Grudgingly, Chris handed over his passport.
The officer studied both documents. Then he made a call in Turkish on his radio. He had an earphone in his ear connected to the radio.
Chris and Hannah waited.
Finally, the officer returned their passports, and the gate opened.
Hannah drove through, only to be stopped by a second black gate. The first closed behind them. With a concrete wall to their immediate left and a small concrete security building to their immediate right, the only conventional way out was through the security building door.
Chris remained patient for the first fifteen minutes, but each subsequent passing minute made him feel like a caged animal. He stepped out of the SUV and knocked on the security building door, but no reply came.
“In case you forgot about us, we’re still here!” Chris called. No one responded, so he returned to the SUV. “If they don’t hurry, I’m going to climb on top of our SUV, jump onto the building, and lower myself into the embassy.”
“Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet,” Hannah said.
He imagined someone dropping a lever and closing the walls on them. “I feel like they’re about to squash us like two halves of an orange. Make orange juice,” he said.
Another fifteen minutes later, voices and shuffling feet emanated from the security building. The door flew open, and a young armed Marine and three armed Americans wearing civilian clothes and flak jackets surrounded Chris and Hannah. The leader was the oldest of the three men in civilian clothes. He appeared to be in his early fifties, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. “Put your hands up where we can see them!”
Chris and Hannah raised their hands. Then the front doors of their SUV opened, and M4 barrels were pointed at the pair. “Step out of the vehicle slowly!” Salt-and-Pepper commanded. It wasn’t clear who the men in civilian clothes were, but Chris guessed they were diplomatic security, tasked with protecting the embassy and its people.
As Chris and Hannah eased out of their vehicle, Chris contemplated making a break for it. As if Hannah could read his mind, she shook her head. On the roof of the security building stood another armed American in civilian clothes. Chris recognized him as a guy nicknamed Two-Face. During Army Ranger training, he’d cracked his temporal bone, which paralyzed one side of his mouth and left him with a permanent snarl. When he’d earned a spot in Delta Force, a.k.a. the Unit, the guys gave him his nickname. There were three main squadrons in the Unit: Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie. Two-Face was from Bravo Squadron. Later, in Iraq, Two-Face and his mates had operated alongside Chris and his Team as members of Task Force 88.
Two-Face was the only one kind enough not to aim his rifle at Chris. “Evening, Reverend.” He remembered Chris’s call sign.
“Evening, Two-Face,” Chris replied.
“Some nasty rumors floating around that you murdered some Agency boys in Syria, mate. Went out in a flash message to numerous embassies, in case you showed up.”
“Murdered?” Chris swallowed hard, feeling the gravity of the charge and wondering how word traveled so fast.
“I don’t believe any of it, but as you can see, some people in the embassy are pissing themselves.”
“So that’s what this welcome party is about?” Chris asked.
Two-Face nodded. “Afraid so.”
“Hannah wasn’t involved, so you can release her.”
“I don’t know all the details,” Two-Face said. “I just think you two should let these gents do their job — clear up this misunderstanding. If you choose to escape, I can’t vouch for the others here, but I won’t try to stop you.”
Salt-and-Pepper seemed upset that Two-Face wasn’t going to stop Chris from escaping. “Put your hands behind your back!” he ordered.
Hannah shrugged her shoulders and put her hands behind her back. The Marine, sweat beading on his brow, snapped a pair of handcuffs on her.
No SEAL had ever been held prisoner of war, and Chris wasn’t about to break that tradition, but the embassy was not the enemy. “What exactly are we being arrested for?” he asked.
Nobody answered.
“Just humor them,” Hannah said. “The faster you let them put the handcuffs on, the faster we can sort this out.”
Chris sighed and put his hands behind his back. The handcuffs trembled as the young Marine put them on Chris. He removed Chris’s Glock from its holster and took his pocket-knife from his pants. Chris was feeling more and more like a trapped tiger, and more and more, he wanted to lash out at his nearest aggressor.
Salt-and-Pepper and his posse escorted Chris and Hannah through the small security building and out the back door. They walked outside along a road and into the back of the embassy, where they entered a brightly lit hallway.
Now what?
16
Salt-and-Pepper sat across a table from them with his back to the door. Except for the table and chairs, the small, cold room was empty. The mirror on the wall was probably one-way so the interrogation could be videotaped and observed from outside the room.
“You seem to know who we are, but we don’t know who you are,” Hannah said.
“I’m Tristan Nichols, Deputy Ambassador,” Salt-and-Pepper said.
Tristan was impressive — a leader who wasn’t afraid to step out of the office and dirty his hands. Even so, Chris had to know: “Why are we being held here?”
Tristan leaned forward. “I want to ask you and your accomplice some questions about the deaths of two Agency men in Syria.”
Chris’s brow furrowed. “Accomplice?”
“You shot Maximilian Wolfeschlegelaltona and Victor Shivlin before shooting Jim Bob Louve in the face. Late-night revelers on a nearby yacht heard the gunshots and called the police and an ambulance. Maximilian’s corpse was discovered in the waters of Latakia Marina, and Victor’s was located on a yacht in Ras al-Basit, but Jim Bob survived. The bullet broke his nose before glancing off and entering below his eye, where it stuck in his upper jaw. He is still in a lot of pain, but he says you and Hannah stole the Switchblade Whisper and sold it to the Chinese. The Agency sent out a flash message to bring the two of you in, dead or alive.”
Chris couldn’t believe his ears. He explained what had really happened.
After patiently listening, Tristan asked, “Then where is the Switchblade Whisper?”
“In the back of the SUV under a blanket,” Hannah said. “Unless you left it in a no-parking zone.”
Tristan frowned. “I didn’t leave it in a no-parking zone. It’s safe here inside the embassy parking lot.”
“You don’t seem to understand the gravity of holding us and the Switchblade Whisper here,” Chris said. “The Switchblade Whisper already had a GPS tracking device imbedded in its black box. Hannah affixed her own tracking device to the drone. The Chinese probably did the same.”
“I’ve heard a lot of bullshitters in my career, but you are one of a kind,” Tristan said.
“You don’t have to believe me,” Chris said. “But you do need to search the Switchblade Whisper for any tracking devices and take them far away from here.”
Hannah cut in. “A terrorist named Professor Mordet is trying to get his hands on the technology in the Switchblade Whisper. If he succeeds, he’ll hack into the United States’ critical infrastructures and cause as much damage and loss of human life as possible.”
Tristan stood and looked down his nose at them. “Both of you are truly special. I hope they send you to some deserving place like Leavenworth. Nobody is going to break into the embassy parking lot. There are three concentric circles of protection around this facility, starting with the outer fence and the vehicular barricades. The latest technology monitors this place twenty-four seven. And there are two Turkish policemen out front, a Marine, three diplomatic security officers on duty, and me.”