“One of our people should write this one up,” she suggested.
“Don’t bother,” Jonathan said. “Leave the cable writing on this kind of thing to State. Nothing here is worth classifying, and the press is watching, so the Open Source Center will get a report to the analysts. Save your energy for more complicated problems.”
He turned and started walking away from the protest. He said nothing for almost a minute. She smelled street food but could not find a vendor within sight.
“They want me to help with the exfil,” she said quietly.
“I know. I saw the cable,” Jonathan said. That surprised her. She wondered how he’d managed that feat. There was no way that Mitchell would have shared it. “It’s a very bad idea.”
“You’re an expert on covert ops now?” Kyra asked.
“No, but I’m not totally ignorant on the subject. You don’t know the city and you don’t speak the language. You don’t have diplomatic cover and I’m not sure the Chinese would respect it if they caught you.” He stopped himself and Kyra stared up at him, surprised. He never looked at her, just stared straight ahead. He finally started again. “The chances of you getting nabbed and spending a few decades in a Beijing prison seem very high to me.”
“It’s a possibility.” She was hedging, but it was as close as she wanted to come to admitting he was right.
He looked down at her, surprised. “Then why do it?”
Kyra gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and turned away from him as she stopped walking. He said nothing.
“I went for a walk,” she said.
“Outside the embassy?”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t smart,” Jonathan said.
“No, it wasn’t. I was followed. Beat up, actually,” she admitted.
Jonathan paused before answering. “And you gave as good as you got.”
I really wish you’d stop reading me like that. Kyra nodded. “Better than I got, actually. I took a piece of rebar to his nose and his knees. It was like I was watching someone else do it.” She finally turned around and looked up at Jonathan.
“Nobody tried to stop you? Did anyone follow you back to the embassy?”
“No, and I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly working a surveillance detection route,” she admitted.
“Then he was the only one following you. If he’d had partners, they’d have nailed you.”
Kyra nodded. She felt numb. “I feel like I’m crippled,” Kyra said. “Or busted.”
“It’s called post-traumatic stress disorder. You should talk to one of the counselors at the Employee Assistance Program,” he said. “It helps.”
“You had PTSD, didn’t you?”
“Once, after Iraq. I was one of the analysts that George Tenet sent over to find all those weapons of mass destruction. I was working inside the Green Zone when some insurgents set up one of those hit-and-run mortar attacks. A round hit near my position.” He frowned faintly at some memory that he decided not to share. “It doesn’t mean that you can’t do your job,” Jonathan assured her. “It does mean that you should think long and hard before you sign on for Mitchell’s op.”
“We need to get Pioneer out.” She winced as she realized that she had spoken the crypt in public. She looked around. No one was in earshot.
“I’m sure Mitchell appreciates your devotion to duty,” he said.
Kyra wanted to swear at the man but she held her tongue. Analysts, it seemed, could use logic to read people as well as case officers could for all their training.
They crossed the street and left the official bounds of the square. The noise of the crowd was slowly fading behind them. “I know that Kathy Cooke asked you. Just because the request came from higher up doesn’t make it any smarter,” Jonathan told her.
“What is it with you two?” Kyra asked, exasperated.
Jonathan frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh please,” Kyra exclaimed. “She could’ve hid me anywhere in the Agency, but she gave me to you and walked down to do it in person. And CIA directors don’t give briefings to line analysts or invite them to hang out and watch Chinese presidents give speeches. She’s done both and it wasn’t my company she was after. You two know each other and it isn’t just professional.”
Jonathan turned his head a bit and looked over at her but said nothing. “I can keep a secret. I work for the CIA,” Kyra said. It felt good to finally have Jonathan on the defensive.
“Those two don’t go together as often as you might think.” He sighed and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Kathy wasn’t playing in that game at the War College when we met. She was deputy director of PACOM’s J-2 intel shop and she was running the game. So she wasn’t thrilled when this civilian decided to work around some of the rules he thought were less than realistic. We ended up talking naval tactics over dinner. She asked me out, if you can believe it. She retired from the Navy after that tour, came back to DC, and started a war-gaming think tank. Offered me a job, which I declined, but we picked up where we’d left off on the personal side. Then Lance Showalter became the SecDef. Kathy worked under him at PACOM, and suddenly she’s on the president’s short list for CIA director. She got the nod and that was that.”
“She shut you down?” Kyra asked.
“‘Bad practice to date subordinates,’ she said. And some of the good old boys like Rhead have been looking to run her out, which makes me a liability she can’t afford.”
“She won’t be running the Agency forever,” Kyra observed.
“George Tenet had the job for seven years, and Kathy Cooke is better than Tenet ever was,” he replied. “And people change.” He fell silent for a half block and didn’t speak again until they reached a corner. “But she’s not here on the ground. Mitchell doesn’t want to lose a major asset on his watch, and you don’t know what he’s telling her. And I doubt that you’re being objective.”
“I have reasons,” Kyra protested. It sounded weak to her. It must have sounded worse to the analyst.
“You don’t have anything to prove,” he said. “Don’t do this for your career. Don’t do it unless you really believe in it.”
Kyra stopped walking. “We owe this man. You’ve read his reports.”
“I have.”
“He’s taken more chances for us than we can count. Twenty-five years and they could have found him and executed him a dozen times. That kind of pressure can break a person, you know? He’s probably so paranoid that he doesn’t know what it’s like to feel normal anymore. What does that say about us if we use someone like that and throw them away because we’re not willing to take a risk?” she asked.
“Smart risks, fine,” he replied. “I’m not sure I’d call this a smart risk.”
“We play the hand we’re given,” she told him. “If he’s willing to gamble with his life every day for us, we have to be willing to do the same for him at least once. If we don’t, we’re no better than the Russians or the Chinese or anyone else who throws assets away when they’re done with them. And we are better than that. This isn’t about logic and odds and doing the smart thing. This is about paying a debt. It’s about doing the honorable thing.”