“Come in,” McClain called.
Justin looked at Carrie standing behind him in the hall.
“You’ll do just fine,” she said. “Just follow the script.”
“I hope so.”
Carrie retreated to a corner by a window and sat on one of the couches, waiting for her turn.
Justin walked in and closed the door behind him.
McClain’s corner office was a large suite, with impressive dark oak furniture. A large desk was the centerpiece, flanked by a large bookshelf to the right and by an L-shaped sofa to the left. The office was well-lighted by two floor-to-ceiling windows. They had bulletproof glass, like all windows in the building and overlooked the park, with magnificent views of the Ottawa’s skyline. But McClain’s desk was set up to ignore the views, not to enjoy them. He was more interested in doing business in his office than staring out the windows.
“Take a seat, Mr. Hall,” McClain said in a cold tone and gestured to the sofa. He was sitting at his desk and was reading from a report.
“Yes, sir.”
Justin sat at one end of the sofa, expecting McClain to get up and sit next to him. McClain did not move, other than closing the folder and folding his hands across his chest.
“How are you doing?” McClain asked in the same tone of voice void of any emotion.
“I’m doing well, sir. Thanks for asking.”
“Glad to hear that. After the mess in Somalia, I was afraid your incursion in Yemen would have catastrophic consequences. I didn’t want to lose one of my best agents.”
An unexpected compliment. Is this supposed to make me drop my guard?
“Thank you, sir. You’re right, the ambush in Somalia was a grave setback.”
McClain nodded. “Whose repercussions are still affecting our operations in that area and elsewhere. The media is close to pointing the finger at us about Birgit and her guards killed in Somalia. The Yemeni government is also blaming us for the operation north of Sa’dah.”
Justin did not say anything and avoided McClain’s piercing eyes.
“Your clear disobedience of a direct order is costing and will cost us a lot of goodwill in the region, Mr. Hall. Many years of hard work to create trusting relationships are now destroyed simply because of the actions of a single man.”
“I understand, sir.”
McClain blinked, then leaned forward. “Do you truly understand it?” he asked, his voice a bit warmer.
“Yes. We had anticipated the turn of events in Somalia. Every operation carries its risks. There are many variables at play, most of them beyond our control. But we could have avoided the situation in Yemen.”
McClain leaned back in his chair. “Yes, if you would have followed your orders. In that case, there would have been no need for Ms. O’Connor and Mr. Smyth to come and rescue your sorry ass.”
Justin put on his best I-am-sorry face. Lips drawn together, head lowered, eyes glued to the floor.
“This will not happen again, Justin. It’s one thing to follow actionable intel and another one to start a new war in the Gulf. You get that?”
Justin nodded. “I do, sir.”
McClain pushed his chair closer to his desk. “OK then, apology accepted. But remember, Justin. This is your second chance. Young people think they’re invincible. They think rules are made for others, not for them. We’ve all been young.”
Justin looked up at McClain’s face. He thought he saw a glint of mischief in his boss’s eyes. McClain had been stationed in Iraq and Afghanistan before retiring to office duties five years ago. Rumors had it McClain had been quite the rebel himself when on the field, not always doing things by the book.
“We haven’t been working together for long, so I’m going to let this one slide. We’ll call it a temporary lapse in judgment. After all, you completed the mission and brought in useful intel. Is that a fair assessment of what took place, for my official report?”
“That’s quite correct, sir,” Justin spoke quickly, jumping to grab the rope McClain was throwing at him.
“All right, you needed backup in the Yemeni op, so I dispatched Nathan and Carrie. By the way, why don’t you call her in?”
“Right away,” Justin stood up and hurried to the door.
He walked in along with Carrie a moment later.
“Sir,” she said while nodding and heading toward the sofa.
“Take a seat here. Both of you.” McClain pointed to two empty seats on the other side of his desk.
Justin took the seat to his right, the one facing directly across from McClain.
“How are you doing, Carrie?”
“Very well, sir. Thank you.”
McClain tapped the folder in front of him. “Nathan’s report on the Yemeni op. Very detailed. I have a few questions, but I’ll wait until I read your two reports. Perhaps I will find my answers there.”
“My report will be on your desk first thing tomorrow morning,” Carrie replied.
“And so will mine,” Justin said. “I want to let you know I talked to my friends at The New York Times. They’re running the story about the Americans killed in Somalia, but they’ve agreed not to mention the name of our Service.”
“Very well. then.” McClain set aside the folder. He pulled open one of his desk drawers. “I have some reports about those M16s rifles found in Yusuf’s possession.” He put a set of folders on his desk. “According to British intelligence sources from Yemen and Qatar, their serial numbers matched a shipment sent about three months ago from the US to Qatar. They were intended for the UN-backed African Union peacekeeping force in Somalia.”
“Oh, so there you have CIA’s explanation,” Justin said.
McClain said, “Which is?”
“Al-Shabaab militants clashed with AU troops somewhere in Somalia, and the booty included these rifles.”
McClain smiled. “Good thinking,” he said, pointing his index finger at Justin. “But according to these documents, a larger shipment including those weapons and sniper rifles and machine guns is still supposed to be in a warehouse in Qatar.”
“Let me guess the name of the warehouse owner,” Carrie said. “Rashed bin Hussein Hamidi.”
McClain nodded. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you broke into my office and read these files.”
Carrie grinned.
“The warehouse is not important. At least not at this time. And you’re not going back to the Gulf anyway. Not any time soon. You don’t have to,” said McClain.
“No reason to do that. Hamidi’s associates will claim the guns were stolen from one of their trucks or some other bullshit story like that,” Justin said.
“Yes, claiming this is all a mistake,” McClain said. “But the report gets interesting when it comes to Yusuf. About three months ago, two days before the shipment was sent, Yusuf comes to the US.”
“What?” asked Carrie.
“Yes. Through Dulles International.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Justin said.
“No, I’m dead serious.” McClain handed over the report.
Justin flipped through its pages.
“Our friend stays in the US for just a day, then leaves the same way he came. The day after that, the shipment is sent to Qatar. Coincidence?”
“I think not.” Justin shook his head.
“It’s impossible for a terrorist to strut through the front door, and for CIA to have no idea about what’s taking place right under their noses,” said Carrie.
“Unless CIA is a part of this whole story,” McClain said.
“How? Yusuf works for them?” Justin asked.
“CIA will never tell us. They rejected the idea they even knew Yusuf was an American citizen. Of course, Adams called my allegations absurd and did not want to entertain the notion CIA may have made any mistakes in this operation.”
Justin leaned back on his chair and rubbed his chin.