and took out drains. In the wall of the bedroom, behind the headboard of the bed, they had found a half million dollars in cash, along with a gun and a fake passport. Pathurst edged close to the table and propped his elbows on it, resting his chin on his fists and just staring at the others for a few moments. “She has to know that we found her hidden stash, so she won’t be going back.” Jack Pathurst enjoyed his job. “I am afraid we fucked this up.”
Langdon exhaled heavily. “And all you found was a plastic trash bag filled with money, a gun, and fake ID? That was a little convenient, don’t you think? Carson was trained as a CIA agent, and you believe she would leave her getaway pack where you could find it so easily?”
“The point is, Mel, that we
Mia Kim cleared her throat before speaking. “We also discovered that bank account in Argentina that we traced directly back to Agent Carson. There is no question about the identity of the person who has sole access to it. It belongs to her.”
Pathurst asked, “How much is in it?”
“Another half million, plus or minus,” Kim said.
“That’s another fact, Mel. Not a guess.”
“And also pretty easy to find. Sloppy work, and Agent Carson is not a sloppy person.”
Langdon was gliding through the motions, certain that this was going to be off of his desk soon and over to the lawyers for prosecution. He wanted to be right before passing it along. No blowback. “Nevertheless, just what you have uncovered thus far gives us enough to throw the book at her. Her career here is over, and she probably is facing a prison term. She has to know that.”
“Agreed,” said Pathurst. “The sooner we arrest her, the better.”
Langdon did not want to take the final step. “Jack, I have been conducting internal investigations for many years, and we have to be careful. I’m not ready to file charges.”
“Mel, dammit, we are CIA and we don’t have to file anything! I say we should pick her up right away. Carson knows what can happen, just how deep we can make someone disappear. Faced with a grind of enhanced interrogation at some third world hellhole, she’ll fold in a minute.”
Mia Kim broke in. One hand rested on the arm of her chair, and she was gently tapping the table with her other fingers. Nervous energy. “Jack, I also don’t like sudden gifts from the angels when doing an investigation: sacks of money and phony bank accounts. We should have had to unravel a lot more fronts and dodges before getting to that point. No doubt that she is involved in something, but we don’t know what, or whether she knows anything about it.”
Jack Pathurst examined them both with curiosity rather than alarm. The normal reaction should have at least been some outrage, but Langdon and Kim were dithering. “All the more reason to get her in here. I have agents checking area hotels and motels because she had to spend the night somewhere. I need your permission before asking for police help. We can have every cop on the streets looking for her within an hour.”
“That risks going public,” Langdon said. “Not a good idea.”
“Mel, I can get this girl. She’s just a beauty queen, not a real field agent. She is out there on her own and without resources. I will get her and throw her down a well until she tells us what we need to know. There is no downside to snapping up one of our own agents. I don’t understand why you are hesitating.”
Langdon pushed away from the table and stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It doesn’t pass the smell test, Jack. You’re wrong to think of Lauren Carson as just a pretty face. She’s tenacious and very smart. She has already proven that, because you do not have her in custody already. Carson saw an opportunity to get away yesterday after that first meeting, and she snapped it up.”
Pathurst remained silent. It was true. He had been concentrating on the search rather than being ready to take Carson off the street. She should have been considered guilty until proven innocent, not the other way around, but she had walked out on authorized leave, with no one following her. Now she was gone.
“No matter what the situation, Carson has answers or at least information that we need. We cannot ignore the facts,” Kim said. “We need her to talk. I don’t like it, but Jack is right.”
“I know. I know.” Langdon picked up the papers. This was turning into a serious situation, and Carson was right in the middle of it all. “Very well, Jack. Go find her. Use whatever you need, but keep it quiet. Word gets out, and there will be sexy pictures of her wearing a tiara all over the TV, and she will be identified as a rogue CIA agent forever.”
ISLAMABAD
KYLE SWANSON WAS STARTLED by new noises outside his prison door. Not the normal pattern that preceded the usual feeding and waste disposal, but the scuffle of multiple boots and voices made dull and distant by the concrete and steel. He rose from the mattress, straightened his outfit, turned to the wall, and shielded his eyes as a key was inserted in the lock and turned. The burst of light still hit him like a thrown rock.
Then came some yelling, and strong hands grabbed his biceps and legs. He did not resist. Handcuffs and leg irons were put in place. He kept his eyes tightly shut against the harsh light when they spun him around and someone shined a bright beam directly into his face. An order was snapped, and the unseen hands pulled him forward, his stumbling steps measured exactly by the length of the ankle chain. Swanson went with the motion. The air in the tunnel hallway was fetid, but almost fresh in comparison with the stale odor of his cell, where there was no circulation. Hot and stuffy in the day and cold at night. He heard the metallic racking of a guard cocking a pistol. They were taking no chances with him.
At the staircase, the guards on each side lifted him up so his toes could catch the next higher step, then repeated the process sixteen times until they reached the landing that led into the main floor of the prison. Kyle opened his eyes during the climb and allowed the dungeon shadows to help adjust his sight for the onslaught of light he knew was coming. His breath was slow and measured, and his pulse was normal.
Through one door, across a room, then another door, and he recognized being back in the warden’s suite of offices. The warden stood beside a window, taking obvious pleasure in observing the filthy condition of his prisoner.
Another man rose from a chair when Swanson was brought in. He was tall and fit, with neat gray hair and a lightweight blue suit with a striped tie.
When the man spoke, it was with a flat Ohio accent. “Please leave us alone for a while, Warden. And please remove the restraints.”
“You may have all of the time you need, Mr. Riles, but the restraints remain in place. This man is very dangerous.”
“Not to me.”
“To everyone,” the warden insisted, leading his men from the room. “Do not be too long.”
Alone with Kyle in the room, the American spoke. “Let me help you to a chair, Gunny Swanson. Get you a glass of water? My God, man, you look terrible.”
“Thanks,” Kyle said, drinking the clean, clear water in a couple of gulps and holding out the glass for a refill, which he also drained. “Who are you? State?”
“Yes.” He fished out a wallet with his State Department identification. “Dean Riles, deputy chief of mission. We have been battling to get to see you since the capture, but the Pakistani government has been dragging its heels because of the damage in Islamabad.”
“I had nothing to do with those explosions,” Kyle said. “I promise that it came as as much of a surprise to me as anyone.”
Riles sucked in a breath. “Still, it has been awful. The government is still reeling, but somehow it is holding on despite the unrest throughout the country. Now, how have they been treating you? Your shirt is in rags.”
“Three hots and a cot, sir. Not really, but I’ve been through worse. Solitary confinement in a basement cell with no light or heat. There have been no beatings because I apparently have an influential friend.” Swanson let his gaze wander around the room and to the warden’s desk. A digital clock told him it was a little before noon, just about what he had guessed. He could start counting again when he went back downstairs.
“Your friend has worked hard in your behalf. That brings me to the second reason for my visit today.” Riles
