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

a boyfriend. The organization promoted him to leader after the death of their founder.”

“Then what happened?”

“Francesca and her husband moved to a camp in Jordan to direct operations.”

“What happened to Hunky Dude?”

“Killed in a US raid.”

“In Jordan?”

“In the field.”

“And his old lady took over?”

“She had to fight for it. The second- and third-in-command didn’t want a woman. We were all surprised they finally said okay. The IU is trying to prevent the mistakes of ISIS and al-Qaeda.”

Raven chewed a piece of meat. He had to admit the Islamic Union had done well in keeping a low profile. Their operations had been few and far between. They preferred to strike with precision rather than mass casualty attacks. A bomb here, a shooting there, a phone call to claim responsibility. Always high-profile military or civilian targets, the deaths of which made the news. Always.

“How does having the White Widow in charge avoid mistakes?” Raven said.

“She thinks like her husband. The leadership council wanted to maintain the command style.”

“If she knows you’re gone,” Raven said, “she’s not going to be where you say she is.”

“But I know her face. I can identify her.”

“The intelligence community can’t?” Raven said. “If they know her name—”

“You don’t understand. Her name is not known. You are the first person to ever hear it.”

“Other than her family and presumably her husband.”

“You know what I mean.”

Raven sipped some water this time to wash down his last bite. He set the glass down. “All right. Suppose I do help. What do you want?”

“An escort into the CIA.”

“I’ll call and ask them to send a representative. If you’re concerned about your safety, stay with me until they pick you up.”

“But—”

“You don’t need me to take you in. Let them come to us. Much easier.”

“For you?”

“What did I tell you about being tired, Miss Jafari? You want my help; this is what I’m willing to do. What’s the difference?”

“Well—”

“If you don’t like the deal, you can always email them. The CIA has a link on the website. Might take a while for somebody to get back to you—”

“Can you at least take me to the embassy?”

Raven decided it was a fair compromise. He nodded. “Yes, I can take you to the embassy.”

He looked up as the server brought her meal, roasted chicken with rice. The aroma was amazing.

“Anything more?” the server said.

“Go ahead and add this to my check,” Raven told him. “Never mind what I said before.”

“Very good, sir.”

He turned to Tanya.

She said, “Thank you, Mr. Raven.”

“Shut up and eat.”

4

Raven swallowed the last of the fried potatoes, drank some water, and pushed his plate away. He wiped his mouth.

“Can you sit tight a moment?”

“Sure,” she said.

Raven left the table. At the bar, he asked Sven if he could slip into the back office to make a call. The bartender agreed and showed him to a room behind the bar. It was a storage room full of boxes containing liquor bottles. A bright overhead bulb shined.

Raven dialed a number on his cell and hoped the man on the other end picked up.

He did. “Wilson.”

Clark Wilson, Senior Staff Operations Officer for the CIA’s Special Activities Center, was one of Raven’s contacts at the Agency, and an old friend. But Raven would be the first to admit he hadn’t kept in touch as much as either would have liked.

“It’s Sam.”

“Howdy.”

“I’m in Stockholm with a young lady.”

“Congratulations?”

“No, it’s work-related. Does the name Tanya Jafari mean anything to you?”

“Not at all.”

“She’s a German woman who joined the Islamic Union. She wants to defect.”

“What is she trading?”

“The identity of the White Widow.”

“Wow.”

“Something you’re looking for?”

“If she can give us a picture and a name, we’ll give her whatever she asks for. You have no idea how long we’ve been trying to figure out who she is.”

“All right. I’ve agreed to take her to the embassy. Can you make sure we can get in the door?”

“I’ll arrange it right now,” Wilson said. “Don’t waste time. Go tonight. Ask for Russell Dillon at the gate. He’ll be expecting you.”

“Perfect.”

He could drop Tanya at the gate and go home. Easy evening.

“Thanks for doing this, Sam.”

“Be seeing you.” Raven hung up and left the storage room.

Raven returned to the table. Tanya had a fresh Cosmo and the dinner plates had been removed.

“Where are you staying?”

“The Grand Hotel.”

“We can go back for your things, and then we’re going to the embassy.”

“You work fast.”

“As soon as I mentioned your White Widow friend, my contacts became very interested in what you have to share.”

“I told you.”

Raven downed what remained of his martini.

“Do you have a car?” he said.

“A rental, yeah.”

“Good. I don’t have one.”

“No?”

“I refuse to pay the road tolls.”

She laughed. Her laugh sounded like wind chimes. She looked normal when she laughed. He had to put her background out of his mind and get her where she needed to go. Then he could continue his much-needed R&R.

He told her to finish her drink and then they’d leave.

Raven held Tanya’s left elbow as they went down the steps to the parking lot. Footsteps shuffled behind them. Tanya turned her head, and yelled, “Raven!”

Raven pulled his right hand from the pocket of his jacket. He gripped his leather sap, pivoted on the middle step. The man behind them had a gun halfway out, the snout of the pistol extended with a suppressor. Tanya screamed. Raven raised the sap and struck hard, once, twice. The gunman tumbled down the steps, landing on his belly. Raven scooped up the man’s Glock 19X as a compact Mercedes screeched to a stop.

Tanya ran for the bushes along the wall. Raven remained in a crouch as two men piled out of the car.

Bystanders nearby screamed. Raven shouted for them to get down, get away. He lived by two rules. Rule One was no gun fights in public. The danger to innocents was too high. But he had no choice this time. The enemy had chosen the battle, and he had no time to lead them away.

All he