“Malik, are you aware that the existence of this prisoner was kept secret from the CIA?”
“Yes!” he hissed as he spun toward her. “It was kept secret from everyone! That was the reason for the edict. No one was to learn the truth.”
“What truth was that?”
“You already know. That the Americans took a prisoner from Abbottabad.”
She had finally brought Rashid to the point where she could ask the question that really mattered.
“Who was the prisoner?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him, and I didn’t dare ask who he was. Not that they would have told me.”
Khalila pondered whether Rashidi was telling the truth. Her gut told her he was. But what else did he know?
“Where was the prisoner sent?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Khalila heard the faint sound of several suppressed MP7 shots, followed by two thuds in the hallway outside the study. Rashidi’s eyes went to the door as a questioning look formed on his face, but Khalila continued.
“Actually, you should tell me,” she said. “There are nine dead men on your estate tonight. Let’s not make it ten.”
“What?”
The study door burst open, revealing Harrison wielding his MP7, which he quickly brought to bear on Rashidi.
“As I was saying,” Khalila said, “let’s not make it ten dead men on your estate tonight. Where is the prisoner?”
Rashidi eyed Harrison, then the two agents lying on the floor outside the study. Rashidi’s facial expression said it all; his resolve crumbled.
“He was sent to Failaka Island,” he said. “There’s a hidden detention facility on the eastern side, built and run by the Americans after 9/11.”
“Is it still active?”
“I don’t know. The Abbottabad prisoner was the last man we sent there. All others went elsewhere after that.”
“Was there any paperwork for this arrangement?”
“Nothing. All verbal.”
“One last question,” Khalila said. “Who directed you to keep this a secret from the CIA?”
“I don’t know who the men were. I hadn’t interfaced with them before, but they knew the code words.”
Khalila approached Rashidi and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Malik. I know how difficult this was for you.”
Then she lowered her other arm and flexed her wrist, ejecting a knife into her hand.
She jammed the knife into Rashidi’s right kidney, inflicting an excruciating stab wound. His legs went weak from the pain and he dropped to his knees. Then she slit his throat.
He fell to the ground, clamping his hands around his neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Blood pulsed through his fingers until his body went still.
“What the hell, Khalila. Why did you kill him?”
“Because the moment we left tonight, he would have made a call, letting whoever orchestrated this cover-up know what we’d been told. We can’t get to Failaka Island tonight, and I don’t want whoever’s there warned so they can pack up and scurry away. If whoever was taken from Abbottabad is still at that facility, I don’t want him to slip through our fingers.”
39
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
PJ Rolow was furious.
Sitting beside Christine, the DDO’s face had turned flush, his skin taking on a red hue. But Christine didn’t have to look at him to know he was upset. He was doing an excellent job expressing it.
“I can defend your actions at the Seif,” he said to Khalila’s image on the conference room display. “They planned to kill you, and you defended yourself. But the outright murder of the head of a foreign intelligence agency — an ally to boot — was way out of bounds, even for you!”
They were seated in the director’s conference room on the seventh floor, joined by Monroe Bryant and Tracey McFarland, with Khalila and Harrison on the other end of the VTC. Christine had kept the number of participants small due to the underlying topic — who had been taken prisoner at Abbottabad?
“We needed the information,” Khalila replied calmly. “If I had left Rashidi alive, it would have been worthless. They could have evacuated the facility at Failaka Island before we got there.”
“I don’t disagree with your assessment,” Rolow said. “But you should have asked first!”
“You would have said no.”
“That’s why you should have asked! There are other ways this could have been handled. We could have put a team in place before you met with Rashidi, to immediately follow whatever lead he provided. We could have avoided his death.”
“It wouldn’t have worked,” Khalila said. “While we put together a team, whoever is orchestrating this deception would have relocated the prisoner.”
“That’s supposition,” Rolow replied. “They would have had to infer the reason for your meeting with Iqbal at the Seif. After all these years, it’s unlikely they would have made the connection.”
“I disagree,” she replied.
Rolow slammed his fist on the table. “You did not have authorization to kill Rashidi! You knew what my answer would be, so you deliberately didn’t ask!”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve bent the rules. You knew what you were dealing with when you sent me. Shall we discuss the issue in more detail at this meeting, starting with my true identity?”
If Khalila’s question was meant to intimidate Rolow, it had the opposite effect.
Rolow’s voice dropped a notch. “Let me make this crystal clear for you. If you ever do anything like this again, you will be dealt with appropriately. Do you understand?”
Khalila was about to offer a retort, but she clamped her mouth shut instead.
He glared at her for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, the color slowly fading from his face.
“I should probably recall both of you to Langley, but considering what you’ve learned, I think it’s prudent to push forward immediately. We’re already making arrangements for an insertion onto Failaka Island in two days. Michigan is in the area on a CIA-related mission and is being tasked to support.”
Christine noticed Harrison’s face brighten at the mention of the submarine carrying his former unit, a detachment of two SEAL platoons.
“You’ll both participate in the insertion,” Rolow said, “Harrison for obvious reasons and you for linguistic purposes. The SEAL detachment has some linguistic ability, but nothing as expansive as yours. Rendezvous information will be provided once the details are ironed out.
“Any questions?”
There were none, and Rolow turned to Christine to see if she had anything to add, which she didn’t. Rolow had handled the matter fairly well, and she decided not to engage until after the delicate matter was further discussed, which was next on the agenda.
“That’s all for now,” Rolow said, then terminated the VTC.
After the display went black, Christine focused on damage control; how to deal with the repercussions of last night’s events: killing the head of the Kuwait Security Service and fourteen other Kuwaiti agents.
“As you mentioned,” she said as she looked at Rolow, “we have some grounds to work with. Khalila and Harrison were about to be eliminated by the first five agents. Those can be easily justified. Rashidi is the problem. Any ideas?”
Bryant answered, “I recommend we tie them together. We can paint Rashidi’s death as revenge for issuing the order to kill Khalila and Harrison.”
“It was a years-old latent order that got triggered,” Rolow said, “but no one will know that. Everything points back to Rashidi, and we could take the stance that we made an example of him. Anyone who tries to eliminate agency officers will suffer the same fate.”