Fog of War

Chapter Twenty

Justin used most of the red-eye flight to pour over the intelligence material secured from Yusuf and Al-Khaiwani. He slept a little in between, just enough to allow his brain to understand the handwritten lines in Arabic and to turn them into the shape of meaningful conversations with Carrie. They dissected the information, hashing and rehashing scenarios, drawing and redrawing conclusions, all in a hushed tone barely over a whisper at the back of the half-empty Airbus A330.

Their plan was crystalized during their six-hour layover in Frankfurt and took its final shape during the intercontinental flight to Ottawa. Much depended on their briefing with McClain and his assessment of their risky tactic. But as far as Justin and Carrie were concerned, they had a plan in place about dealing with Johnson before their Lufthansa airplane touched ground at Ottawa’s Macdonald-Cartier International Airport a little after four o’clock in the afternoon.

Their diplomatic passports got them through customs without a hassle. They hailed a cab and gave the driver directions to CIS Headquarters. McClain had scheduled their meeting at 5:30. Barely enough time to beat the traffic rush.

McClain held meetings in his office only when he wanted to give agents a talk. A talk about how they had disappointed him and the Service, how they had put an agent or an operation in danger, and how they should shape up their performance. Justin had only heard about such meetings. Until now.

McClain’s office was on the fourth floor, the same floor as the Maple Leaf Conference Room where less than a week ago Justin and Carrie had received their instructions about this operation. Instructions that Justin had largely ignored.

Time to face the music, Justin thought and knocked on the heavy wooden door.

“Come in,” McClain called.

Justin looked at Carrie standing behind him in the hall.

“You’ll do just fine,” she said. “Just follow the script.”

“I hope so.”

Carrie retreated to a corner by a window and sat on one of the couches, waiting for her turn.

Justin walked in and closed the door behind him.

McClain’s corner office was a large suite, with impressive dark oak furniture. A large desk was the centerpiece, flanked by a large bookshelf to the right and by an L-shaped sofa to the left. The office was well-lighted by two floor-to-ceiling windows. They had bulletproof glass, like all windows in the building and overlooked the park, with magnificent views of the Ottawa’s skyline. But McClain’s desk was set up to ignore the views, not to enjoy them. He was more interested in doing business in his office than staring out the windows.

“Take a seat, Mr. Hall,” McClain said in a cold tone and gestured to the sofa. He was sitting at his desk and was reading from a report.

“Yes, sir.”

Justin sat at one end of the sofa, expecting McClain to get up and sit next to him. McClain did not move, other than closing the folder and folding his hands across his chest.

“How are you doing?” McClain asked in the same tone of voice void of any emotion.

“I’m doing well, sir. Thanks for asking.”

“Glad to hear that. After the mess in Somalia, I was afraid your incursion in Yemen would have catastrophic consequences. I didn’t want to lose one of my best agents.”

An unexpected compliment. Is this supposed to make me drop my guard?

“Thank you, sir. You’re right, the ambush in Somalia was a grave setback.”

McClain nodded. “Whose repercussions are still affecting our operations in that area and elsewhere. The media is close to pointing the finger at us about Birgit and her guards killed in Somalia. The Yemeni government is also blaming us for the operation north of Sa’dah.”

Justin did not say anything and avoided McClain’s piercing eyes.

“Your clear disobedience of a direct order is costing and will cost us a lot of goodwill in the region, Mr. Hall. Many years of hard work to create trusting relationships are now destroyed simply because of the actions of a single man.”

“I understand, sir.”

McClain blinked, then leaned forward. “Do you truly understand it?” he asked, his voice a bit warmer.

“Yes. We had anticipated the turn of events in Somalia. Every operation carries its risks. There are many variables at play, most of them beyond our control. But we could have avoided the situation in Yemen.”

McClain leaned back in his chair. “Yes, if you would have followed your orders. In that case, there would have been no need for Ms. O’Connor and Mr. Smyth to come and rescue your sorry ass.”

Justin put on his best I-am-sorry face. Lips drawn together, head lowered, eyes glued to the floor.

“This will not happen again, Justin. It’s one thing to follow actionable intel and another one to start a new war in the Gulf. You get that?”

Justin nodded. “I do, sir.”

McClain pushed his chair closer to his desk. “OK then, apology accepted. But remember, Justin. This is your second chance. Young people think they’re invincible. They think rules are made for others, not for them. We’ve all been young.”

Justin looked up at McClain’s face. He thought he saw a glint of mischief in his boss’s eyes. McClain had been stationed in Iraq and Afghanistan before retiring to office duties five years ago. Rumors had it McClain had been quite the rebel himself when on the field, not always doing things by the book.

“We haven’t been working together for long, so I’m going to let this one slide. We’ll call it a temporary lapse in judgment. After all, you completed the mission and brought in useful intel. Is that a fair assessment of what took place, for my official report?”

“That’s quite correct, sir,” Justin spoke quickly, jumping to grab the rope McClain was throwing at him.

“All right, you needed backup in the Yemeni op, so I dispatched Nathan and Carrie. By the way, why don’t you call her in?”

“Right away,” Justin stood up and hurried to the door.

He walked in along with Carrie a moment later.

“Sir,” she said while nodding and heading toward the sofa.

“Take a seat here. Both of you.” McClain pointed to two empty seats on the other side of his desk.

Justin took the seat to his right, the one facing directly across from McClain.

“How are you doing, Carrie?”

“Very well, sir. Thank you.”

McClain tapped the folder in front of him. “Nathan’s report on the Yemeni op. Very detailed. I have a few questions, but I’ll wait until I read your two reports. Perhaps I will find my answers there.”

“My report will be on your desk first thing tomorrow morning,” Carrie replied.

“And so will mine,” Justin said. “I want to let you know I talked to my friends at The New York Times. They’re running the story about the Americans killed in Somalia, but they’ve agreed not to mention the name of our Service.”

“Very well. then.” McClain set aside the folder. He pulled open one of his desk drawers. “I have some reports about those M16s rifles found in Yusuf’s possession.” He put a set of folders on his desk. “According to British intelligence sources from Yemen and Qatar, their serial numbers matched a shipment sent about three months ago from the US to Qatar. They were intended for the UN-backed African Union peacekeeping force in Somalia.”

“Oh, so there you have CIA’s explanation,” Justin said.

McClain said, “Which is?”

“Al-Shabaab militants clashed with AU troops somewhere in Somalia, and the booty included these rifles.”

McClain smiled. “Good thinking,” he said, pointing his index finger at Justin. “But according to these documents, a larger shipment including those weapons and sniper rifles and machine guns is still supposed to be in a warehouse in Qatar.”

“Let me guess the name of the warehouse owner,” Carrie said. “Rashed bin Hussein Hamidi.”

McClain nodded. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you broke into my office and read these files.”

Carrie grinned.

“The warehouse is not important. At least not at this time. And you’re not going back to the Gulf anyway. Not any time soon. You don’t have to,” said McClain.

“No reason to do that. Hamidi’s associates will claim the guns were stolen from one of their trucks or some other bullshit story like that,” Justin said.

“Yes, claiming this is all a mistake,” McClain said. “But the report gets interesting when it comes to Yusuf. About three months ago, two days before the shipment was sent, Yusuf comes to the US.”

“What?” asked Carrie.

“Yes. Through Dulles International.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Justin said.

“No, I’m dead serious.” McClain handed over the report.

Justin flipped through its pages.

“Our friend stays in the US for just a day, then leaves the same way he came. The day after that, the shipment is sent to Qatar. Coincidence?”

“I think not.” Justin shook his head.

“It’s impossible for a terrorist to strut through the front door, and for CIA to have no idea about what’s taking place right under their noses,” said Carrie.

“Unless CIA is a part of this whole story,” McClain said.

“How? Yusuf works for them?” Justin asked.

“CIA will never tell us. They rejected the idea they even knew Yusuf was an American citizen. Of course, Adams called my allegations absurd and did not want to entertain the notion CIA may have made any mistakes in this operation.”

Justin leaned back on his chair and rubbed his chin.

“What?” McClain asked.

“It’s a waste of time to press the CIA. They’ll stick to their guns. I might need to go to Moscow. Visit an old friend, well, contact.” He looked at Carrie, then at McClain.

“Romanov?” McClain asked.

“Yes. He owes me an explanation about the half-truths of the Yemeni op. Hamidi was his partner in their arms trade. Romanov may be willing to give me some information after screwing me over in Yemen.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Carrie said.

McClain considered Justin’s proposal for a moment. He fidgeted with a pen on his desk. “Is Romanov in Moscow?”

“Yes, I checked. He’s there over the next three days. Meetings with oil executives from the States and throwing a couple of parties. It shouldn’t be a problem for our tech guys to add us to one of the guest lists,” Justin said with a grin.

“OK,” McClain said after what seemed like a very long pause, “set out for Moscow tomorrow morning. Both of you. But no shooting anyone. Just talk to him.”

“Will do,” Justin said.

Carrie nodded.

McClain let out a loud sigh. “Now, we’ve got to deal with Ms. Johnson.”

Justin frowned at the mention of her name. “I have an idea about this as well, sir.”

“I was afraid of that.” McClain groaned. “Let’s hear it.”

“We still haven’t made any progress in identifying the traitor, but now we have a name. We should wiretap Johnson’s home and office phones, cellphones, tablets, mail box, whatever she uses for communication. We should have two teams follow her at all times. If she’s the mole, she’ll make a mistake, and when she does, we’ll have people in place to document it.”

McClain nodded. “Go on.”

Justin shifted in his chair. “Here’s the kicker. Since we haven’t located where the data is transmitted from and the information from Al-Khaiwani doesn’t reveal that, we need to bait Johnson. We should give the data-stealing software some accurate intel about an operation and see if the intel makes it to Johnson and to whom she forwards that intel. If that happens, we’ve established the connection, and we have the evidence to put her away for treason.”

“That’s very risky, Justin, for everyone involved. Setting up ourselves, our agents, for an ambush and waiting for it to happen,” McClain said. He put an elbow on his desk and rested his chin on his fist.

“I realize it, and that’s why I’m volunteering myself. We’ll reveal general information about our Moscow operation, times and places, and see who shows up.” Justin spread out his hands.

“You make it sound easy,” McClain said.

“No, sir, it’s not easy. But it seems to be our only option,” Justin replied.

McClain looked at Carrie. “What do you think?”

Carrie sat back on her chair and crossed her legs. “The media is all over the events in Somalia and Yemen, so it’s safe to conclude Johnson is fully aware of them, even if she has no ties to al-Shabaab. If she’s truly the traitor, then of course she’ll know more details.”

Justin nodded. “Johnson would have expected our reaction to al-Shabaab attacking me in New York. She would know we’ll put two and two together and go after the militants in their own backyard.”

Carrie turned her body slightly toward Justin. “Right, but Johnson at the least would be suspicious about the timing and the effectiveness of these operations. We strike al-Shabaab hideouts in two different countries in as many days, with full success. People who are supposed to eliminate you are instead being cut down. She’ll realize we’re up to something.”

“We just followed the intel and got lucky here and there. Johnson knows it happens,” Justin said.

“She does. And she has probably figured out her software hasn’t reported much of any accurate intelligence over the last few days. Your plan assumes Johnson would overlook the fact she may have been compromised and would still give information about your next mission to al-Shabaab, even though they constantly have failed to deliver on their targets.”

McClain raised his right hand to scratch his temple. “Actually, a couple of the operations we allowed the software to access were cancelled at the last moment, making them appear real. A few others took place in areas beyond al-Shabaab’s reach and on very short notice. So to whoever is monitoring the results, it would seem the worm is working just fine.”

“We also need to keep in mind Johnson is not thinking straight,” Justin said. “Vengeance and greed have blinded her and have pushed her so far that she’s willing to betray her country to its worst enemies. She blames me for her downfall, and she won’t stop until she has gotten her payback.”

Carrie nodded. “I agree. I’m starting to think Johnson would fall for it. If she does, we’ll have to be faster than her assassins.”

Justin’s eyes met Carrie’s. He noticed her concern. “I don’t have much choice. How close are our techs from determining the location?” he asked McClain.

“As far as these reports say, they’ve made no progress.” McClain picked up a thin folder from his desk. “They’ve explained at length the difficulties, the signal being transmitted over different encrypted servers all over the world, protocols, all the tech lingo. The bottom line is they have no idea.”

“Now they can search internally for Johnson, and see if we can trace the software installation to her station,” Justin said.

McClain shook his head. “She’s not stupid. She probably used someone else’s terminal or a conference room. But it’s worth a try.”

“And the e-mails and phone numbers from Al-Khaiwani? Did they help?” asked Carrie.

“No. The e-mail accounts are either deactivated or empty. The phone numbers are not in service. Dead ends.”

Justin shrugged.

McClain said, “I guess this is our only option. We’ll lure Johnson, and see what falls out in Moscow.”

Justin had a key to Anna’s small townhouse by Rockcliffe Park, a ten-minute drive from CIS headquarters. Anna was in Vancouver for a series of meetings, so Justin and Carrie were going to crash at her place for the night.

Justin had left a few changes of clothes at Anna’s place. He would stay there when he came to Ottawa. He liked the quietness, the decade-old trees, and the hundred-year old stone and brick houses in the posh neighborhood. He loved running in the morning with Anna along Parkcliffe Parkway stretching for miles alongside the Ottawa River. They would stop to catch their breath and watch ducks, geese and tens of other birds nesting and feeding amidst the pines, maples, and oaks. It was one of their favorite pastimes.

Carrie did not feel right about borrowing Anna’s clothes. They would probably fit her just fine, since they had almost the same body shape, but Carrie was a bit leaner and taller than Anna. She opted to go out shopping and buy something she could wear tonight and also take with her to Moscow for their mission. She drove Anna’s BMW, while Justin slipped into his running gear and hit the trails.

It was a brisk evening, and he was glad he brought a windbreaker. After the African and Arabian heat, he could breathe lungfuls of cool, fresh air. It had rained earlier in the day, and the streets and the driveways were still damp in places.

He ran slowly at first, warming up his muscles, then he broke into a fast jog, jumping over mud pools in the uneven trail, dashing through the trees and using their roots above ground as hurdles. He cut through the forest, ducking often to avoid low hanging branches and swerving around scraggly shrubs scratching at his legs until her reached the river shore.

Justin stopped to catch his breath. The sun was setting, and the twilight had started to envelop everything. The lights from buildings in the Gatineau neighborhood across the river reflected off the smooth water surface. He listened to the silence, broken only by the occasional screech of an unseen coot. His eyes found a small snapping turtle climbing lazily over a large piece of driftwood. He sat on the trunk of a fallen tree. He missed the quietness, the serenity, the peace. He had been to places much more exotic and glamorous than an urban river, but he traveled to those countries to bring death, violence, and destruction. There was hardly any time to enjoy himself when he was dodging bullets and escaping jihadists.

It had been only five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Justin resumed his jogging, heading toward the west and going all the way to the Boathouse, which was Anna’s favorite Saturdays’ breakfast place. He turned around and slowed his pace because of a burning sensation in his lungs. He rubbed the spot where the bullet had hit his vest two days ago. The Saudi doctors had warned him to take it easy and not overexert himself. Obviously, he had not listened to their advice.

When he arrived at the townhouse, he saw Anna’s BMW parked in the driveway. Carrie had returned. She wasted no time. He glanced at his wristwatch, realizing he had lost track of time. It was almost seven-thirty.

“Carrie, you’re back already,” he said as he went inside.

He heard no reply, so he walked through the hall and to the kitchen.

“Carrie,” he called again.

The sound of splashing water from the bathroom explained her absence. She was taking a shower.

Justin climbed the stairs to the second floor. He took a long shower in the master bathroom, scrubbing sweat and dirt from his body and the stale odor of recycled air from their long airplane trips. When he came downstairs, Carrie was sitting on the leather sofa by the large bay window overlooking a swath of green space with a few pines and cedars between the rows of townhouses. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the air.

“Come here,” Carrie called to him. “Look.”

She pointed out two black squirrels chasing each other among the trees. They were making loud clicking sounds, each seemingly claiming the territory as their own.

“Isn’t that cute?” Carrie said.

“Very cute. Anna likes to sit here and look at the wildlife. All sorts of birds come up here from the river. Geese, ducks.”

“Must be nice.”

She reached for her cup from a coffee table by the couch. “I made some raspberry tea and coffee.”

“Blue Mountain?”

“Yeah. I figured that was your batch.”

“It is. A friend brought over a package from Jamaica. Anna loves it as well. Thanks for making it.”

“You’re welcome.”

Justin walked to the kitchen and poured himself a large cup.

“What did you buy?” he asked. He returned to the window and sat on the couch across from Carrie.

“This.” She flattened her blue blouse. “I also got a sweater and a knitted cardigan. Very stylish. And a black felt coat and two pairs of jeans.”

“And sweatpants,” Justin said.

“Yes, so comfy.” Carrie stretched her legs. “Those tiny airplane seats are so bad for my back. My legs were numb half the time.”

“Enjoy the sofa for now. Tomorrow, we’re back in the air, again crouched in those small seats.”

Carrie sipped from her cup. “Not until the afternoon. I’m planning on having a good night rest and sleeping in tomorrow morning. What about you?”

Before Justin could reply a small Honda pulled into the townhouse driveway. “Lee’s Palace” and a large dragon were stamped on the side. “Our supper?”

“Yeah. I ordered when you were in the shower.”

“Sweet. I was actually thinking of some good spring rolls and Wonton soup.”

Justin paid the delivery man, and they sat at the dining table, across from the living room.

Carrie asked, “What are you doing tomorrow morning?”

“I’m going to see my old man.”

“He’s still at Montfort?”

“Yeah. The hospital wants to run more tests, but he… dad’s so stubborn.”

Justin found it difficult to use the word “dad” when referring to his father, Carter. Their relationship had been strained since Justin’s mother drove off a bridge when he was eleven years old. Justin blamed his father for his mother’s death and grew up hating him. Things had begun to improve after Carter was been diagnosed with lung cancer and was told he only had a few months to live, a year at the most in the best-case scenario.

Justin said, “He just wants to do the surgery in the States. It’s a new procedure, not yet available here, and quite dangerous.”

“What are his chances?” Carrie stopped eating.

“It depends on whom you ask. Doctors here think the surgery will do little, and his cancer will come back. The hospital in California promises a miracle.”

Carrie nodded. “I know. When my mom was showing the first signs of Alzheimer’s we checked for new drugs and treatments. There are many options in the States. We tried a few, and they seemed to help.”

“That’s good. You mom’s still in Toronto, right?” Justin finished his soup and moved the plastic bowl to the side.

“Yeah, Susan moved her there over the summer, since she got a new job in the city.”

Carrie sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“What is it?”

“Oh, I just wish I could see her more often. With our ever-changing schedules it’s just so difficult to plan. And mom is slipping further and further away. Soon she’ll be just the shell of the strong woman she used to be.”

Justin reached over the table and held her hand. Carrie shrugged, then looked away.

He said, “Yesterday morning, when I woke up in the hospital in Saudi Arabia, I thought about all the dead people around me. Not just in the camp in Yemen, but throughout this mission and other missions. Death seems to come and take away the people around me, like Birgit. You were shot at in Somalia and Yemen. Yuliya was wounded. What if I bring death to Anna as well? Maybe she’ll be better off without me.”

Carrie shook her head. “That’s one way to see it, but you can’t blame yourself for wanting justice and doing justice. Terrorists will seek revenge and wage war against everyone, and just the fact of being an American, a Westerner, or an ‘infidel’ is enough to warrant death. If it’s not you or Anna, it will be someone else and their loved ones.”

“But it’s me, and this is personal.”

“Right, and you’re the one to fix it. We’ll stop Johnson and unmask her for who she truly is: a spy and a traitor. We can’t kill all terrorists, but we’ll sure give it our best try.”

Justin nodded. “Just a moment of weakness, I guess.”

“It’s fine. It’s not weakness to worry about the ones you love. No one’s judging you or concluding you’re weak. You’re human. You’re allowed to have doubts.”

“Yeah, some days more than others.”

Carrie nodded. “Me too, me too. I just tell myself I chose to do this job, and I will damn right do it until I draw my last breath.”

“Terrorists want a ticket to paradise. I’ll be more than happy to give them one.”

“Now take some time to rest and relax. Tomorrow we have a long flight, and Friday it’s time to party.”