Spy for Hire (10 page)

By mutual account, Decker knew Mark was talking about an anonymous Gmail account to which they both knew the password. It was their backup way to communicate—by saving draft messages to it—just in case normal lines of communication became compromised.

“When—”

“Now. Go there right now.”

“It’s gonna take me some time, buddy. I’m not far miles wise, but it’s a hike to the car and then roads are shit. I mean, I’ll rush, I’m rushing now, but—”

“Just get there as soon as you can. I have to sign off.”

16

Mark hung up on Decker, exhaled, and stared at his phone—hoping to see a text message from Daria. Then CIA station chief Serena Bamford opened the door to the conference room.

A heavyset woman in her mid-forties, Bamford had a full head of wavy dark-brown shoulder-length hair, a pale complexion she’d inherited from her Estonian grandparents, and an unflappable, perpetually cheerful demeanor that masked her considerable intellect. After graduating with a master’s in Russian studies from the University of Michigan, she’d been tapped by the Agency and had gone on to serve as an operations officer in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Moscow, and Uzbekistan before being given her own station in Bishkek two years ago.

Mark liked her. The occasional compliments she tossed his way suggested the feeling was mutual, but with former ops officers you never really knew; he figured she could have just been trying to manipulate him.

“Coffee?” said Bamford, sitting down. She wore a navy-blue pantsuit and just a little bit of makeup.

“Do we have time?”

“More than you’d probably like.”

“Sure.”

Bamford pushed an intercom button on the conference table and placed an order with her assistant.

Mark added, “Have him grab a few of those butter cookies they keep next to the coffee machine, would you?”

A regular diet of lousy meals at the Shanghai and too many snacks in between hadn’t done much for his physique, but Mark figured now wasn’t the time to turn things around. Especially since he knew the embassy was partially supplied by the Base Exchange at the Manas Air Base. The coffee was Starbucks, the cookies Pepperidge Farm.

Bamford’s assistant soon showed up with two coffees, several sugar packs and stirrers, and a pile of cookies heaped on a paper plate. He set it all down on the table. Mark took a bite of a butter cookie and leaned back in his chair.

“So,” he said.

Bamford smiled. “So.” She arranged three packs of sugar together, ripped them all open at once, dumped the sugar in her coffee, mixed it slowly with a stirrer, and then took a sip.

“I take it Kaufman called?” asked Mark.

“Yep.” Bamford added, “Sorry about Daria, by the way.”

Mark eyed Bamford before asking, “Why should you be sorry about Daria?”

“We had to pick her up. Kaufman’s orders, but he was just acting on orders himself. Something about a boy from one of her orphanages. Langley wants him here at the embassy for protection. Apparently she’s cooperating.”

Concealing his relief that it was the Agency who’d come for Daria, Mark said, “Good luck with that.”

“You know something I don’t?”

Mark declined to answer the question. He wasn’t about to tell Bamford that John Decker was on his way to pick up Muhammad, but he didn’t want to lie. Bamford wasn’t the enemy.

“Anyway,” continued Bamford, “I know you’re here to see Rosten, but he won’t get here for at least an hour or so. In the meantime, I thought I’d be social. See if you needed anything.”

Mark pointed at the coffee and cookies. “I’m good now, thanks.”

“Or if you wanted to tell me what the hell CAIN was doing running a Near East op in my station without telling me? Or the ambassador, for that matter.”

Mark stared at Bamford. Her friendly expression hadn’t changed, but her tone of voice had.

She was pissed.

Mark didn’t blame her. A chief of station was supposed to be informed of all intelligence operations going on within her station, and for good reason—in addition to private contractors, the army, navy, air force, and the State Department all had the ability to run intelligence ops. If the chief of station didn’t know what everyone was up to, the potential for overlap, or for one operation to unwittingly interfere with another, was high. Though employed by State, the ambassador, as the representative of the president, was also supposed to be kept in the intelligence-op loop.

“Listen, Serena. I just found out about it this afternoon, so it’s not as though I personally was running some kind of black op in your station without letting you know about it.”

“But Bruce Holtz was. Wasn’t he?”

Mark didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Bamford already knew.

She said, “You want to tell me what that op was?”

Mark told her. The way he figured it, keeping Central Eurasia happy was more important than not pissing off Near East. Always prioritize existing friends over potential friends. Holtz had broken that rule when he’d taken the job from Near East.

After Mark had finished, Bamford shook her head, exhaled, and said, “What the hell.”

“I know.”

“So what happens to the kid once he gets to the embassy?” she asked. “Should I be looking for babysitters?” She turned up her nose. “Like I don’t have anything better to do. Or is Near East just going to deal with him? This whole thing stinks.”

“I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that. At least not in the near future.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means Daria’s going to do what she thinks is right for the boy, Near East be damned.”

Sounding both resigned and defiant, Bamford said, “And you’re going to help her.”

“Hey, I’m trying to work with you on this, Serena. Don’t shoot the messenger. You want my advice—”

“I don’t.”

“—just let this play out.”

“Any chance you could take this fight with Near East elsewhere? Like anywhere other than
my
station?”

Bamford leaned back in her chair. One of the things Mark liked about her was that she was calculating. If she thought she could win, she’d fight; if she thought she was going to lose, she’d back off. Or in this case, if she saw a bunch of idiots fighting in her station, she’d do what she could to get rid of them.

“I’m hoping I don’t have to fight at all.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Rosten got the memo.”

17

John Decker sped into a curve on the narrow, twisted dirt road that led out of the mountains south of Bishkek.

“Christ, Deck,” said Jessica. She’d pushed herself back into her seat, and was bracing her legs against the floor, as if preparing for a crash. “Would you slow down?”

Decker hadn’t realized how fast he was going. He braked.

“Do you want me to drive?” asked Jessica.

“No.”

“This friend who called you. I still don’t get it. Why didn’t you just tell him about your dad?”

After Mark’s call, Decker had told Jessica he needed to pick something up in Bishkek, as a favor to a friend, but he hadn’t been any more specific than that. He could tell she thought he was nuts, but was too polite, or unsettled, to say much about it. They hadn’t known each other for that long, after all.

“I didn’t have a chance to tell him about my dad. He hung up before I could mention it.”

Decker looked in his rearview mirror. Mark had mentioned taking surveillance detection measures. Decker had been doing so inadvertently just by hauling ass as fast as he had been, but he told himself he should start checking for tails.

“He hung up on you?”

“That’s just how he is.”

“Some friend.”

“He’s actually a pretty good guy.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I just have to pick something up and hold on to it for a little while.”

Maybe he could just bring whatever Mark wanted him to hold on to back with him to the States, Decker thought. Hell, that might even be the safest course of action. Get whatever it was out of the area of operations.

“John, you’ve got bigger things to worry about. Call your friend back.” She put a hand up to Decker’s cheek. “Tell him about your dad.”

“I can’t, Jess. You just have to trust me on this one. Listen, I gotta try reaching my brother in the States again.”

Decker flipped on the overhead light and started drifting to the side of the road as he searched for his phone in the compartment under the armrest between the driver and passenger seats. He’d tossed it in there amid the old soda cans and tins of chewing tobacco and random keys and wrappers from his favorite shawarma place in Bishkek.

“Really, honey, why don’t you let me drive?”

Decker found his phone. “I got it.” He pulled his Bluetooth earpiece out from under a wet napkin, stuck it in his ear, and dialed while keeping one eye on the road.

“What’s the latest?” he said, when his brother picked up.

“I don’t know, man. We haven’t gotten the test results back yet.”

“What tests?”

“They’re running this line or something from his arm to his heart.”

“Is he getting better?”

“He’s not getting worse. At least his heart is beating OK now.”

“Thank God.”

“There was something wrong with the rhythm before.”

Decker thought his brother sounded seriously stressed.

“Listen, tell Mom I might not be able to catch a flight till tomorrow morning. I’m working on it now, but things here are a
bit of a cluster. I’m in the serious boonies, and even when I get out of here, it’ll be a day of travel. I’ll figure it out, but it might take a little longer than I’d hoped.”

“I’ll tell her.”

“OK, I’ll check in later. I gotta go now.”

He’d bought himself a little time, Decker thought, relieved to no end that his father wasn’t getting worse. He’d deal with Mark today. Come tomorrow, he’d have to make a decision, but there was no use worrying about that now. His only concern right now was what to do with Jessica.

He glanced at her as he tossed his phone back into the armrest compartment. The problem was, she’d moved out of the climber’s hostel a week before and had been crashing with him ever since. He’d feel like a jerk saying “see ya” and just dropping her off on the street. Besides, he liked having her around.

“So, Jess,” he said. “You remember I said I worked as, like, a high-paid security guard?”

“You’re a SEAL, honey. I know.”

“Was a SEAL. But it’s because I was a SEAL that I have the job that I have. Anyway, point being, I have special skills. It’s cool because I get to take off and climb with you and stuff, but sometimes, man, duty calls.”

“And you’re telling me this is one of those times.”

“Yeah, this is one of those times. That’s what the favor is about. It’s a job, but it’s a job for a friend. Kind of an emergency deal.”

“What about your dad?”

“I’ve got to pick up a package and guard it for a while. It shouldn’t be long, maybe just a few hours, maybe a little bit longer. After that, I’ll fly straight home. My brother’s there anyway. There’s nothing I’d really be able to do at home other than try to be nice to people, whereas here… Ah, shit, I don’t know…”

“What kind of package?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“I don’t know, but I figure there’s a reason they needed someone like me.”

“They don’t bring in the big guns for nothing, huh?” Jessica gave him a playful punch on his tree trunk of an arm.

Decker loved her Australian accent, and the way she said
big guns
. She was like a young Nicole Kidman.

“Anyway, if you want, if you’re worried, I can drop you off somewhere before I pick this thing up.”

“I’m not worried. I figure you can handle it.”

“All right. We’ll stick together then.”

“Done.”

“You’re a hell of a good sport, Jess.”

“Just let me know if I’m getting in the way of you being able to do your job. If I’m a burden, I’ll leave. Where is this package, anyway?”

Decker was about to answer when his phone rang. This time, it was Holtz.

“I’m hooking you up, buddy,” said Holtz. “Found you a spot on a C-17 that’s flying crap from Afghanistan back to Fort Bragg. Leaving tonight, twenty-two hundred hours. Refuel stop at Ramstein. Get your ass over to the air base by eight, have the gate crew give Colonel Greene a holler—I think you know him?”