“We will,” he said through the mask, his voice throaty and coarse. “We sure will.”
Justin woke up feeling refreshed and ready to take on the world. He remembered vaguely being awakened during the night by a nurse or someone from the medical staff, but not much else. They probably fed me a bunch of sleeping pills.
He removed his oxygen mask slowly to find out he could breathe with ease. His chest pain was gone, and the stabbing from his arm wounds had dissipated into a throbbing sting. He felt his throat parched and looked at the nightstand. A glass half-filled with water. Interesting, I thought of the glass as half-full, not half-empty. Like this situation, which is half won, not half lost. We have a name, Johnson. And a folder full of evidence, still to be confirmed, but we’re almost there. And Yusuf, the terrorist and the American citizen. If only we can tie his weapons for sure to CIA…
Justin lifted his covers and stood up. His legs felt a bit numb, so he walked a few slow steps around the room. He took a sip of the warm water, then sat at the edge of the bed. The TV was turned off, so he rummaged the nightstand drawers, but did not find the remote. Maybe one of the nurses took it, to make sure I would sleep. Or maybe Carrie took it.
His mind went to the news report about their operation in Somalia and to the three dead Americans. Birgit’s security guards knew that clashing with militants was a real possibility, although probably it was not mentioned in their job description. But Birgit never saw it coming. One could assume she knew the risks when she was posted to Somalia and was no stranger to gunfire battles during her ten years in the country. Still, I dragged her into my mission. Tricked her. She would still be alive if it weren’t for me.
The thoughts weighed heavy on him. He frowned, then bit his lip. He had already killed the men responsible for Birgit’s death, but he could still not shake the feeling of emptiness in his stomach. His hands trembled, and he steadied them. He swallowed, sighed, and reached for another sip of water.
Most people around me are fully aware of the operational risks. Yuliya. Carrie. They’re trained. Able. Willing. Birgit, she wasn’t.
His frown deepened and his eyes narrowed. Anna! What if Johnson goes after Anna? What if al-Shabaab goes after her? He remembered the bomb explosion in New York and how he had shouted for Anna to seek cover. What if I’m not around the next time? Will she be able to take care of herself? Am I just bringing death and pain to everyone close to me?
A light rap on the door brought him out of his stewing. “Come in,” Justin said.
Carrie walked in with a small porcelain cup in her hand. “Black coffee.”
“It smells so good.” Justin held the cup under his nose, sniffing the hot aroma. He blew gently, then tasted the thick froth. “Mhhh, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. How’re you feeling today?”
“Better. Much better.”
“Ready to pack?”
“Pretty much.”
“Good, ‘cause I have us booked on a 2:00 p.m. flight to Riyadh. Then we’re taking the red-eye to London.”
“What time is it?”
Carrie glanced at her wristwatch. “A little past 10:30 in the morning.”
“Oh, I slept so long. But it was a good sleep. How’s Nathan?”
“Good. He’s downstairs. There’s a shop, sort of a gift store.”
“And the pilot?”
Carrie sat on the stool next to Justin. “Still stable. He hasn’t gotten any better, but he hasn’t gotten any worse either.”
“That’s somewhat good?”
“I guess.” She shrugged, then added, “I talked to McClain last night.”
“And?”
“There’s a breakthrough in the file about the M16s. He’s found intel on how those assault rifles ended up in Yusuf’s hands, but he didn’t want to give me more details on the phone.”
Justin nodded. “Makes sense. We’ll meet him tomorrow and learn everything. Did you tell him about Johnson?”
Carrie did not reply right away.
Justin looked deep into her eyes. “What is it?”
“He’s as shocked as we are to hear those claims. And, of course, he’s pissed off at you.”
Justin rolled his eyes. “Still? Did you tell him we got Al-Khaiwani, and we can bring him in?”
“Yes, but it didn’t help. The Yemeni government found the destroyed terrorist camp and is sifting through the ruins.”
“As we left, we blew up the camp. The explosions were gigantic and demolished everything. I thought even our chopper would be impacted by the blast wave.”
“Well, McClain’s is worried they’ll find something implicating us in that operation. To make things worse, The New York Times reporter is sniffing very close to our Service. McClain’s is feeling some pressure from the Minister’s office. They’re prying him for answers.”
Justin’s eyes took on a darker shade. “He’s not going to burn me, is he?”
“No, I don’t think so. It wouldn’t help him. Instead, it would cast him in a bad light. But I’m sure the thought has crossed his mind.”
“Can’t wait until we talk to him. Wasn’t there an earlier flight?”
“No, unless you want to call your friend, the Prince. We can borrow one of the King’s private jets.”
Justin smiled. “I think I’ve used all my favor cards with the House of Saud.”
“Plus, the doctors need to make sure you’re fit to fly.”
Justin began to protest, but Carrie stopped him with a hand gesture. “We can’t have a crisis at thirty thousand feet, Justin. And you need to get well, because this is not over.”
Chapter Twenty
Justin used most of the red-eye flight to pour over the intelligence material secured from Yusuf and Al-Khaiwani. He slept a little in between, just enough to allow his brain to understand the handwritten lines in Arabic and to turn them into the shape of meaningful conversations with Carrie. They dissected the information, hashing and rehashing scenarios, drawing and redrawing conclusions, all in a hushed tone barely over a whisper at the back of the half-empty Airbus A330.
Their plan was crystalized during their six-hour layover in Frankfurt and took its final shape during the intercontinental flight to Ottawa. Much depended on their briefing with McClain and his assessment of their risky tactic. But as far as Justin and Carrie were concerned, they had a plan in place about dealing with Johnson before their Lufthansa airplane touched ground at Ottawa’s Macdonald-Cartier International Airport a little after four o’clock in the afternoon.
Their diplomatic passports got them through customs without a hassle. They hailed a cab and gave the driver directions to CIS Headquarters. McClain had scheduled their meeting at 5:30. Barely enough time to beat the traffic rush.
McClain held meetings in his office only when he wanted to give agents a talk. A talk about how they had disappointed him and the Service, how they had put an agent or an operation in danger, and how they should shape up their performance. Justin had only heard about such meetings. Until now.
McClain’s office was on the fourth floor, the same floor as the Maple Leaf Conference Room where less than a week ago Justin and Carrie had received their instructions about this operation. Instructions that Justin had largely ignored.
Time to face the music, Justin thought and knocked on the heavy wooden door.