“For she’s a jolly good fellow—which nobody can deny!”
The casual reception was held in one of the Agency’s more private conference rooms, with selected staff, primarily those who would be attending the Abraqa post mortem later that afternoon. The blinds were drawn. Ed had a cake wheeled in and made one of his better off-the-cuff speeches, extolling Maggie’s virtues as a field op. When he was good, he was good.
Maggie, blushing from the attention and two days of sleep deprivation, gave a shy smile as she read the message on top of the cake out to the throng. Maggie: 1- Jihad Nation: 0.
Rounds of applause.
The irony of the dedication didn’t escape her. At last count, four were dead—five if you counted Dara, whose demise would be secret for another forty-odd hours. The body count rose to seven if you included the two jihadists, as yet unidentified.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said, looking around the gray room at the twenty or so beaming faces. She was determined to play along. Ed had staged this celebration not only to congratulate her, but to hopefully build support before the top brass could put Operation Abraqa on the back burner. “Except ‘thank you’. As you know, nobody here works alone—although it sure feels that way sometimes.” Laughter bounced around the room. “The contact I worked with comes from a part of northern Iraq where over twenty-five hundred women, some as young as nine, have been sold as sex slaves. An equal number of men have been shot or beheaded.” The room chilled into silence. “That’s only the tip of the iceberg. Jihad Nation are doing the same all over the Middle East. If we can break their covert payment system, we’ll put a serious dent in the genocide, if not cripple Jihad Nation for a good long time. And you all play a part.” Maggie gazed around the conference room, engaging as many eyes as possible. “I look forward to completing the operation and know the Agency will give it the priority it deserves.” She held up a spatula. “Now, the important part—who wants cake?”
“Better give the first piece to your boss,” someone said.
Ed grinned, rubbing his belly good-naturedly for the crowd before he pulled one of the bottles of champagne out of the waste paper basket doubling as an ice bucket, sitting on the conference table.
“I’ll drink to that,” he said as he popped the dripping bottle and began to fill plastic flutes.
John Rae entered the room in his well-fitting blue suit, fresh white shirt and skinny tie. Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. After their falling-out, she worried he might not show. She didn’t need—or want—to lose her key supporter. And friend. She winked at him, received a taut smile in return, along with a lazy wave—very cool, but friendly enough. He looked good, hair swept back with a hint of gel, fit and trim. He didn’t look like he’d been up half the night drinking with Army regulars. He strode over to the corner of the room where his boss was standing. Meanwhile Ed handed out glasses of champagne and greeted Agency desk jockeys by first name. People lined up for cake and champagne and Maggie was thoroughly over congratulated. But if someone called her ‘killer’ one more time, she thought she might scream. She kept a smile plastered on her face and returned every insincere wish with genuine thanks. If it kept Abraqa and Forensic Accounting going, so be it.
She found she kept looking John Rae’s way, hoping they’d get a chance to chat. He was in an intense discussion with Eric Walder, director of the clandestine Field Operations. With his slender build, frizzy hair and ordinary gray suit, Walder looked like a bookkeeper at a tire emporium. He was anything but. You didn’t run an intelligence empire by being politically inept and not making exactly the right move at exactly the right time, every time, whether it benefitted the American people or not. Walder was Ed’s boss, too, and had his department in the cross hairs. Maggie had had a run-in with Walder and it was John Rae who smoothed things over. John Rae had gone to bat for her more than once. A lot of men at the Agency hit on her. Not John Rae, even though they kidded around. In a different setting who knew where the two of them might be. There had been plenty of electricity. But now, damage had been done. She’d taken off after Dara’s laptop in Paris, made him look like a fool. If Abraqa were to continue, she’d need his help.
Just then a tall woman in a conservative blue pant suit entered the room, filling the doorway. She was accompanied by a short man with a comb-over carrying an attaché case. A hush fell over the conversations. Maggie did a double take.
The woman was statuesque, with sharp, elegant features framed by perfectly coiffed white-gray helmet hair. Maggie had never met her in person but half the country saw her regularly on CNN and read about her in the Washington Post.
Ed sauntered over, refilling Maggie’s glass. “Looks like the guest of honor has arrived. I was getting worried she wouldn’t show.”
“Senator Brahms,” Maggie said, sipping champagne. She nodded at the woman, now chatting with Walder while John Rae checked his watch. “What is she doing here? Besides freeloading cake and champagne?”
“She was on site to see Walder so I invited her. Five bucks says she wants to congratulate you, Killer.”
“US Senate Select Committee on Intelligence,” Maggie said. “She’s major league. Maybe Abraqa has some support after all.”
“Not to mention Forensic Accounting.” Ed showed Maggie crossed fingers and grinned.
Maggie’s eyes connected with Senator Brahms. The senator raised her glass and smiled firmly from across the room. “Well, it was nice knowing you and the other little people,” Maggie said to Ed. “What was your name again?”
“Typical. Ditched now that you’ve got a big time political buddy.”
“I think your little dog and pony show might have paid off, Ed. I better go suck up to Senator Brahms.”
“Knock ‘em dead, Maggs.”
But before Maggie could take a step, she saw Senator Brahms marching her way. The mountain was coming to Mohammed.
Senator Brahms was a good three inches taller than Maggie, not to mention four decades older and remarkably well-preserved. The steely smile and firm handshake only added to her intimidating presence. People around her and Maggie automatically gave them a circle of room.
“Agent de la Cruz,” Senator Brahms said. “I am delighted Ed Linden invited me to your little shindig. I know these things are usually kept discreet but it is a privilege to meet a real live hero.” She held Maggie’s hand the entire time she spoke.
“I’m the one who’s honored, Senator,” Maggie said, finally getting her hand back. “I’ve supported you ever since I could vote. You were instrumental in getting Abraqa funded as well.”
“Call me Joyce,” she said, clicking plastic flutes with Maggie. “And thanks for the vote. I’m certainly going to need your support in the upcoming election. It’s turning into a barroom brawl and I’ve got some fierce opposition. You make sure to let me know if I can ever return the favor.” She was already eyeing the time on the wall clock. Across the room Maggie saw the comb-over man, standing next to Director Walder, trying to catch Senator Brahms’s eye. Her assistant, no doubt.
“Since you mention it, Senator, Operation Abraqa can use your help to continue to completion. The situation of Yazidi women and girls being sold into slavery by Jihad Nation is dire. And I know how you feel about women’s rights around the world. That’s why you’ve always had my vote.”
Senator Brahms’s smile flattened. “As a matter of fact, that’s something I actually wanted to talk to you about—woman to woman.”
“O-kay,” Maggie said slowly. She stood cross-legged, took a slow drink of champagne, trying to get a read on Brahms. This wasn’t feeling like the boost Ed expected.
“As you know, women’s rights are first and foremost on my agenda. Always have been. But the situation that occurred in Paris is highly sensitive, bearing in mind the aftermath of last year’s shootings. And now Belgium!” She shook her head. “The amount of flak we’re taking with our Muslim allies is simply unbelievable. So rest assured Abraqa is going to get my attention after the election. But for now, I need you to be patient.”
The old saw about not offending Muslims. “Patient,” Maggie repeated. “How patient?”
Senator Brahms tilted her head down and stared directly into Maggie’s eyes. “It’s only a matter of time before the press finds out who you are. In this morning’s White House press briefing, a reporter asked if anyone knows anything about the mysterious female who pulled out a gun and shot a suicide bomber five times. There’s not a TV show, magazine or publisher that isn’t going to want to talk to you. But the timing couldn’t be worse. We must avoid any publicity. Since I championed Abraqa on the Senate Committee, it’s about to come back to bite me. I wanted to tell you in person, because I respect all you’ve done.”
No, Maggie thought, you wanted to do your best to shut me up. “I think you might be over-reacting, Senator. I wore a hijab and sunglasses during the—ah—operation. I spoke French, posed as an Arab.”
Senator Brahms gave an irritated frown. “Well, it’s still not a risk we want to take.”
We. “Senator, Abraqa has a shot for a real breakthrough—but only if we act quickly . . .”
Brahms cut her off. “I need your support here and now, Maggie—it’s okay to call you Maggie?—and I hope I can count on it.” She gave Maggie another piercing stare. “Rest assured I’m going to circle back. But this is a much bigger issue than it appears.”
Maggie’s indignation began to rise. “What could be more important than nine-year-old girls being sold as sex slaves by a terrorist organization?”
“Believe me, Maggie, there are bigger things.” She shot Maggie a hot look that told her she had had enough of the conversation. The senator turned, nodded at her assistant. He strode over and joined the two of them with an obsequious smile, clasping his briefcase in front of him. Senator Brahms handed her nearly full glass of champagne to him before shaking Maggie’s hand again. “Keep up the good work, Maggie. I’ll be looking forward to hearing about your next operation.”
It was clear the next operation would not be Abraqa.
And as soon as she had appeared, Senator Brahms was gone, escorted out of the conference room. Half the room seemed to follow.
Then Maggie saw that John Rae was gone too. She let out a hard sigh, drained her glass.
Sidelined.
Not even.
Dead in the water.
Then she saw Director Walder strolling across the room, a smirk plastered on his face.
“I want to offer my personal congratulations, Agent de la Cruz,” he said, hands in his pockets, no attempt to shake Maggie’s hand. His tone was anything but congratulatory and the cool look in his eyes confirmed it.
Maggie didn’t reply at first, wanting to stay calm, something Ed had told her to strive for in situations where she seemed to do just the opposite. She reached over to the conference table, yanked a nearly empty bottle of champagne from of the watery wastepaper basket and refilled her glass, setting the empty bottle on the table with a thunk. “I guess I’d like to hear it from you, Director,” she said. “What is the status of Operation Abraqa?”
Director Walder rattled change in his pocket. “That wasn’t made clear?”
“I didn’t realize Senator Brahms ran the Agency.”
Walder frowned as he scratched the top of his head before putting his hand back in his pocket. “Don’t be so naïve. Senator Brahms runs the committee that butters our bread. We’ve had enough bad press in the last year to last us a lifetime. We don’t need to climb into bed with Incognito and the likes of Edward Snowden right before an important election.”
“Everyone knew Incognito was part of this op.”
“That was before seven people were shot and killed. One of them by a Forensic Accounting agent not authorized to carry a weapon.”
“Good thing I had that weapon. Might’ve been a whole lot more casualties, otherwise.”
“Do you have any idea how unhappy the French are with Washington? SDAT are livid we ran Abraqa right under their nose. It was supposed to be information gathering only—not the Shootout at the OK Corral.”
“Exactly why I suggested we bring SDAT in from day one.” But Maggie knew how it worked—competing agencies never shared juicy intel. “With their help, the situation in Paris might even have been prevented.”
Walder’s eyes slitted. “You’re paid to do a technical job. Not make policy decisions.”
“So now we back down, right when Abraqa has a chance at success? Because we don’t want to risk Brahms being asked a question she can’t answer on Meet the Press? When is the Agency going to be committed to the things it says it’s committed to? Not politicians who can’t wait to go out and make ten times as much as lobbyists when they’re done not doing the jobs they were elected to do?”
Walder rubbed his face, lowered his tone. “Your shooting saved lives. You did a hell of a job and I’m glad we have agents like you. So I’m going to disregard your comments.”
Ed came lumbering over, obviously sensing trouble.
“What’s going on, guys?” he said, barging into the conversation.
Walder glowered at Maggie but spoke to Ed. “You might want to teach your people the meaning of the word ‘teamwork’, Ed.” He turned abruptly and left, his suit jacket swinging, and strode out of the room.
Ed glared at Maggie with narrowed eyes. “What the hell, Maggs?”