The Bin Laden Plot

34 FARWANIYA, KUWAIT

Jake Harrison reclined in his leather seat as the Dassault Falcon executive jet began its descent toward Kuwait International Airport. Twelve hours earlier, the jet had lifted off from Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, banking east toward the Atlantic Ocean. Configured to transport a dozen passengers, it carried only Khalila and Harrison today, along with a CIA case officer named Asad Durrani, a naturalized citizen from Pakistan. This was only the second time Harrison had met the man, but it was obvious that Khalila had worked with him many times before.

Durrani pulled three manila envelopes from his briefcase and handed one to Harrison. “This contains your alias identification documents. Same as last time.”

Harrison examined the contents: a birth certificate, Social Security card, driver’s license, passport, and credit cards issued under his alias, the same one he had used in Damascus and Sochi.

Dan Connolly.

Durrani handed an empty envelope for Harrison to deposit his true identification and credit cards in, which Durrani then sealed and placed in his briefcase.

The second packet he provided was labeled Background, which contained a thick printout of Harrison’s fake personal history: hometown, friends, education, employment history, and residences. The third packet was labeled Cover, which contained information on his employment in Bluestone Security, a CIA-owned company engaged in legitimate business dealings as well as government-funded weapon sales to approved organizations and countries. Harrison was the assistant director of procurement, en route to Kuwait in search of a supply of cheap and untraceable weapons from various foreign manufacturers — whatever suited Bluestone’s customers’ desires.

Regarding Khalila’s cover, nothing had changed. She was a translator contracted to Bluestone Security and other companies in need of a Middle Eastern or South/Central Asian linguist. Her supposed employment by a CIA-owned company was crucial to her cover, since she often stopped by Langley without any attempt to conceal her visits. During their trip to Syria a few months earlier, Khalila had explained that her ties to the CIA were highlighted instead of hidden.

Many of Khalila’s contacts in the Middle East lived in societies that considered women property. In some of those countries, women weren’t even allowed to drive and needed a man’s permission to get married, travel abroad, apply for a passport, or even to open a bank account. As an ordinary woman in those societies, she’d have no chance of attending the high-level meetings necessary to obtain the sensitive information the CIA desired.

Working for the CIA opened doors for Khalila. She had valuable information — insight into who the CIA sources were, both prisoners and agents, and what information had been divulged. That made her a valuable asset for numerous Middle Eastern organizations and governments. Of course, the information she was allowed to divulge was carefully selected by the Directorate of Analysis; enough to prove her bona fides without jeopardizing American interests.

Harrison had found Khalila’s explanation both interesting and alarming. She had essentially admitted that she was a double agent, feeding sensitive information to both sides. Although the CIA believed her allegiance was to the U.S., how did they know for sure? When it really mattered, would Khalila protect America or enable a devastating terrorist plot against it?

As Harrison finished reviewing his alias and background material, he wondered what the plan was this time once they landed in Kuwait. Unlike in Damascus, they weren’t attempting to track down a weapon procurement Mixell had made, where Harrison’s weapon expertise might help. They were searching for information about a prisoner taken from the Abbottabad compound years ago. How, exactly, was he supposed to assist?

Khalila was far from the friendliest woman he had met, but she had been unusually quiet since they had been assigned to the Kuwait mission, barely saying a word to him since they left the conference room at Langley. During their flight to Damascus a few months ago, Khalila had explained the plan. On this flight, however, she hadn’t spoken to him at all, even though she was sitting beside him in the window seat.

Harrison decided to strike up a conversation, find out what was going on.

“What’s the plan once we land in Kuwait?”

“I have a contact with ties to Kuwaiti intelligence,” Khalila answered, “which is part of the country’s security service. I’d rather not deal directly with the Kuwait Security Service, because if they have the information we’re looking for, they’re not going to provide it to two CIA agents poking around. A query for information this sensitive could spark a draconian response — to eliminate those asking the question.”

Harrison wondered if that was the issue — the risky nature of this assignment. But that didn’t seem to fit Khalila’s personality. He had learned in Syria that she was fearless to a fault, an adrenaline junkie when it came to danger. However, there was one way to find out, and he chose his words pointedly.

“So, that’s what you’re worried about? You’re afraid we might get killed? In my previous line of work, that was a given. You should get used to it.”

Khalila’s eyes flashed in anger. When she replied, there was a hard edge to her words.

“I’m not afraid. I’m angry.”

“About what?”

“I’ve been forced to let you tag along on this mission. Unlike Damascus, you’re not an asset this time. I need to have sensitive conversations with people who won’t speak in your presence, no matter how much I vouch for you. I’d rather leave you at the hotel the whole time, and I just might.”

“You spoke to Rolow about this?”

“I did. He said we’re a team and to stop bitching about it.”

“Maybe he wants me to tag along to keep you out of trouble.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said. “Now I’ve also got to babysit you.”

Harrison smiled. “Let’s see where the leads take us before you conclude I’m a liability.”

Khalila didn’t respond, turning away instead to stare out the Falcon’s window as the aircraft dropped below the clouds toward their destination.

With her eyes still gazing out the window, she said, “We’ll talk more once we check into our hotel in Kuwait City.”