Lady Death, Brian Drake [howl and other poems .TXT] 📗

face in the mirror.

All he’d wanted was a rest. Now he was mixed up in another caper. He hoped it indeed only took a day or two. He had not chosen his path in life, but it had been handed to him by a cruel mix of tragedy and fate. The only link to his past life was the locket. He never talked about what it contained, but it motivated his crusade.

With a deep exhale, he removed the locket and placed it on the dresser with his Rolex and wallet.

A knock at the door.

He opened the door a crack.

Tanya stood in the hallway. She looked nervous.

“You okay?” he said.

“Let me in, the guards are watching.”

Raven stepped back. She slipped into the room. He shut the door.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You’ve already started. Too late to go back now.”

She folded her arms and turned away. “I’m a traitor.”

“Yeah.”

She laughed and turned back. “But doesn’t that make me—”

“What? Bad? You told me yourself one death was too many. The Islamic Union may have turned you into a fighter, but they couldn’t erase the one thing, deep down, we all have.”

“Which is what?”

“A sense of humanity. What’s right, what’s wrong.”

She shook her head. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I saw people being oppressed and attacked and wanted to do something.”

“Out of love for somebody else?”

“Right.”

“You never told me what happened to your boyfriend. The one who recruited you.”

“He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He died while I was at the training camp.”

“What happened?”

She shook her head. “Never mind. It was a mission. He didn’t come back.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her eyes became teary. “Once he was gone, there was no reason to stay. I thought I needed retaliation. Now I don’t know what I need.”

“A new start.”

She wiped her eyes. “You asked for suggestions on how we can settle our differences. I don’t have any. But I hope to figure out another way. War is not the answer. Both sides have done enough killing and we’re nowhere closer to an understanding than when the shooting started.” She wiped her eyes again. “Is it easy? Starting over?”

“Not at all.”

She forced a laugh. “You’re not very good at making me feel better.”

“I’m not sugar-coating, either. You’re going to have a hard time adjusting, but if you deliver what you promise, the Americans will help you make a new life.”

She tried to smile but couldn’t. “Ahmad and I talked about our new life. It didn’t turn out very well.”

“Second time’s the charm?”

She moved her eyes up and down his chest.

He said, “We shouldn’t—” and she grabbed him and kissed him long and hard. He pushed her away.

“Tanya.”

She appeared shocked. She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t—”

“It’s all right.”

“I was afraid you hated me,” she whispered.

“You deserve a chance.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“It’s not a weakness to need somebody.”

She wrapped her arms around him and held tight. “Don’t abandon me, Sam. I’ve lost too much already.”

Raven let out a sigh as he squeezed her back. He knew what it was like to be frightened. To have nobody on your side. She’d come to him because she knew he’d have sympathy for her plight. She trusted him. He’d done his best to break her down, find the lie behind her story. She hadn’t cracked. The assassination attempt clinched it for him. She meant what she said. He owed her his best effort at protection and getting her to the United States. Because of her the CIA would end the Islamic Union’s wanton killing.

In a sense, he and Tanya finally were on the same side.

“I won’t leave you,” he said into her ear.

She squeezed him again, then let go. She reached for the locket chain around his neck. “What’s this?”

Raven lifted the locket from under his shirt. “A reminder of why I fight.”

“What’s in it?”

“It’s my secret,” he said. “It wouldn’t mean anything to you anyway.”

“Try me.”

He put the locket back. “Good night, Tanya.” He held the door for her, and Tanya went out. She didn’t look back.

6

The picture on the wall-mounted big-screen showed a woman in a full hijab. Her exposed face was turned toward the camera. The face stood out among the others on the screen because it was white, and the rest of the faces belonged to men.

Clark Wilson stood with his arms folded, his tie slightly askew. His watch showed a little after six p.m. Stockholm was six hours ahead of Langley, and the daytime Agency staff were clearing out, overnight staff arriving. It was going to be a long night.

He stood off to the side of a long conference table. He’d spent most of the day behind his desk and welcomed the chance to stretch his legs. Two other people, older than him, sat at the table and examined the screen with him.

Christopher Fisher, Deputy Director of Operations and Wilson’s boss, frowned. “It’s almost too good of a picture.”

“You think it’s staged?” Wilson said.

The other persona at the table, Layla McCarthy, Fisher’s assistant, shook her head. “Why stage this? She’s been unknown to us since we learned she took over. This doesn’t help her at all.”

Fisher let out a breath. “Something isn’t right.”

“Tell me,” Wilson said.

“How did she not see the camera?” Fisher said. “She’s almost looking straight at the lens.”

“Maybe this Tanya person,” Layla said, “caught her at the right moment.”

Wilson watched Fisher. He was a veteran paramilitary officer who took the desk job at Langley when he hit his mid-40s. Ten years older now, the gray was starting to show in his thick black hair. He had a rough face, like the surface of a rock. Wilson didn’t doubt the man’s intelligence. He hadn’t earned the job through political shenanigans. He’d earned the seat through hard work and field achievements still classified.

“I don’t like information,” he said, “handed to us on a silver platter.”

“Take the win, Chris,” Layla McCarthy said.

She was in her mid-40s with short blonde hair and bony fingers. Her red nail polish matched her lipstick. Like