“No cell No government identification, uniforms or electronic devices,” were the only words Jones said as Ritter scrambled through his disheveled bachelor pad grabbing things he thought he might need. Ritter changed into civilian clothes and gathered a small bag of toiletries. Ritter almost asked if he could make a call to his parents, but the look of near-murder in Jones’s eyes as he brought out his cell phone told him that idea was a no-go. They left Ritter’s apartment and to a small civilian airport just north of Fort Huachuca. A motley assortment of single engine planes crowded the only hanger; a larger private airliner waited on the tarmac, stairs lowered and impatient engines whining. Ritter had started to utter a protest, but stopped when he saw the tremble in the Major’s lip and his ogre hands grip the steering wheel hard enough to cause a groan of protest from the steering column. Ritter concluded that if he didn’t get on the plane at full combat speed he would be thrown on in a manner. The stairs rose as soon as Ritter stumbled into the plane which lurched into movement soon after. No pre-flight safety briefing, no stewardess and no reminder about the FAA’s stern policy against smoking. That was eighteen hours ago, by Ritter’s watch. Ritter tossed the mystery burrito into the microwave and hoped for the best as he watched the microwave’s timer tick down. Not for the first time, he wondered if there was a pilot and copilot in the cockpit. No one had come out to eat or use the facilities since he’d come aboard. He chided himself for such useless speculating, and went back to speculating why he was even in this situation. Had his father’s foreign contacts triggered some sort of alarm with Military Intelligence? As one of the world’s leading petroleum engineers, Ritter’s father was well traveled and well known in every country with hydrocarbon reserves. Perhaps one of those Russian venture
“My name is Jeremy Regland, and I’m accused of being a CIA agent. I’m just a journalist on assignment to Pakistan, if the United States government will free all Muslim prisoners held in Afghanistan and Guantanamo Bay, I will be released. If three hundred prisoners aren’t free within two days”—Jeremy’s voice quaked with fear as he glanced up at his captor—“I will be killed.” Ritter watched Jeremy’s fingers tapping, and mimicked the short and long pauses on the table. “He’s signaling with his fingers.” Ritter said. Carlos huffed. “Not bad, it’s the license plate from the van.” “We traced it to the where we picked up”—Shannon paused—“the guy we thought was Haider.” The camera swung towards a man in a ski mask. A red headband with the al-Qaida logo in script hung low over his brow. The man ranted in Arabic and gesticulated with an AK-47. Ritter leaned in, listening intently. “That’s Haider speaking. Not the Haider I knew, but that’s him, Iraqi accent and everything. He’s complaining about the ‘illegal Zionist state of Israel’ and America’s crimes against the—” “Yes we’ve had it translated.” Shannon interrupted. “How do they know he’s CIA?” Ritter asked. Carlos rolled his eyes. “We don’t know for sure. It’s just some jihadi fantasy that every Westerner in Pakistan is somehow in the CIA—” “Or the ISI sold us out.” Shannon interrupted, invoking the Pakistani secret intelligence agency. “Or it was bad tradecraft on Jeremy’s part. Or his lack of resistance training made it easy for him to break under duress.” She looked at Ritter. “We have to operate under the assumption
“You mean they were killed in the blast,” Shannon said. Carlos his head. “Says here they pulled a woman and an…infant girl from the backseat. No identification recovered.” Ritter’s skipped a beat. “No…” he whispered. Shannon tugged the sheet from beneath the body’s head and peeked underneath. She looked up at Ritter. “Is this Baida?” She flipped over the sheet, uncovering a smashed and bloated face. Ritter nodded as he looked at the long curly hair which lay in bloody strands across the lips that she never let him kiss. Shannon covered Baida up with some reverence. “We lost track of his vehicle for a few minutes when he pulled into the garage. He must have grabbed Baida and their baby at that location.” “He was bolting?” Carlos asked. “Reasonable. When he saw Ritter he knew we were on to him.” Shannon turned and looked at the small bundle on the next slab. “We’ll hell for the collateral damage.” Carlos wiped the edges of the clipboard with the edge of his shirt and placed it back on the slab. “We didn’t know anyone else was in the vehicle. As for the rest, the Pakis think that the explosion was a car bomb.” Shannon shrugged as her hand reached towards the small bundle, but stopped before she touched it. She clenched her fist and pulled her hand back. Mike raised the shears. Clack. Clack. “No need. We have what we came for.” Shannon pulled the abaya hood over her face. “Let’s go.”