"Why do I have to work with a field operative? Because I'm new?"
"That's only part of it. I'd probably assign one regardless. We've got to eliminate some of the names on your list. No one better than one of our own to determine what is and isn't possible in the field. What's feasible on paper isn't always, in reality."
At least he wasn't pulling her from the case. Shelby had been worried about that, and her mind worked quickly trying to come up with a solution that would prevent a public debacle. "Why not chose one of the operatives on that list? Can't very well run to the papers if they're under suspicion."
Dennis' eyes drilled into his subordinate's. "And what if they are guilty?"
"It's possible, but come on, Dennis. There are twenty-seven operatives that were within traveling distance of those assassinations. Twenty-seven to one are pretty good odds."
Leaning back in his chair, Dennis thought over his very limited options before nodding. "It would be a long shot."
"I'm willing to take the chance. We don't know for sure it's anyone on that list anyway."
Dennis was warming to the idea. If it were one of the Company's own, it would probably prevent a scandal and the likelihood of Shelby being paired with the killer was statistically small. "I'll talk to Jeb and get back to you. Now go on home. You've already been here twelve hours."
Shelby smiled, pleased. Jeb was short for James Evan Benton, the Director of Coordinated Operations. "Thanks, Dennis."
"You might not be thanking me later if he approves this. Not all of our field operatives have well developed social skills."
Shelby shoved his warning to the back of her mind. She had weighed the risks before making the suggestion and had offered it only because Dennis seemed almost willing to ignore the threat rather than risk a scandal. She did have some private concerns about working with a field agent who could be an unsanctioned killer and hoped they would both be on the same side.
A Desert Camp in Saudi Arabia
Kristina Bartley raised the antenna on the portable receiver and directed it toward a satellite south of her position. Within five minutes, the encrypted message she had intercepted began downloading into her self-modified hand held receiver without leaving any trace of having done so. The message was automatically decoded and displayed across the three-inch screen in timed bursts. As the words registered, her eyes narrowed speculatively. She quickly returned to her quarters and waited for her Saudi liaison.
Ahmed had just received new instructions and slowly made his way to the American woman's location. He didn't like her and was relieved this would be the last message he would have to deliver to her. He would miss her skill, but she didn't know her place and when he had challenged her, he had barely escaped with his life. He would never forget the emotionless, ice blue eyes as she moved in to strike the winning blow. If Henri's arrival hadn't been so timely, he was sure she would've killed him. No, skilled or not, he would be glad to see her go.
Kris sat on the bedroll against the canvas wall, seemingly relaxed and unconcerned as she called out in Arabic, "Come in," the foreign language rolling smoothly off her tongue.
Actually, every muscle in her tall body was prepared to move at the slightest threat or provocation. She didn't trust her Saudi counterpart, but then she didn't trust anyone, so it wasn't an alien feeling. In this business, trust could mean death, and Kris had no intentions of becoming worm food anytime soon.
When Ahmed entered Kris grinned sardonically, fully aware of how intimidated he was and how much he despised her for that very reason. She snorted to herself. He had determined their working relationship by strutting up to her shortly after her arrival and informing her that as long as she was in his country, she would be subordinate to him. Most men, and women, too, usually succumbed to her natural charisma when she chose to use it, but he had been totally oblivious to it and so she had been forced to physically correct his misperception of their working relationship.
"Hawk just called a code yellow." Ahmed looked closely at the beautiful woman for any reaction to his words. He knew code yellow meant that the mission was aborted and operatives were to return to headquarters. The Saudi also knew it was highly unusual, yet the American's face remained totally impassive. He knew it was impossible, but it seemed as if she already knew.
Angry at the lack of reaction, he ordered, "You will depart now!"
Ahmed felt his air cut off and fleetingly wondered how she could move so quickly. He heard a quiet chuckle and his blood ran cold. She had to be crazy. She whispered in his ear, "I'll leave when I'm ready. Understand?" Then, as if talking to a child, she repeated the words in Arabic. Ahmed nodded his head, unable to speak through the vise gripping his throat.
"Good. I'm glad we understand each other. So you want to tell me what that was all about? We both know there are no flights to the States until morning." Kris loosened her hold on his neck so that he could answer.
"I thought you might want to wait at the airport."
Her voice steely, Kris growled, "You are a poor liar, Ahmed. Get out of here while you still can."
Ahmed strode out of her quarters in what he hoped was a dignified manner, consoling himself with the fact that she was most assuredly in trouble with her superiors.
Kris remained awake until she departed for the airport the following morning. She could sleep on the plane. Contrary to what Ahmed thought, the operative was actually very concerned about being recalled. It was a first in her career, and she doubted it boded well for her. Her mind processed a multitude of possible reasons, none of which were reassuring and one was downright terrifying.
Fairfax, Virginia
Shelby walked into her second floor garden apartment, tossed her purse on the floor by the couch, and kicked off her shoes before sinking into a large, mauve, overstuffed chair. She glanced over and checked the answering machine, but the light wasn't blinking. Surprised that her mother hadn't called, she got up and began shedding her clothing a piece at a time. Her blouse ended up on the bathroom doorknob, the skirt on the bed, and her underwear in the hamper. All she could think of was a warm shower to wash the stress from her tense muscles.
A short time later, Shelby sat curled up on the couch in a long, red sleeping T-shirt with a picture of kittens playing on the front. Tonight all she wanted to do was relax. Maybe I'll watch The Fugitive. Kim seems to think it's good. Shelby didn't want to think about what Monday would bring. If Jeb approved her suggestion, she was going to be working with a field operative that could just possibly be an assassin, and that made Shelby decidedly uneasy.
She still couldn't believe she was working for the CIA. After graduating from college with a dual degree in Computer Science and Psychology, Shelby accepted a job as a computer programmer in a local company. She quickly mastered the job, but found the work tedious and boring. Increasingly dissatisfied, she enrolled in graduate school part time, and had just finished her last course when Shawn Burgess became her supervisor. His interest in her had extended beyond the job and things had quickly deteriorated when she had rebuffed his advances. Going up the supervisory chain had only made matters worse, so, unwilling to put up with the constant harassment, she had started looking for another job while she waited for her degree to be conferred.