“Then more’s the pity.”
—Elena Moreno
The Stockholm pub was all stainless steel, blond wood and matching leather. Sitting at its burnished hardwood bar, Elena sipped a glass of St. Emilion. It was 4:09 P.M.; the place had just opened. Near-empty, it was dimly lit.
Adara made her entrance. Decked out in black tights, a red half-sleeved designer T-shirt cut short just above her navel and dark, hand-tooled boots with three-inch heels, she strode toward Elena with long deliberate strides.
Glancing at her own reflection in the bar mirror, Elena saw a woman wearing black Levi’s and a matching leather jacket, under which she a wore gray-black sweatshirt with the hood up. Even in the dimly lit bar she wore large Oakley sunglasses.
It was the reflection of a woman with something to hide.
Elena left the bar and took her drink to a circular table surrounded by a quartet of chrome stools with curved padded-leather backs and armrests. She took a deep breath. Whatever Adara had to say, it would not be good news. She wouldn’t be here if it was good news, and neither of them wanted the bartender or customers listening in.
Adara grabbed up her double shot of Asbach Uralt brandy and Elena’s bottle of Skol and took them to the table.
“How’s it shaking, kid?” Adara asked. She was from Pakistan but had spent over a decade in the States. She’d spent a lot of time around Americans and spoke colloquial English.
Elena shrugged. “‘The highway’s jammed with broken heroes.’”
“‘On a last chance power drive,’” Adara said, finishing the Springsteen lyric.
“But you’re okay?” Elena asked.
“Still aboveground.”
“Better than the alternative,” Elena conceded.
“We have a friend who’s not doing so well though.”
“Let me guess,” Elena said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes in dismay.
“I’ll save you the trouble,” Adara said. “It’s Rashid.”
“I thought he was dead.”
“Everyone says that,” Adara said.
“He’s an asshole,” Elena said.
“But he’s our asshole,” Adara said.
“Your asshole,” Elena said.
“But he was yours when you needed him,” Adara said.
“Which was in another life,” Elena said.
“Oh, so now you’re no longer part of this world, this life?” Adara asked.
“I’m not part of Rashid’s life.”
“Why? Because he’s in trouble?”
“He’s always been drawn to trouble.”
“As the sparks fly upward,” Adara conceded, “but he was there when we needed him, when no one else would stand up.”
“No one else was dumb and desperate enough to do the ops we sent him on,” Elena said.
Adara took a deep breath, struggling to compose herself.
“All right, Elena,” Adara said. “Understood. Say all that’s true, but it’s me asking now.”
“My palms bleed for you.”
“I got him into it. I asked him to step up, to take the job.”
“Then it’s on you.”
“But this one’s big, and Rashid’s the only one on the inside. The people who grabbed him—you know them better than anyone in the world.”
“I’m out of that business, Adara.”
“I can’t bring him back without you. I’ll probably need Jamie too. You’re still with him, right?”
“Yeah, but what do you want Jamie for?”
“He’s ex–Special Forces. He can handle himself in the field.”
“You know several thousand guys who can handle themselves in the field.”
“I heard he sold his computer security firm for $50 billion. I heard he walked off with half of that.”
“So?”
“Someone’s got to bankroll this op,” Adara said.
Elena stared at her, speechless. Finally she got her voice back.
“You’re too fucking much,” she said.
“If you two don’t help, these guys that have Rashid will torture him to death.”
“You’re breaking my heart.”
“You owe him. You owe me.”
“Name a figure. Anything. Jamie will pitch in too. No shit. It’s yours.”
“The people who have him,” Adara said, “you have no idea how bad they are.”
“He knew the gig when he signed up.”
“Rashid doesn’t deserve to go out this way.”
“Cry me a river.”
“You two are indispensable. I can’t do it without you.”
“The cemeteries are packed with indispensable people—from the bedrock’s bottom to the roses on their graves.” She continued. “Adara, let it go. You could never save him. He was always a runaway train on a downhill track.”
“A runaway bullet train just screaming to jump the rail. But you still can’t walk away.”
“Why not?”
“The stuff he dug up, it’s too fucking horrifying.”
“What could possibly be that horrifying?” Elena asked.
“Remember when ISIS and al Qaeda merged with Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan, the TTP?”
“I know. Rashid brokered the deal.”
“You also ran him.”
“I ran the op. I was the op.”
“And now those guys got him.”
“I warned Rashid to stay off the grid. Jamie gave him enough money to retire. He should have listened.”
“But he didn’t. I got him back in, and it’s killing me.”
“You know what this is?” Elena’s right index finger drew a circle on her left palm. “It’s the world’s smallest record player. Guess what it’s playing?”
“I know.”
“‘My Heart Cries for You.’”
“But Rashid was doing some good. It was important.”
Elena treated her friend to a small bitter smile and said, as gently as she could, “Adara, he was never very smart.”
“He was dumber than chicken-fried horse shit,” Adara said, “but there are other reasons you should do it.”
“Like what? Your undying gratitude?”
Adara stared at her, silent.
Elena leaned in close. “I’m speaking as a friend. You’re a bridge too far on this one. You watch your own six.”
“Or?”
“You’ll find yourself strung up next to your friend, electrodes hooked to your genitals.”
“So that’s it?” Adara said. “I ask you for help and you tell me to step the fuck back?”
“Tell you what: The drinks are on me. That’s my best offer.”
“Rashid was always there for you, for us. He never backed up, and he never backed down. I’ve seen him fight circle saws for both of us.”
“There’s a lesson in that.”
“What?”
“Learn when to quit. Learn when to cut your losses.”
“He never would have let you and me down. He’d have been there for us.”
“Then more’s the pity.”
Adara ordered them another round.