Chapter Six

 

 

Ottawa, Canada

November 30, 9:20 p.m.

 

Their long intercontinental flight with two layovers in Munich, Germany, and Montreal, Canada, finally came to an end for Justin and Carrie around 9:20 p.m. when they landed at the Ottawa Macdonald-Cartier International Airport. Dragan had gone back to his Southeast Europe Station in Zagreb, and Nathan had returned to Egypt, to the CIS Cairo Station responsible for operations throughout Northern Africa.

The CIS Cairo Station was technically the base of operations for Justin and Carrie. However, recently they had found themselves more often either in Ottawa, receiving orders for covert operations, or in remote parts of the world well beyond their geographical designation to execute those covert operations. They were spending fewer and fewer days in Cairo, which sat well with Justin. After almost eight years of navigating and surviving the complicated politics and occasionally chaotic movements of that region—especially after the Arab Spring, which did not bring exactly the winds of change expected by the Western world—he was glad his stationing was coming to an end. Secretly, he was looking forward to a change in scenery. A few positions were supposed to come up in Europe and Asia, and Justin had given some serious thought to submitting his application.

McClain had been kind enough to allow his operatives to take the evening off, scheduling a briefing at the CIS headquarters for the next day at 9:00 a.m. Justin and Carrie waited for their luggage while talking about what restaurant to pick for their late supper, since Anna was in Toronto and was flying back to Ottawa around midnight. Carrie wanted to try a new Italian pizzeria that had just opened on George Street. Justin was not exactly in a pizza mood, but he would not mind a plate of olive-oil-drizzled shrimp tortellini.

As the red light of the luggage carousel began to flash—indicating it was going to spew off their suitcases right away—a breaking news edition started on one of the television screens that hung from the ceiling. Justin told Carrie he was going to listen to the news. Carrie nodded and began to check her cellphone voicemail. Justin walked closer to the screen and listened to the blonde anchorwoman:

“. . . Russian officials who chose to remain unidentified confirmed a breakthrough in the investigation of Russia’s Minister of Defense assassination earlier last week. Three men were arrested outside Moscow, suspected of involvement in this terrorist act. Details are scarce, but they were found in possession of explosives and firearms. Sources close to the investigation report that the three have close ties to the Islamic Devotion Movement, the largest and the most active terrorist organization in Chechnya and the wider region, which has claimed responsibility for the assassination. For a deeper analysis, join us later on this evening at—”

His BlackBerry vibrated in his left side jacket pocket. Justin checked the ID on the screen. It was his boss, McClain.

“How are you doing, sir?” Justin said and moved away from the television screen and the crowd of people. He walked fast toward an empty counter of a small, local airline.

“Very well, thanks. How was your flight?” McClain said in his usual firm, yet calm, tone.

“Uneventful. Safe. How are things in the office?”

“Things are good. Is Carrie with you?”

Justin stood on his tiptoes but could not see Carrie because of the flow of people swarming around the carousel, dragging their luggage, or looking for it.

“We’re still at the airport, collecting our suitcases. She should be somewhere around here. Do you need to talk to her?”

“No, no. Just wanted to make sure she’s not within earshot. I must discuss with you an issue of a sensitive nature.”

Justin stepped closer to the wall and placed another three feet of distance between himself and the closest people wandering about twenty yards away from the airline counter. “I’m listening,” he said.

“I’ve been invited to a business lunch tomorrow. Raffaello’s on Clarence Street. A short walk from the US Embassy.”

Justin nodded. “Yes, I know the place. They make a wicked black truffle soup.”

“It’s delicious. But I’m not going there for the food. My business involves two senior NCS officials.”

“NCS as in the CIA’s National Clandestine Service?”

“Yeah, those guys.” McClain’s voice took on a cold, unpleasant tone.

“Why didn’t they pick their embassy or the CIA station for a meeting?”

“It has to be low-key.”

“What’s the purpose of this meeting?”

“They want a favor.”

Justin frowned. “What favor?”

McClain sighed. “They didn’t say. Just that it’s very important and very urgent.”

“Of course it is.” Justin felt the sarcasm was clear in his voice, and he did not need to say another word.

“At least this time they’re being upfront with what they want from us. I want you to join me at this meeting. I have a feeling their favor might have something to do with you.”

Yes, that’s what I’m afraid of as well, Justin thought.

“Even if it doesn’t,” McClain continued, “you’ll be in the loop about this favor. We’ll have to work closely with our NCS counterparts.”

Justin did not say anything but mulled over McClain’s words. Recently, the Prime Minister of Canada and the US President had met for a short visit in Ottawa. It was the President’s first international trip after her re-election. It underlined the importance of enhancing relations between the two countries and one of the top priorities for the US administration: improving the state of security in North America. The two leaders had directed all officials of their intelligence communities to increase their cooperation, to exchange information on a timely basis, and to intensify their efforts in protecting all citizens of both the United States of America and Canada. Slowly, but surely, such a directive was being reflected and implemented in the work of mid-level officers like McClain and operatives on the ground like Justin.

“Justin, what are you thinking about?”

Justin found his throat parched. He coughed before answering, “How much of this has to do with improving cooperation between our two agencies and how much with the scandal surrounding Adams?”

Travis Adams was the former Deputy Director and Director of the Counterterrorism Center of the NCS. He had been forced into retirement after an illegal arms trade scandal came to light, where US-made weapons ended up in the hands of terrorists. Justin had played a crucial role in Adams’s fall from grace.

It was McClain’s turn to go silent.

Justin saw Carrie waving at him. She had collected their suitcases and was walking toward him, pushing a luggage cart. Justin gestured at her to give him in a minute while he finished his phone call.

“Sir, you’re still there?” he said, turning around. Carrie was able to read lips, a technique she had perfected during years of training, before she joined the Canadian Army as an investigator. With that and interpreting facial expressions and body language, it would take Carrie five seconds to understand Justin’s conversation.

“Yes, I’m still here. I’m thinking about what you said. It’s not in the NCS’s best interest to bring up Adams’s affair. Not when they’re asking for a favor. They’ll have to bury the hatchet.”

“Hmmm, I’m not so sure, but we’ll give the NCS the benefit of the doubt. It’s been over two months since Adams’s sacking, so perhaps they have moved past him and old grievances.”

“Let’s hope so,” McClain said. His voice rang warmer, truthful. “We’re meeting with Ms. Margaret Moore and Mr. Aaron Podolsky. Moore is Adams’s replacement and Podolsky is the new Associate Deputy Director of Operations in the Counterintelligence Center.”

Justin nodded. New blood. Maybe a new approach. Friendlier.

“I’ve already pulled the files on both of them. I’ll give them to you tomorrow at our briefing,” McClain said.

“All right, sir.”

“That’s all. Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“You too.”

Justin ended the call and turned around. Carrie was sitting on a bench near a coffee shop. The hall was almost empty. A single piece of unclaimed luggage was going around on the carousel.

“Bad news?” she asked when Justin got close to her.

“No. A work-related issue.”

Carrie paused, then pushed a wayward curl behind her left ear. Her auburn hair was flowing down her shoulders. “I’ve got some good . . . well, I don’t know if it’s good news.” A hint of sadness was visible in her moist, gray-blue eyes. Her voice was soft and insecure.

Justin sat on the bench next to her. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” he said and looked into her eyes.

“I listened to a voicemail about the DNA test results of my father’s remains . . .”

“And?”

Carrie hesitated. “It’s . . . it’s a conclusive match. I’ve . . . I’ve found my father.”

Carrie’s father, a colonel in the Canadian Army, had disappeared during a covert mission in the late eighties in the Soviet Union. She joined the Army, in part, to learn about his fate, but for many years all her efforts had hit a dead end. Over the last few months, however, she had obtained classified information about her father’s gravesite, locating his remains somewhere in northern Grozny, Chechnya.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Justin spoke softly, unsure of whether those were the right words.

Carrie sighed. “Yes, it’s a relief. It’s supposed to be a relief. But I don’t feel any better.”

She reached over and fell into Justin’s arms for a tight embrace. “I feel . . . I feel so disappointed, Justin,” she said in a wavering voice. “I guess deep down, in a small part of me, I still held hopes he was alive, somewhere out there, and I would see him again. Alive, strong, tall, as I remember him. Now that hope is gone.”

Justin said nothing, since nothing he could say was going to console Carrie. He just held her in his strong arms, the only support he felt he could give her at that moment.

Carrie sniffled and took a moment to fight back tears. She sighed, then said, “I’ll be okay. I’ve got to tell my mom, arrange for the funeral, so many things.”

“Let me know how I can help,” Justin said. “You can count on me for anything you need.”

Carrie nodded. “I appreciate it. And I’ll take you up on the offer.”

“Anything you need. I’ll be there for you, Carrie.”