She took another bite of her broccoli and regarded him. She could see in his eyes that the failed missions weighed heavily on him.
His smile widened and his face softened. “That’s how you got here, but how do you do what you do?”
“It’s hard to explain, really.” She stabbed at her blueberries. “I call it the Pattern. When you look at the data, it’s a stream. You’re seeing pieces of it here and there, but you can’t stop and take a drop from the stream. Someone dies and it triggers emails, phone calls, a ripple in the stream. Or, a blockbuster movie comes out and everybody’s talking about it. They call their friends, who call their friends, and so on. Another ripple. Those ripples don’t amount to much.”
He leaned forward. “Then what does?”
She searched for the correct words. “Say IBM buys a company in Taiwan. Taiwan and China are not on the best of terms. What kind of tech does the company make? Is it commercial? Does it have a military use? Could it impact the US, now or in the future? The people that work there, are they loyal to the company? What kinds of friends do they have? Are they dissidents? Where does the money flow? That’s a big ripple. Even then it’s just a ripple. You can’t get caught up watching the ripples and lose sight of the stream. Our job is to keep an eye on the stream, looking for the Pattern.”
He nodded as she spoke, but the look on his face was puzzled. “Tell me about the Pattern.”
“It’s not something I can teach. Trust me, I’ve tried. Once the event happens, anyone can see it. The trick is to see the ripples coming together. If we see the ripples starting to merge, we can see the Pattern before it’s fully formed. That’s when the Office can take action. Take 9/11. All the ripples, all the threads of data, split across so many different agencies. The Office didn’t have a full blown data center like we do now, just case-officers sorting through reports, trying to find the Pattern. Obviously they failed. It’s easy to look back now and see the Pattern, but why didn’t we see it then? Because there’s a whole stream. When it’s just one small eddy, it’s hard to see before it becomes a full blown Pattern.”
She paused, and licked the juice from the pineapple on her fork. “My coworker, Cassie, has been analyzing commodities manipulation for the past several months. She specializes in economic threats that threaten the world economies. She sees some ripples. She’s trying to figure out what they mean. Is it insider trading? You’d be surprised how few wealthy individuals control the world economy. She’s got a computer model of a couple hundred people who are in control, directly or indirectly, of sixty percent of the world’s wealth.”
Eric started to speak, but she shushed him. “I’m not saying that’s good or bad, but what’s the impact of having so few people control that sum of money? Wars have been fought over less. Look at the world today. OPEC is an ally, sometimes, and sometimes a danger. Putin seems to have an economic plan for Russia, and that includes the energy sector, but the Russian presidential election is only a few years away. Who knows what happens then? They don’t have as much wealth, but Russia can still poke us in the eye. There’s so many ripples, and the possibilities of not acting to prevent another Pattern from emerging—”
“Another 9/11,” he said, grimacing. He shook his head and ran his hands through his short brown hair.
She looked down at her empty plate. She knew that every officer felt the same, since 9/11, but she voiced it anyway. “If I could stop something like that and didn’t….”
Eric reached across the table and cupped her hand in his. “I learned a long time ago not to worry about things I can’t control. Second guessing yourself robs you of energy.”
She grinned. “Isn’t that what you were doing when I came in?”
Eric shrugged. “Nancy and Deion were lucky. It almost ended differently.”
“But it didn’t. Don’t second guess your decisions, right?”
He tilted his head, frowning. “I should have been there,” he said.
Karen squeezed his hand. “You see your own Pattern. I get that. At least you can do something about it.”
He gently pulled his hand back and stood to leave. “Thanks, Karen. I needed a pick-me-up.”
“No problem, boss.”
She watched as he left, his stride powerful and focused. Brad would understand if she slept with him, hell, he would encourage her, but it would be better if she waited. With the OTM on alert, there was too much at stake. The last thing she wanted was to distract her CO. But, once things settled down….
She smiled to herself. Eric Wise, you’re going to be one hell of a lay.
Abdullah stood on shaky legs, smiling at the blond-haired man who opened the cargo container. “Peace be upon you,” he said.
The young soldier returned the smile but his eyes darted around the dimly lit aircraft hangar. “We have to go, sir. I’m sorry for the rush, but you’re not safe here.”
He led them from the camo-green cargo container to a waiting Humvee. Abdullah and Naseer climbed gingerly in the back, their muscles and joints still knotted from ten hours spent hiding in the metal container.
The soldier threw an oil-stained tarp over them. “Stay still and don’t make a sound.”
They huddled under the tarp while the Humvee rumbled off, eventually coming to a long stop. They heard voices questioning the young man and the man answered, then the truck accelerated.
“Can we trust this American?” Naseer whispered.
“Yes. He is committed to Jihad.” Naseer snorted softly. “These people are vital to our plans.” He bristled at Naseer’s casual dismissal of the American’s good intent. These precious few Americans had risked everything transporting them out of Afghanistan, hiding them in the cargo-plane from Bagram. He marveled at their ingenuity, sneaking them on the base in Bagram and then out again at Ramstein Air Force Base.
The Humvee finally stopped and they heard the young man open his door, slam it shut, then their door opened and the tarp came off. Abdullah strained his eyes to see in the dark hangar as the young man led them to a small white car.
“In the trunk,” the soldier directed.
They struggled to fit themselves into the trunk of the compact car, pushing and shoving to squeeze in place.
“There’s air holes under the seat, you’ll be okay, we tested it ourselves. We’ve got one more checkpoint to go through and then we’ll be safe.”
They struggled to breathe in the trunk as the car accelerated, the whine of the tires making further conversation impossible. The car stopped and started as their driver navigated them through the base, until he finally yelled, “We made it!”
When the car finally stopped, Abdullah breathed a sigh of relief. The trunk opened and they staggered out. The car was parked in an alley, packed between the two apartment buildings, and situated to block the view from the street. They followed the young man into an apartment where two young Americans waited.
The first, a thin black man with chocolate brown eyes, shook his hand. “We’re so glad you made it. Peace be upon you.”
Their driver turned toward the door. “I’ve got to get back.” He nodded to the two young soldiers who smiled nervously. “They’ll take good care of you.” He shook Abdullah’s hand and left.
Abdullah turned to the young black man. “You are Shahid?”
The man nodded. “I’m Terrill, but now I go by Shahid.”
Abdullah smiled. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, Shahid. You have chosen to commit yourself to Allah. It is a great honor to meet you.” He turned to the squat, coppery-skinned man next to him. “And you are Mahbeer? Your family is from Mexico?”