Chapter Three

Red

Bypassing the public restroom, Red reached the service elevator near the kitchen, positioned for quick room service deliveries.

She climbed on and waited as the car took her upward. She had a strange sense of disorientation that frightened her as she stepped out of the car. Where was she? Did any of this look recognizable? Why was she even here?

Standing in the middle of the hall with its patterned red carpeting, Red blinked at the elevator as the doors slid shut. She looked down the hall and had no idea where or why she was there.

She looked at the piece of white paper in her hand and the room key.

She noticed the number on the key was the room in front of her.

She shifted the bag off her shoulder and looked at the contents, cash.

This feeling was familiar to her. Red had experienced this in her training at The Farm when sleep was a game of finding odd moments to prop herself in a corner and shut her eyes, resting in small sips.

It seemed to work, but in reality, her brain glitched. At The Farm, she'd learned that if she just stood there and gave her mind a moment, it would all come back to her. The trick was not to panic.

A moment later, that technique proved true; Red's mind cleared.

These were the back corner rooms she had rented when she first arrived in town, one beside the other. On both doors, she'd hung a Do Not Disturb sign and had monitored the rooms with a remote camera and alarm system to ensure those signs were respected.

Having the second room as a buffer meant no one could press a listening device to the wall and hear what she was about to say.

See? She was fine. She could do this.

Blowing a long breath through pursed lips, Red unlocked the door, went in, then quickly threw the latch back into place.

She stumbled into the pristine white bathroom, tugging her phone from her pocket to reach out to her colleagues, John Black and John Grey, so they could help her think and, if necessary, act.

Dialing over an encrypted channel, Red needed to lean her whole body against the wall for support as she entered her codes and biometrics for identification. Perspiration made her clothes humid as she unfolded the white paper she'd slipped from Moussa's pocket and spread it on the counter with trembling hands.

While Grey's and Black's video feeds showed on her screen, Red chose to keep her camera off. "I'm sending you a picture of what my asset handed me just now," she said with her phone on speaker. This page—typed in a small font with single spaces and no paragraph indentations—was way too long for Red to read coherently.

Clearly, she was not on her A-game.

After Red snapped the picture and forwarded it, she tapped her phone to mute, then stumbled toward the toilet. Dropping her pants, she flung herself onto the clean white porcelain seat. Her body, given an opportunity to purge, did nothing but spasmodically cramp.

Holding the paper up, Red tried very hard to focus.

Army Sgt. Danny Poole got fifty thousand United States dollars for sensitive information that he downloaded using his top-secret clearance and brought with him to give to my boss. (I calculated the Lebanese pounds three times. It is far more than I am paid in a year. It's an astonishing amount of money.) This money was passed to a bank account in Belize. The money is there now. He didn't get any cash to spend here. My boss was very excited with what was brought to him, and he said that it was worth every cent. Scent? No, it must be cent. Like a small coin. How do I know this? The door was closed, but I had hidden a cell phone in a plant in his office, and I listened to everything all day long. They speak in English so I write this in English so the words don't change with translation. I do my best. While Poole (Spelling is right. I saw it written in the private ledger. ‘Army Sgt. Danny' was written. ‘Danny,' though I think that name might formally be Daniel, yes?) transferred the information to my boss. Poole said he was on something called "a wall." Poole laughed a lot. I think maybe he was nervous and excited. My boss says to Poole that Poole's girlfriend wishes for him to go back to the Army with a tale of being sick or robbed. In this way, he can get more information. Poole said first he wants to see some of Syria. A colleague—a friend of my boss's—has family there, so this was arranged. I know where his family is, so I found the GPS coordinates, and I put them below. They said he would be in the friend's house from the 26 th until the 28 th, and then he will go into the city which is Damascus. He wishes to surprise his girlfriend. I believe she is Hellannah. This is why I must see you today. Once Poole is in the city, you will have trouble finding him again. I'm sure you wish to find him. Poole said he would decide while in Syria whether or not to return. Being "a wall" (I don't understand this, and my translator does not help me. It sounds like a single side of a room where there might be perhaps a door or window. Maybe this refers to something he was observing for my boss? Perhaps it means he was silent and listening; there is the phrase, ‘a fly on the wall,' correct?) Poole said being a wall was a big deal, and he'd have to make up a very good story. My boss is offering him a lot of money if he goes back. My boss asks Poole how he got into our country without passing through customs, and Poole laughs. He did not answer the question. Poole asked if their tangos (like the dance?) are on the southern border in the United States. My boss tells Poole that friends from Tajikistan were flying to Central America. This group has selected eight members—who had already proven themselves as effective when they attacked in Kabul years ago—this is why they were the ones chosen to go to the United States. They would cross over the southern border and move into place any day now. For their safety, they would not be in touch until the time was closer. Then my boss and Poole speak of other things. But these things had to do with which foods to try and tourist travels.

Time passed while everyone read and digested the contents.

One thing for sure, Moussa was right; the United States needed this information. Today was the 27 th .

Finally, Grey said, "Move into place? Can you talk to your asset about that?"

Red reached down to tap the unmute and spoke toward the phone lying between her feet. "He's not involved other than transcribing. He won't have any insights that he didn't write down. And yes, I know this page is poor tradecraft. I wasn't expecting this. I thought I had some time to work on his training."

"This is your new shipping asset?" Black asked from stateside.

Black worked out of Langley while Grey did fieldwork like she did. Although, Grey's job had a decidedly more tactical bent than hers. Red's bread and butter was in developing assets and gathering intelligence to act on. Lunch and chit-chat, it was a whole lot of boring with occasional flashes of adrenaline.

She wasn't free of danger—she had to keep herself fit and her tradecraft sharp—but being a CIA officer was much less Bond and a lot more mother hen than most would suspect.

"Import-export asset, yes, sir. I've been building our relationship slowly because he's well-placed but has an anxious personality. He called me out of the blue with this. Speaking of blue, he showed up dressed in his blue business suit in a sea of desert tactical and traditional robes. He stood out, which means I stood out. I'll work with him."

"Craft aside, if this is accurate, it's a hell of a first scoop," Grey said. "It could also be a setup trying to capture CIA or maybe even special forces over the Syrian border. Could he be playing us? What's your read?"

Yeah, that was a danger.

Given her present state of disrepair, Red wasn't sure she could accurately read the tea leaves here. This she could say with conviction, "He's got that shiny look of victory on his face. He's not ballsy enough to try to pull one over on me, not with a first offering." Yes, that felt correct. She'd go down that path. "I trust the intel is good. But listen, that GPS coordinate listed means if our wayward soldier is there, he's moving on tomorrow. We don't have much time for a plan." Was it weird to be talking to her colleagues with her panties around her ankles and her chest resting on her lap?

Yes.

Could she do anything about it?

Absolutely not. "Do we have a friendly in the area that could grab Sgt. Poole and find out what the hell information he downloaded and passed on and why that would trigger eight tangos to head into the United States?" She closed her eyes and took a breath before adding, "Using the word tango is weird, right? It sounds like Poole wants the team to go. But Tango is the target."

"Or terrorist. And he might be working with a group of terrorists and enjoy using the term. I don't know," Grey said. "And I won't know until he and I are face to face having a little chat."

"You'll connect with the FBI to make sure they know to keep a lookout for the team crossing over the southern border?" she asked, then quickly pressed mute to give herself some necessary privacy.

"I'll reach out to Frost on the Joint Task Force as soon as we get off this call," Black said.

There was a muffled discussion on Black's end while Grey asked, "How are you feeling, Red? On the upswing? You sound like shit."

She reluctantly pressed the unmute. "We do not say that word right now, please and thank you. I'm still messed up. But duty first, right? Listen, I'm going to head back to my table before my asset's nerves get too raw. Let me know what you find out." She tapped the mute button.

"Stay on the line, Red." Black stopped her. "My analyst is speaking with our Pentagon contact now. Before you hand this guy a bag full of cash, let's see if this Sgt. Danny Poole even exists, what kind of clearance he holds, and if he's on base where he belongs. Those facts are easy enough to corroborate."

"Since the asset information says they have people actively trying to come across the border into the United States, we don't want to take a swing and a miss," Grey said. "As we're waiting to see if the asset uncovered an unfolding act of espionage, let's act as if this is accurate and develop next steps. Tonight, we know where Poole is. Tomorrow, according to the dates on this paper, he'll reach Damascus, where we won't have an address. And even if we did, urban extraction can get messy. We have this window. We need to pull him out."

"It has to be a covert mission," Black said. "And that means we can't reach out to our military even though they're only about four hours away. Our bases are under constant surveillance. Even though Poole's an American citizen, his presence is illegal. While he's breaking American laws, he isn't on American soil, and we would need to defer to the Syrian legal system. With people staging to cross over into the United States with an unknown agenda, we don't have time for Poole's case to work its way through the courts. This is black ops. One minute, Poole is a guest sleeping in a bed; the next minute, he vanishes into thin air."

Red released the mute button. "It would be ideal if we had friends in the area that could keep the American government at arm's length. What about Iniquus? I think Panther Force is somewhere in eastern Africa. If not, my second choice would be to call in a Special Activities Unit. Are any of them close enough to move into place in time?" The Special Activities Unit—SAC—was the tactical branch of the CIA. In their younger days, both Grey and Black had been members. It was the CIA's special operations forces–who performed covert paramilitary operations–that Uncle Sam wanted the ability to disavow. The U.S. government would deny all knowledge of the team members and their mission, and nobody was going in to save them.

"Neither Panther Force nor a SAC unit is close enough to act as fast as we need them to," Grey said. "But I just finished meeting with a group from the House of Delegates in Türkiye. Delta Force Echo is providing their close protection. Echo could reach our Turkish base in the southeast in short order. I trust they can get the job done if JSOC is willing to sign off."

"Echo won't abandon their principals," Black said. "We need to find another team that are close enough to get in there in our short window of time."

"Echo is the group that pulled me out of my own impossible situation," Grey said. "I like to lean on teams I know. We're talking about special forces being in the country without crossing a border, capturing an American soldier who is also over their border without seeming to have come through proper customs channels? That's a red line. Diplomatically, if anything were to go wrong, they'd have Uncle Sam's nuts in a vice. I'm advocating for Echo if possible."

"Which sounds nice," Red paused. "Let's get real here. Things are heating up in the area. If Echo gets caught, using our regional allies as a jumping-off place isn't going to come with a get-out-of-jail-free card."

"We need to make sure we're not caught."

Red could almost hear the shrug in Grey's words. Let's make sure we're not caught. "Yeah, let's work that plan." Red rolled her eyes.

"It's not ideal," Grey said. "I agree. But looking at the map, it's the best of the not-good options. We have to have come in from somewhere. Proximity-wise, it has to be from the southwest.

Red cupped her forehead, hoping the gesture would help her to focus her thoughts. This intel was about to put American military lives on the line. She didn't have the same special operations tactical skill sets that her colleagues had in their timelines. Sure, she'd sat next to decision-makers as they spun up missions. She'd provided her details and her assessment. But in those instances, the U.S. was mandated to be in country. This was operating on foreign soil without that government's agreement or even knowledge, in an area peppered with violent factions.

"And as to the close protection duty. Without going into details," Grey continued, "the timing is good to put the representatives on their plane safely and pivot for a night maneuver. That base in eastern Türkiye is for cargo. We'd have to bring in an appropriate plane and pilot. I've been entering data into the system. The calculations show, obviously, that window is tight. But I think it's doable if we act as if—while waiting for the various stakeholder lights to flash green."

"They'd need to drop in," Black said.

"Looking at this map," Grey said, "I don't see any other way. A HAHO could put them down in a desert area close to a road. It's a new moon, so that runs in our favor. Echo has K9 Rory with them, also a bonus."

Personally, Red preferred a half-moon, enough light to see the hole before she stepped in it, but she also wouldn't stand out against the horizon the way it can happen when it was full.

"Grey, do you have anyone that could deliver a vehicle?" Black asked.

"I have people in the city," Grey said. "I can work that out."

"No one who could just grab Poole and hold him for us?" Red asked.

"No. That would take more time to develop than we have. Positioning a vehicle is something I can swing."

"And from there?" Black asked.

"If they land in the desert area to the south of the lake—depending on how close they come to their X—they might have a hike," Grey said. "Low winds, at least for the next twenty-four hours, so they should be able to get on target. From the desert area to the compound at the GPS coordinate, that's an hour on the road. The residence is rural, but, looking at this satellite map, it's just on the outskirts of the city. If the family called for help, help wouldn't be far."

"That's the grab. What does the extraction look like?" Red asked.

"Well," Grey paused. "Okay, we have a sub off the coast of Cyprus that we can move closer," Grey continued. "If the team can head to the coast—"

"Split the team," Black said. "One goes after our boy, and the other sits over the horizon with an inflatable boat. When they make contact, the boat picks them up and heads to sea. The sub pops up and loads them on. The timing is tight. A boat extraction would have to happen in the dark. The Navy won't surface that sub when it can be seen over a satellite."

"But once Echo has their hands on Poole, they have a lot more flexibility with timing," Grey pointed out. "They could lay low until the next night. Once on the sub, the Navy throws Poole in the brig until we can get him in front of the right people."

"Sounds like a cakewalk," Red said dryly. There was so much that could go wrong with that scenario. And she was ultimately responsible. She vouched for the information on the white paper, risking Delta Force lives and American diplomacy. "Is it possible to do that before the population is awake and paying attention?"

"If everything goes textbook? Yes," Grey said.

"Here we go, I have a report from the Pentagon," Black said, followed by a long pause. "Army Sgt. Daniel Owen Poole does, in fact, exist. He took ten days of leave and has failed to check in. He's a day overdue. Poole holds top-secret clearance. And as part of his duties, he has access to a broad array of information. He could have passed on intel ranging from our advanced weapons systems to operational plans. Red."

Red released the mute button. "Yes?" she gasped.

"Your asset has earned his pay," Black said. "I'll work the phones and get the authorizations from all the stakeholders, looping DIA into the mix. Grey, you and I will coordinate on the mission. It might be a long shot that we can grab him, but this looks like our best chance at getting the information in time to act. Well done, Red."

She offered a weak, "Thank you, sir. Listen, from this point, I'm going to be useless. Less than useless. I'm going to give my asset a pat on the head. Then I'm going to go to bed until I can purge whatever the hell this is from my system."

"Do you need support?" Grey asked.

"I'm popping all the meds. I should be fine in a day or two. Tell Delta Force not to drink the water," she said, her phone balanced on her bare thigh as she tore Moussa's intelligence into tiny pieces. Pulling a plastic container from the money bag, she added the pieces to the solution and watched the paper disintegrate into a mucous blob.

After hanging up with her teammates, Red toppled forward and was now on her knees on the floor. She thought she might be wrong about having some virus or bacterial infection. Maybe this was appendicitis. Maybe her appendix was about to burst, and she'd die here with her bare ass in the air.

There was a local hospital, such as it was. Although she wasn't sure she trusted they could keep her alive. She pressed her abdomen to see if she was being paranoid. She couldn't tell the difference. Everything hurt before she pressed, and it hurt after she pressed.

Was the pain mildly worse, and did it last a little longer under pressure? Maybe.

Red formulated a new plan: Hand the money to Moussa, flag one of the local cars outside the hotel that offered rides for hire, and head to the hospital.

Struggling to her feet, Red pulled herself together enough for this last push. Hell, she'd been through much worse, she encouraged herself. When she was going through her assessment, she walked for days on end until she had no skin on the bottoms of her feet, and her shoes were damp with her blood. She'd been through SERE training where they threw every phobic thing in the book at her, and when that didn't work, they threw punches instead.

Ten minutes at most, and she could collapse in a car on the way to help.

She had this.

This was fine. Right?