, and when the waitress showed us to our booth, Nikki motioned for me to take the seat with the best view of the dining room.

  Even though I wasn’t operational, I appreciated the gesture.

  Once we’d both ordered the filets—medium rare with burgundy mushrooms on the side—she asked me about my recently completed assignment.

  “Was Pastor John’s prayer answered?” she asked.

  I thought back to the prayer he’d prayed for me. “If I remember correctly, he prayed for my safety and success. As you can see, I came out of the operation unscathed.”

  “Was the outcome successful?”

  “Yes and no. I achieved my objective, but my superiors had a different objective in mind. That’s why I’m back in Norman so soon.”

  She nodded her head but didn’t say anything.

  Since talking about the mission had brought us right back to the discussion we’d been having in the hotel room in Grand Blanc before I’d left for Langley, I decided I had to address the issue.

  “The whole time I was away, I couldn’t stop thinking about us. I kept remembering what you said about wanting to make our relationship work, and I realized wanting to make it work is really all it’s going to take. We both have to want to make this work. Surely two smart, intelligent people like us can figure out how to do that.”

  “You forgot bright.”

  I smiled at her. “Right. Two smart, intelligent, and bright people like us can make this work.”

  Nikki put her fork down and laid her hand over mine. “I agree. I know we can do this. And that brings me to the news I wanted to tell you.”

  She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and handed it to me. It was a letter written on FBI stationery informing Nikki Saxon that she’d been invited to participate in the FBI’s sixteen-week Law Enforcement Training School at the FBI National Academy in Quantico, Virginia.

  I handed the letter back over to her. “Congratulations, Nikki. This is quite an honor. Are you going to accept the invitation?”

  She nodded. “I’ve already done so. I was afraid if I delayed, they might offer it to someone else. They only invite 200 law enforcement officials a year to take the course.”

  “Why did you think I might consider this bad news?”

  “It means I’ll have to be gone from Norman for four months, and if you’re called away on an assignment during that period, you’ll have to board Stormy. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about putting him in a kennel.”

  “It doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere soon, so I’ll be here to see about Stormy while you’re up at Quantico. Plus, this could be very good news for us. When you graduate, you’ll be part of Homeland Security’s terrorism defense team with a top security clearance. While I won’t be able to discuss everything with you about my job, I should be able to share more with you than I can right now.”

  She said, “This isn’t happening immediately. I still have two more weeks before I have to leave for Virginia.”

  “Good. For the next two weeks, I’m counting on being on your schedule as much as possible.”

  She agreed to fit me in.

  A week later, all those plans changed with one phone call.

  * * * *

  It came from Carlton.

  Someone in the Ops Center had finally gotten around to reading Roberto’s statement, the one he’d typed out for me at The Missy Hacienda. In the document, Roberto admitted to lying about Iran’s plan to use sarin gas on several American cities. He said they were targeting only one city—Washington, D. C.

  Carlton said the DDO wanted me back at Langley immediately.

  I left the next day.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Although many people have given me support and encouragement in the process of writing Two Days in Caracas, 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.

  I also wish to thank Pat Brown and Kheva Kingery, who proofed my early copies, and Becky Miller, who gave me advice on a character’s health issue, and Debbie Ratliff, who answered my maritime and boating questions.

  A special word of gratitude goes out to photographer and friend, Charles Samples, for my author photos.

  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.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Luana Ehrlich is an award-winning author, minister’s wife, and former missionary with a passion for spy thrillers and mystery novels. She began her series of Titus Ray novels when her husband retired from the pastorate. Now, she writes from an undisclosed location, seeking to avoid the torture of mundane housework, grocery shopping, and golf stories. Occasionally, she comes out of hiding to see her two grandsons or to enjoy a Star
bucks caramel macchiato. She resides in Norman, Oklahoma. You’re invited to visit the author’s website LuanaEhrlich.com or TitusRayThrillers.com.

  A NOTE TO MY READERS

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Two Days in Caracas, Book II in the Titus Ray Thriller Series. If you enjoyed it, you might also enjoy reading Book I in this series, One Night in Tehran, available here and also the prequel to Book I, One Step Back, available here.

  Books III-VI are also available: Three Weeks in Washington, Four Months in Cuba, Five Years in Yemen, and Two Steps Forward.. All books are available on Amazon here.

  In Book III in the series, Three Weeks in Washington, Titus is faced with a chemical weapons attack on Washington, D.C. As he races across two continents pursuing the Jihadi terrorists, he exposes an Iranian deep-cover operative with close ties to America’s leaders and encounters an Iranian general obsessed with destroying America. I’ve included an excerpt from Chapter 1 of Three Weeks in Washington on the pages that follow. You can purchase Book III on Amazon here.

  Want more Titus Ray stories? Titus Ray Thriller Recipes with Short Stories is available for your Kindle for $2.99 on Amazon or you can download a FREE COPY when you sign up for the Titus Ray Thriller Newsletter. By signing up for my newsletter, you’ll receive insider information about Titus, plus updates about all the books in the series.

  You can also find more information about Titus Ray at my personal website LuanaEhrlich.com or on the TitusRayWebsite.

  If you enjoyed Two Days in Caracas, please consider posting a review on Amazon. Since word-of-mouth testimonies and written reviews are usually the deciding factor in helping readers pick out a book, they serve as an author’s best friend and are much appreciated. If you’d like to post a review, click here.

  One of my greatest blessings comes from receiving email from my readers. My email address is author@luanaehrlich.com. I would love to hear from you!

  Continue reading on the pages that follow for an excerpt from Chapter 1 of Three Weeks in Washington, Book III.

  Thanks for being a Titus Ray Thriller fan!

  Blessings,

  Luana

  Chapter 1 of Three Weeks in Washington

  Book III in the Titus Ray Thriller Series

  In Three Weeks in Washington, Titus is faced with a chemical weapons attack on Washington, D. C. As he races across two continents pursuing the Jihadi terrorists, he encounters an Iranian general obsessed with destroying America and exposes an Iranian deep-cover operative with close ties to America’s leaders.

  Monday, June 22

  The shooter was just around the corner from me. To get to him, I would need to cross N Street. If I crossed N Street, he would have a clear shot at me.

  I decided to wait him out.

  He had already eluded several SWAT teams in the Washington Navy Yard, the home of U.S. Naval Operations, and now he was hunkered down inside the entryway of Building 175. I suspected he was trying to find an exit out of the former shipyard.

  If I remained at my present location, at the corner of Building 172, he would walk right into my waiting arms when he crossed N Street.

  I stayed put.

  I wasn’t exactly sure how the shooter had end up at the Navy Yard in Washington, D.C., on a summer morning in June, but I’d arrived at the location after driving non-stop from Norman, Oklahoma.

  * * * *

  Douglas Carlton, my operations officer, and the head of the Middle East desk at the CIA, had called me the day before and given me the surprising news I’d been restored to active duty status by the stroke of a pen from Robert Ira, the Deputy Director of Operations at the CIA.

  Three months earlier, the DDO had placed me on medical leave after the two of us had engaged in a very public spat regarding his competency. I’d questioned him about his ability to run Operations, because I’d discovered his political games at the Agency had brought down my network in Tehran.

  Needless to say, things had not gone smoothly for me after that, and except for a brief run into Caracas to capture a Hezbollah assassin, I’d spent the last two months in Norman, Oklahoma, on medical leave.

  Ostensibly, I’d been there trying to recuperate from shattering my leg while trying to escape the clutches of VEVAK, the Iranian secret police. But, in reality, everyone at the Agency knew my medical leave was simply Ira’s way of punishing me for berating him in front of two division heads during a debriefing.

  Immediately after Carlton had called to tell me I’d been reinstated, I’d gotten in touch with my property manager in Norman. After that, I’d reluctantly said goodbye to Nikki Saxon, a detective in the Norman Police Department, and I’d made my way across the southern states to the east coast.

  An hour before arriving at Building 172, I’d been cruising along the interstate outside of Fairfax, Virginia. That’s when I’d called Carlton to let him know I’d be in his office at Langley within the hour.

  My boss didn’t sound happy.

  “Don’t bother,” he said. “There’s been a shooting at the Washington Navy Yard and all federal agencies within a fifty-mile radius of Washington D.C. are on lockdown.”

  “Are you telling me you’re not allowed to leave the grounds?”

  “Not just the grounds. We’re being told to stay inside the buildings.”

  “Doesn’t that strike you as a little strange? You’re supposed to be providing intel for any threats to the homeland. How can you assess threats when you’re not allowed to leave your own backyard?”

  “We’re being told it’s for our own safety. The feds believe the shooters could be part of a coordinated attack against all government agencies in the area. The CIA is an obvious target.”

  He was quiet for several seconds, and I imagined him aligning the corners of the pile of papers in front of him—a compulsive habit and one of his many idiosyncrasies.

  “One of the shooters at the Navy Yard has already been taken out, but the feds believe the other one is still somewhere in the compound.”

  “What nationality is the dead guy?”

  “He wasn’t from the Middle East, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s been identified as Reyes Valario, and he’s been here on a student visa from Venezuela for at least a year. The FBI is sifting through the intel on him as we speak, and our own analysts are scanning the data banks as well.”

  “Did they call Salazar for his input?”

  Carlton made some kind of strange noise at the back of his throat.

  I didn’t think the timing of his guttural utterance was coincidental with the mention of Salazar’s name.

  C.J. Salazar was the head of the Latin American desk at the Agency. He wasn’t known for his astute grasp of the region. Instead, his focus was on the drug cartels operating in his territory, and for that reason, everyone around the Agency called him Cartel Carlos.

  Not to his face, though.

  I’d experienced his ineptitude firsthand on my recent run into Caracas during Operation Clear Signal. Both Salazar and Carlton had been part of the Clear Signal team directing Ben Mitchell and me as we tried to stop a Hezbollah assassin from murdering a high-profile government official in Caracas, Venezuela.

  Carlton said, “The Department of Homeland Security called C.J., but he didn’t give them anything.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “Well, he did have our analysts run down Valario’s prints and the origins of his visa. He also called Ben Mitchell, who was in D.C. at the time, and sent him over to the DHS Command Center in the Navy Yard. He said since Ben had recently been in Venezuela, it made sense for him to serve as the Agency’s liaison with DHS.”

  “Ben’s over at the Command Center? I might head over there myself. I’m not that far away.”

  “You haven’t been reinstated yet, Titus. Officially, you’re still on medical leave.”

  “I’ll keep my head down. It won’t be a big deal.”

  It wasn’t.

  But then, it was.

  * *
* *

  Thirty minutes after talking to Carlton, I arrived at the Navy Yard, but, due to the area being blocked off, I parked my car several blocks away and walked over to the Patterson Avenue gate off 6th Street.

  However, one look at the chaos in front of the gate, and I immediately realized getting inside the compound wasn’t going to be easy. The place was swarming with policemen, not to mention SWAT teams, FBI, and a whole host of other law enforcement personnel. Most of them were decked out in bulletproof gear.

  All of them looked jumpy.

  From news reports I’d heard on the way over to the site, I knew eight people had been killed. Two of the victims had been policemen. However, one of them had managed to take out the Valario guy before dying of his own wounds.

  With another gunman on the loose, I realized all members of law enforcement had good reason to be a little nervous, but that meant every male not in uniform was going to be under intense scrutiny. Since I had no official ID on me, talking my way inside the Navy Yard didn’t appear to be an option.

  As I considered other possibilities, I saw a uniformed officer taking an interest in me.

  I quickly walked over to a news van and grabbed a piece of equipment out of the cargo compartment. After fiddling around with it for a few seconds, I glanced up to see if my actions had made any impression on the curious cop. I was relieved to see his eyes were once again on the crowd of onlookers.