wound, but she, too, is fine.”
“I’m glad about that, sir.”
“The other soldiers explained to me what you did. You are a very brave man. Your actions led directly to your capture.”
“It was the right thing to do,” Swanson said. “Given the same circumstances, I would do it again. Thank you for coming to see me.”
The imam rose swiftly, and the robes fell smoothly into place. His posture was firm, as if he were used to carrying authority. “May Allah bestow his blessings and protection upon you, soldier. We will not meet again. While you remain in our country, as a prisoner or whatever your status, you will be treated well. You need not fear for your life. But when you leave, do not return.”
Kyle also stood, somewhat unsteadily. Favor for a favor. “My thanks, sir.”
The imam turned and left the room without another glance.
The interpreter went behind him, closed the door, and returned to where Kyle was standing. With the quickness of a snake, he slapped Swanson hard across the left cheek and sent him reeling back against and then over the chair and onto the floor. The cuffs went back onto his wrists, and he was roughly shoved back into the chair.
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
LAUREN CARSON AWOKE IN the upstairs bedroom of her small town house on the fringe of Old Town Alexandria, a tight redbrick building that she had spent money and time to decorate just for her. The rooms were small but colorful and comfortable, and everything in the place was precise and so exact that when her alarm clock buzzed, the Mr. Coffee turned on and a Bose CD player smoothed into a Chet Baker album. The morning was good. She got into her sweats, drank some orange juice straight from the bottle, and then went for a run.
She would do only three miles this morning, for although there was no real hurry to get to work, she could not stand the feeling of being so cut off from information. No word from either Kyle or from Jim, the disaster in Islamabad-so much she did not know.
Back at the condo, she showered and hurried through her makeup, then pulled a freshly laundered dark blue pantsuit and a snowy white blouse from her closet. Comfortable black shoes with low heels. Credentials and weapon in her purse. Ten minutes later, she was in her Honda, sipping a Starbucks mocha latte and driving to CIA headquarters in Langley. The first thing on her schedule today was the SODD meeting to again go over the role she had played in Pakistan. That would be easy, because she had played no real role at all. Everything had happened around her, as if she had been at the end of a whipping rope, snapped by events. She wanted them to bring her up to date when the meeting was over. The idea of becoming a field agent in her next Agency posting, getting close to the excitement and action, had an inexplicable and undeniable attraction after helping Kyle get the American soldiers to safety. Lauren planned to suggest that she be sent back over to Pakistan. At least she was friends with both of the major players in this drama, and both Jim and Kyle would accept her help before that of a CIA agent they did not know.
She walked into the small meeting room filled with confidence. Two men and one woman were already seated around a table, waiting for her, and another male agent had opened the door, then closed it behind her and took a seat beside it. Curious. None of the others rose, and their eyes were guarded.
“Have a seat, Ms. Carson,” the man on the right directed. “I am Mel Langdon from the Department of Operations, and with me are Jack Pathurst from the Office of Security and Mia Kim from the Financial Department.” When he stated “for the record” the date and time and place of the interview, Lauren had changed her mind about the nature of this meeting. It was being recorded. One thing she had learned from Jim Hall was that there are times to keep your mouth shut, and this seemed to fit that description.
“We are following up today on the previous statements you have made concerning your most recent trip to Pakistan,” Langdon opened.
“My
There was a quick blink of his eyes and all friendliness was gone. “You reported that under the direction of Agent Hall, you transferred funds while you were in Islamabad, is that correct?”
“Yes. The account was set up for this specific purpose. We disbursed a total of five million dollars of the ten million authorized.”
“And you countersigned the creation of the account?”
“Yes. Agent Hall was primary and I was secondary. There was nothing out of the ordinary on establishing and operating it. A standard covert account.”
The agent from the Office of Security, Pathurst, spoke for the first time. “And how were the funds distributed? Personal check? Cash on the barrelhead?”
Lauren kept her temper, although they were playing with her. “I accessed and transferred the funds electronically.”
“Does that mean that you used a computer?”
“Yes. My laptop, a Mac Pro.”
“So you say that it was your laptop? That computer was your personal property, Agent Carson?” Pathurst was digging like a terrier for some subject she did not know.
“Agency issued in my name,” she said. “I have used it for two years, and no, I never surfed for porn or went on eBay with it. It was used only for Agency business.”
Pathurst’s grim mouth twitched. The internal affairs man was unamused. “Do you have it in your possession now?”
“We covered all of this in the earlier interview,” she said. “It hasn’t changed. When Gunny Swanson and I escorted the American prisoners out of the hotel room, Agent Hall asked me to leave the computer behind. He is my boss, so I let him keep it.”
“So the answer is no; you did not bring that Mac back with you.”
It was a statement. Lauren was trying to keep her wits together. “Are you people doing an inventory check? So I left behind a computer with my boss that cannot be used, or even accessed, by non-Agency personnel, at his request. That’s what this is all about? You want me to buy a replacement?”
Ms. Kim, who had been silent from the start, glanced at a yellow legal pad. “No. We don’t care about the computer itself. But we are curious about the funds. Ten million dollars was authorized. You confirm that you personally transferred five million of that amount while on the mission. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then where is the remaining five million dollars, Agent Carson? That account now shows a zero balance, and was closed yesterday.”
Lauren was startled by the announcement. “That would be unusual, but not impossible. Agent Hall would finish the accounting process personally after a mission was completed. Normally, he would wait until he was back at his desk here so he could put together a complete report. Ask him.”
Mel Langdon shook his head. “We would love to, Ms. Carson, but Jim Hall is dead. He was killed in the explosions in Islamabad. The FBI gave us DNA and fingerprint confirmation overnight. Hall won’t be confirming your story.”
“Jim’s dead?” The news was like a punch. “How? When?”
“Later,” said Pathurst. “Stay with telling us about your computer.”
“Ask Kyle Swanson, then.”
“Swanson has been captured and is being held prisoner in Pakistan, and the two rescued soldiers have no recollection of seeing any computer at all.”
Kim spoke. “You had the computer in Islamabad. You had all of the access and account codes. You claim that Jim Hall took it from you, but have no proof, not even a receipt of property transfer. And the account was cleaned out after your only alibi was killed.”
“A receipt of property transfer?” Lauren’s voice rose. “We were pulling a couple of American captives to safety from the Taliban in a hotel room and you think I should have taken time to jot out a transfer receipt and have Jim Hall sign it?”
“We think you should have followed established procedure,” Ms. Kim said. “Now five million dollars has gone
