“Have you asked Romanov about it?”
“No, and I’m not planning to. I hate owing that man.”
Carrie’s jaws tightened, and her eyes narrowed to small dots. She looked away, out the window.
“He has access to classified intel from the KGB era. It could make your search much easier.”
Carrie turned her head to Justin. “And what will it cost me? What will Romanov ask in exchange from me? From us?”
“I know, but this is very important to you. You need closure.”
“And I will get it. I’m working on it.” Her voice grew louder, while she impatiently waved her hand in front of her face. “And I don’t think KGB or FSB was involved in the transfer of the remains.”
Justin nodded, but said nothing. He knew Carrie’s pride and stubbornness.
They rode in silence for a few seconds, then Carrie asked, “How’s Anna?”
“Very excited about our trip to New York. She’s never been there. She got us tickets to Broadway. Chicago. It plays at the Ambassador.”
“Oh, I love Chicago. It’s fantastic. I saw it when they came to Ottawa, I happened to be in town. What else are you going to do in New York?”
“We only have one day, so we’ll just hang out and see the sights. The musical is in the evening, then we’re flying back to Ottawa.”
“It will be nice. You deserve a break.”
“Yeah, it’s a break, but not long enough. We haven’t seen each other in five weeks. But McClain wants a full debrief on the Iranian op and whatever CIA gives us today.”
“How do you find working with McClain?”
Carrie avoided using the submissive word ‘for,’ replacing it with the neutral ‘with.’ A long time ago, it had been established that Justin did not work for someone. He did not work for his boss; he worked for his country. Carrie did not work for him; they worked together. Carrie knew that. McClain had started to learn it. He was not very happy about it, but he was beginning to live with this fact.
“He’s a great guy. Very attentive, curious, but not nosy. Quick, but not rushed.”
Carrie had met McClain only once, right after he was assigned to replace Claire Johnson, their former boss, who had been forced to leave the Service. Then Carrie took a leave of absence to go to Grozny and had yet to work with McClain on any field operations.
Justin said, “He’s much different from Johnson.”
Carrie shook her head. “Yeah, Johnson, what an embarrassment.”
Justin snorted. “And a threat, a real and serious threat.”
“What is she up to now?” Carrie asked.
“It’s not like I keep tabs on her, but I think she’s working as a security consultant. Some private military contractor.”
“She landed on her feet, eh?”
“Quite so.” Justin’s voice was full of derision. “She’ll well-connected and apparently is doing quite well for herself. But at least she’s out of our lives.”
Carrie nodded and slid her seat back, gaining around four more inches of legroom. Justin hit the brakes, as the traffic in front of them slowed to a crawl. There was road construction straight ahead and to their right. They inched their way around heavy machineries, dump trucks, and excavators. Men in brown overalls and yellow helmets were buzzing around a cordoned off stretch of newly minted asphalt.
“So, what’s this fatwa and bounty?” Carrie asked after taking a sip of her now cold mocha and finishing her muffin.
“Nothing to worry. Some Egyptian cleric with ties to al-Shabaab believes I’m a threat to their jihad, so he’s calling on all Muslims to kill me. Or so I’ve heard.”
“Not only Muslims. I know a few people who call themselves Christians, but they would kill for much less than a million dollars.”
“There’s always someone plotting to kill us. I stopped worrying a long time ago. These guys will have to wait in line.”
Carrie grinned. “Still, you’ve taken all necessary precautions.”
“I have. Perhaps even a little more than usual. There’s always someone watching. Especially on US soil.”
She brushed a lock of loose hair behind her ear. “I thought we were on friendly terms with the CIA.”
“Define friendly.”
“Friendly as in ‘we’ll exchange actionable intelligence, which is mutually beneficial.’ And ‘we’ll not screw you over in the process.’”
“Drop the word ‘not’ from the last sentence.”
“Even the CIA is out to get us?”
Justin stepped on the brake pedal and switched lanes. He glanced at the old man driving a slow van in the fast lane. The old man seemed to be enjoying some music, his head swinging at the tune.
“They’re not out to get us, but they won’t care if we get burned. They only look out for their own.”
“So why are they sharing their intel with us?” Carrie spread her palms.
“Because they want something in return.”
“Yes, the Iranian defector’s documents. McClain briefed me on that operation.”
Justin steered with his left hand, waving his right one in the air. “Yes, but here’s the thing, we’re were going to give them the intel anyway. Without anything in exchange.”
“So they’re paying us in advance for something?”
“Yes. For something they don’t want to do on their own. Something dirty, but which has the potential to come to light, and they don’t want to be anywhere close to it.”
Carrie nodded. “But you have no idea what it is.”
“No, but they’ll tell us soon enough.”
Carrie nodded again, then played with her engagement ring. She was still getting used to its feel around her finger. Thomas had spared no expense when dropping to his knee two months ago. A two-carat diamond in a Tiffany setting adorned her hand, the promise of his never-ending love.
“Something I said bothers you?” His voice brought Carrie back from her daydreaming.
“No, just thinking.”
“When are you seeing him?” Justin pointed at her ring.
Carrie shrugged. “Just spent a couple of days in London the other week.”
“Oh, London in September. Lots of fun, I bet,” Justin said with a groan.
“Thomas was with me, so I tried to have fun.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah, I did. We enjoyed each other’s company. I had a good time.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Lush rolling hills appeared in the distance. Justin glanced at the dashboard. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Right on time.” Carrie consulted her wristwatch.
Route 267 curved to the right. The traffic had thinned. Justin could not help but double-check the few cars behind them. He slowed down, allowing for all of them to go around his Chevy. No one was their tail.
He got into the Capital Beltway, skirting around McLean. They drove past churches, schools, strip malls, and more churches as they drew nearer their destination.
“We’re here,” Justin said as they turned into Colonial Farm Road. “You’ve met Adams before?”
“Once, back in Afghanistan. But he wasn’t Deputy Director of NCS then. He was CIA Station Chief.”
“And what do you think?”
“I’ve got the impression he’s smart and fair, a no-bullshit kind of guy. He doesn’t play politics. At least, he didn’t at the time.”
“Power corrupts people and virtues. Let’s see if Mr. Adams has resisted the temptation and being close to the top of NCS hasn’t gone to his head.”
Chapter Six