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Having completed her inspection of the ranch-style home, Kara decided to venture into the detached barn to see what type of wheels Kornev had acquired for his Pakistani safe house. Remembering pegboard of keys in the tunnel, Kara went back down and removed all the keys and brought them back up to the kitchen. Depositing them in a pile on the counter, she examined them. She quickly assessed which keys looked like they belonged to vehicles and set them aside. She gathered a group of smaller keys that appeared to fit padlocks of some type. With the realization that the barn was probably secured, yet having no idea with what type of lock, she muttered, “Screw it.” Kara pocketed the keys she had selected.
As she left through the back door she checked the yard for activity, saw none, and walked to the barn. The barn door had a lock and chain strung though two wide loops of iron. Kara fumbled with key after key, trying each in the lock until she found one that slid in with ease. She gave the key a twist and the lock popped open. She let the chain fall to the dirt and walked through the open door.
Inside, sunlight shone in through aged wooden slats and the sun’s rays crisscrossed the interior space, glinting off shiny objects and absorbed by objects that were rusted or dusty. The shiniest of the objects was a boxy-looking green car. It looked like a four-door station wagon that had been truncated in the back. The vehicle was squat and short but it looked like it would get good gas mileage. Suzuki Mehran was written on the dark front bumper, which meant nothing to her. She was just happy that the vehicle wasn’t something glitzy like the Hummer Kornev had driven back in Termez. God help her if it had been a Ferrari sitting in the barn. Nothing like a half-million-dollar red sports car being driven by a woman, no less, to draw attention to herself.
Walking past the foreign car and deeper into the barn, Kara discovered a motorcycle. What was interesting about the bike was it was licensed, but appeared to be fitted out as a dirt bike. The wide and thick knobby tires would get great traction even in the deepest sand. Because of her training back at Camp Perry, the CIA agent understood the use of scooters and motorcycles in foreign countries was more common than in the United States, which was why the training was mandatory. Additionally, Kara had trained on many types of bikes with both manual and automatic transmissions.
Kara took the keys out of her pocket and found one that looked like it would fit a motorbike. She stuck it in the ignition and turned it a few clicks. A weak LED light lit up on the bike’s small dashboard, and Kara speculated that not only the bike, but also the car, needed to have a full battery charge.
Considering how thorough Kornev had been with his safe house and supplies, she was sure that somewhere in the barn she would find a battery charger. It didn’t take long to find the red box with alligator clips hanging from its faceplate. The bike’s battery posts were already exposed. She figured it wouldn’t take long to charge, so she connected the leads, found a power outlet, and plugged it in. Later, she would move the charger over to the car’s battery and let it charge overnight.
The afternoon was marching well on its way to evening. Kara made her way back to the house, collected her tablet, turned on the old TV and plopped down on the dusty sofa.
She had a lot of research to do before morning. The basics Kornev had provided her during his interrogation had indicated the man she sought lived in a mansion. He was not divorced, but his wife had left him. He was reported to have two small children—a son and a daughter who lived with him. His home was heavily guarded. Armed with that intelligence, she needed to further study the terrorist’s home using Google. She considered logging into the CIA computers but assumed that either her credentials had been removed or they would use her login to track her down.
She brought up Google Earth on the tablet and entered the address Kornev had given her. She swiped, pinched and moved the map around before switching to a satellite view of the terrorist’s property. The details of this mission—her mission—were important. Those back at the office might claim she had a death wish, but she would argue that assumption. She didn’t necessarily want to die, but the possibility of dying wouldn’t deter her from achieving her goal. From outer space, the details of the property began to come into sharp focus. Kara looked over the massive home, committing the shape to memory. She also examined the open area surrounding it. Up on a hill, she saw an area of observation that might suit her task. She traced the area back to the roads that accessed the hill. Then she scrutinized the region to identify any secondary roads and trails that could serve as emergency escape routes.
The first part of this mission was going to entail nothing but observation. She would find a place to surveil the home and get comfortable. She would document the comings and goings of anyone who entered the property. In her best-case scenario, Kara figured she would stake out the home for up to five days before formulating a plan for acquiring her target. In a perfect world, this process would take less time. She knew the longer she hung out in Kornev’s home, the more time it gave people to track her down. However, she would stay for the time necessary to complete her goal. In her mind, everything was on the table: the man, his home, his business associates, everyone, including his family. After all, he had taken her family from her, so why should she offer his family safe harbor? Eliminating Zain’s family wasn’t her primary objective, but if she could use them or they got in her way, they would become collateral damage. And Kara could live with that.
Keying into the maps app both the address of the safe home she was currently living in and her target’s address, she got to work.