Epilogue
Canadian Intelligence Service Headquarters, Ottawa, Canada
December 23, 7:45 a.m.
Justin was waiting for Carrie in the large main hall by the elevators. He was sitting on one of the black leather couches reserved for visitors waiting to be escorted inside the building. His crutches were to his left, and he gave them a look full of disgust. He could not wait until he was free of them. The Russian doctors at the military base in Dagestan had done their best to treat his arm and leg wounds, but he still had to use crutches for at least another two weeks. An infection had slowed down the healing.
Justin glanced at his wristwatch. Carrie was not late, but she usually got to the HQ before eight. They were scheduled to meet with McClain at eight that morning, and he had hoped to have a few minutes to talk to Carrie before the meeting about something that was bothering him. Something Anna had told him last night.
Carrie appeared at the main entrance and showed the guards her credentials. They smiled and ran her purse and her briefcase through the X-ray scanner and asked her to walk through the metal detector. Carrie obliged but her face showed she was a bit annoyed with the time-consuming procedure.
She picked up her belonging and walked toward him. “Hey, Justin, how are you?” she said and sat next to him.
“Fine, how about yourself?”
“Great, I’m doing great.”
“I see you ditched the splint.” Justin pointed at her right arm.
“Yeah, it was getting in the way and my arm feels fine. The doctor said three weeks and it has been almost that long.”
Justin sighed and shook his head. “I wish I could get rid of my crutches. They’re slowing me down.”
“When are they coming off?”
“Don’t know. It depends on the infection.”
Carrie nodded.
Justin said, “I want to talk to you about a concern of mine.”
Carrie tried to read Justin’s face. “What is it?”
“Not here.”
Justin looked at two men in gray suits who had just gone through the metal detector and were collecting their large briefcases.
Carrie said, “I want to show you something too. Let’s go.”
They made their way to the elevators and shared the ride to the fourth floor with the two gray suits. Justin and Carrie stepped out while they continued to the next floor.
“Lawyers?” Justin asked as he limped down the hall.
“Definitely. Dressed too nice to be anything but.”
Justin smiled. He took a few more steps and found a small, empty conference room without any windows. It had a table with four chairs around it. “This will do,” he said.
Carrie closed the door behind them and sat in a chair. Justin hobbled around the rectangular table and sat across from her.
“It’s about Anna,” he said.
Carrie raised her hand in a defensive gesture. “I know where you’re going with this. I didn’t convince her. She asked me a question and I told her the truth. She had already figured it out that you’re worried sick about her. I just confirmed her suspicion.”
Justin said, “Yes, but I wish you would have told me.”
“No, it was her decision, and Anna told me she wanted to give you the news. I respected her wish and her decision.” She paused for a second. “And so should you.”
Justin smiled. “Of course I will. It’s just . . . I don’t know if I should be more worried now that she’s coming back to the CIS as a surveillant.”
Carrie shrugged. “She was at the agency before you met her, Justin. And she’ll be in a position to defend herself much better inside the CIS rather than outside it. That’s what you wanted, right?”
“Hmmm, I don’t know . . . I want her to be safe.”
“This will keep her safe. She got the same training we all did at the plant. You started as a surveillant too.”
Justin looked at Carrie’s smiling face, then away at the gray wall. She was not exactly wrong, but she was not exactly right either. A moment later, he said, “Yeah, and look where it’s got me.” He nodded toward the crutches resting against the wall behind him.
“Gunfights happen. At least Anna will be packing heat and prepared at all times. She’ll be fine.”
“I hope so,” Justin said and let out a small sigh.
“Let me cheer you up with this.” Carrie went for her briefcase lying on the floor and pulled out a laptop. “Remember our mission in Bosnia in November?”
Justin nodded. “I do. What about it?”
“A woman was killed during the firefight.” Carrie tapped a few keys on the laptop.
“Yes, Carrie. Hakim’s wife. I . . . I shot her.” Justin’s voice was low and gloomy. “Are there any problems? Have local authorities discovered anything linking us to that op?” His voice turned edgy and his eyes turned into narrow slits.
Carrie spun the laptop around so that it was facing Justin. “Hit play.”
A video file was ready for playback, and Justin clicked the right button. A newscaster came up, reporting on what appeared to be some sort of police operation in northern Bosnia. Justin fiddled with the volume but the newscaster was speaking a language he did not understand, though he assumed it was Bosnian.
“What is he saying?” Justin asked.
“I had it translated and the transcript is in a file on the desktop. The gist is that joint local police forces raided a village in northern Bosnia, a suspected home of Islamic extremists. They rounded up some of the residents, former mujahedeen now advocating a radical form of Sunni Islam, like in Saudi Arabia. Two of them were former associates of Hakim.”
“And?” Justin asked with an impatient frown.
“Just keep watching. You’ll see.”
The screen changed to a hospital scene. The reporter was interviewing a doctor—maybe a surgeon—in a lab coat. Then the images showed a woman lying in a hospital bed and talking to the camera. Justin recognized her face.
His eyes grew wide. “That’s . . . that’s Hakim’s wife. When was this recorded?”
“Last week. She survived our attack. You didn’t kill her, Justin.”
“So who was the woman reported dead by the news shortly after our ambush?” Justin asked after a sigh of relief.
“One of Hakim’s bodyguards. He used her on occasion.”
Justin sighed and nodded. “Thank you, Carrie. This lifts a heavy burden off my shoulders.”
“No worries. Any time.”
“We should make our way to McClain’s office.”
Carrie packed her laptop and they reached McClain’s office on the fourth floor.
Justin knocked on the door and McClain called to them to come in. They sat in the black leather chairs across from McClain’s desk while he finished inspecting a report. A few moments later, he closed the report and its folder and put them in a cabinet drawer behind him. Then he smiled at Justin and Carrie.
“Good morning,” McClain said in a cheerful tone. “How are you doing?”
“Great, doing great, boss,” Justin replied.
“Same here,” Carrie said.
McClain reached for a folder on the right side of his desk. He handed it to Justin. “This letter came last night from a certain Mr. Alexander Derzhavin.”
Justin glanced at the letter, shrugged, then passed it to Carrie.
“I wasn’t expecting a thank-you letter,” Justin said. “Not after everything that happened in Moscow and how Derzhavin tried his best to kill me.”
“He seemed well pleased with the operation against the Chechen rebels and with its results. He appreciates your giving the Russians the merits.”
Justin said, “They did most of the work. And I have nothing against the brave troops on the ground. But the chief got mired in politics and backstabbing and wanted to use me as fodder for his dirty games.”
McClain leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “Well, they want to bury the hatchet and so do I. It is better to have the Russians on our side, even though sometimes it’s hard to tell whose side they’re on.”
Justin nodded. “I agree, sir.”
“I don’t have anything new from the CIA. Ms. Moore thanked you both for your help and you also received a call from their President.”
“Yes, she sounded like an easy-going woman despite her position of authority.”
Carrie nodded. “And quite funny as well.”
“Now with regard to your next assignment, I would like you first to take a well-deserved break over Christmas. Relax and recover,” McClain said in a warm but firm tone, like a doctor giving medical advice. He gestured toward Carrie’s right arm and then toward Justin’s crutches. “You need to be in your best shape for this operation.”
Justin said, “We’ll do it, sir.”
Carrie said, “Absolutely.”
“Can you tell us where this operation will take us?” Justin asked.
McClain shook his head. “No, not yet. I still have to finalize some details and there’s a slight, very slight, possibility that our intervention will not be necessary. But I doubt it. In any case, all I can say for now is, Justin, grow a beard. And Carrie, buy a burka.”