Uday walked purposefully through a maze of darkened buildings. He had received his instructions from an agitated Chadeh two hours earlier: Drop everything and find out what had happened in Paris that afternoon. In particular, the council wanted to know if Malika was involved.
Uday had immediately tried to contact her, but got no response. That hand tied behind his back, he did his best to research things, all along wondering why Chadeh was so concerned. Was he worried that their link to Argu had been compromised? Could the late Director Michelis have possibly been Argu? No, Uday thought dismissively. The notion that ISIS might have the director of DGSI in their pocket was unimaginable. Whatever the crisis was, he would learn soon enough.
The building chosen for the meeting had once been a primary school. No child had set foot in the place for years, yet the playground remained intact, and children were encouraged to use it during daylight hours to maintain the image. The school’s largest room had seen varied uses over the course of “liberation.” For two months it had served as a clinic, then a pullback on the western front caused the staff and patients to be summarily kicked out, and within twenty-four hours it was stocked from floor to ceiling with ammunition and explosives. Once the arsenal became depleted, and as the heathen Kurds came closer, the building was transformed into an ad hoc mess hall for fighters. Then the Kurds had been pushed back a bit, and the food moved closer to the front lines. Tonight, in a fleeting session, the school would find a new use: it would become the seat of the government itself.
Chadeh was waiting expectantly when Uday arrived.
“What news do you have from Paris?” asked the senior man impatiently. He was seated on an ornate carpet atop what looked like a small stage, the kind of platform from which children might present a school play. On the wall behind Chadeh were colorful flowers cut from construction paper, each bearing a child’s name. Above them all an outsized poster of the caliph, his finger raised in admonition, glowered down on everyone. Chadeh was bracketed by two men who Uday thought looked vaguely familiar. Had he been more of a politician within the organization, he would have asked for an introduction. As it was … the sooner he imparted what he knew, the sooner he could leave.
He said, “According to news reports, DGSI director Michelis has been shot dead by a female assailant. She also made an attempt on another high-ranking officer of the agency.”
“Which one?”
Uday checked his notes. “His name is Zavier Baland.”
“And Baland was not harmed?”
Uday hesitated only slightly. “No, he was untouched. Apparently he returned fire and wounded the attacker.”
“Could it have been Malika?”
“The national police have only released a general description. But based on that … yes, it could very well have been her. I tried to contact Malika, as you requested, but she’s not responding. If she was the attacker, then she’s injured … or possibly worse.” He watched an exchange of glances between the men on the carpet, then asked with an even voice, “May I ask why this is so important?”
After a hushed conversation, Chadeh said, “As you know, Malika has been running an agent named Argu for some time. She has never told us his identity, but we suspect it may be Zavier Baland … the man who shot her today.”
Uday cocked his head, trying to contain his astonishment. “I see. Yes, a relationship like that—it would increase the odds that she was involved.”
“There can be no doubt!” one of the other men said acidly.
“Do we have any idea why this has occurred?” Uday asked.
Chadeh frowned, a barely discernible expression amid his wild beard. “That is the question we have all been asking. Allowing that it was Malika, by every account she was the instigator of the attack. Yet she has been running Argu very successfully as an agent. It makes no sense that she would destroy such a valuable asset.” After a pause, he said reflectively, “I fear Baland’s actions make far more sense—he tried to kill the woman who coerced him into becoming an agent.”
Uday, who was not prone to thoughts of conspiracy, was surprised by what came to mind. “It is being suggested in news reports that Baland might succeed Michelis as director. As things stand, Michelis is dead, and you’re telling me that Argu is in our pocket. Aside from Malika being injured, is this not an ideal outcome?”
“What are you suggesting? That Malika and Baland conspired in this attack?”
Uday shrugged. “I think we should keep a favorable view. Methods aside, the result seems ideal. Baland is more a hero than ever, and his upward path is clear. The only complication I see involves Malika herself. She is in a perilous position. Assuming she survived, if she were to be captured by the French authorities … I dare say she knows enough to destroy Argu. Does she work with anyone else in France, any of our established cells who might render aid?”
“No. Malika only involves others when it suits her. She prefers to operate alone, and does as she wishes. The few times I have tried to steer her…” Chadeh left the rest unsaid, then unleashed a string of muttered expletives. “It is always the way with these insolent Palestinians!”
The man to Chadeh’s right whispered something in his ear, and the chief of the Emni nodded. “You make a good point.” He locked his gaze on Uday. “As God will have it, we may or may not be able to reach Malika. As you say, there is a chance she will be captured by the police. We must establish a method of contacting Argu directly.”
Uday could barely contain himself. “Actually, I only recently instructed Malika to do precisely that … it seemed a wise precaution. She has given Argu a single-use phone in case of emergency.”
For the first time ever, Uday was sure he saw Chadeh smile. “God be praised! Once again, you prove yourself worthy, Aziz.”
Uday said nothing. A reaction probably mistaken for humbleness.
“The time to use it is upon us. You can call Argu directly?”
“Yes—although I doubt he will answer. He surely keeps the phone in a secure place. We will have to wait for him to return our call—it could be a matter of hours, even days.”
“Very well. If we don’t hear from Malika by tomorrow morning, you must try to reach Argu. We need to hear his version of events, and establish a more permanent method of contact. Be sure he understands his position. He has long been in Malika’s grasp, but that control may be lost. You must convince him we have detailed records of the intelligence he has provided—enough that there can be no escape.”
Knowing the state of the caliphate’s recordkeeping, Uday doubted this was true. Indeed, Argu’s very identity remained a matter of some speculation.
“Also,” Chadeh continued, “if Malika has survived, order Argu to do what he can to keep her from being arrested. It would be in everyone’s best interest.”
“Of course,” said Uday.
The three men across from him engaged in a whispered discussion, leaving Uday to his private thoughts. In an increasingly common exercise, he tried to push them away. Across the room he heard snippets about God’s will and prayer, what seemed compulsory expressions when these men met. There might have been a time, very long ago, when it was authentic. Cursed by a Western education, Uday recognized the group before him all too well from his studies of history. These were men whose true faith had lapsed and mutated, ending in self-aggrandizement. Men who’d become gods unto themselves.
Chadeh dismissed him, and Uday walked outside.
The desert air was like freedom itself. The muscles in his back and neck were clenched, only in part from sitting behind a keyboard all day. As he struck out toward the mosque he referred to as his office, the seditious thoughts invaded again. They were recurring with greater frequency, building each day, planks added to a fast-rising lifeboat that would carry only two people—him and Sarah.
The latest revelation only served as fuel: He and Malika had together been the conduit for all communications with Argu. Now, with Malika at least temporarily out of the picture, Uday was alone. For what might be a very brief window, he was the Islamic State’s sole link to its most important agent. A man who was clearly being blackmailed for information. And a man who would soon be the most important law-enforcement officer in the Republic of France.