“Who are you and what do you want?”
She brought her eyes to his level and peered into the office. “Brenda Weston.” She stepped inside and extended her hand. Chesterfield stared at it as though she had sneezed a handful of snot into it before offering it to him.
She slowly withdrew her hand and pulled a folder from under her arm. “I work the Oklahoma City field office for the FBI.” She extended the file and Chesterfield leaned back in his chair.
“And just why would the FBI be knocking on my door at this hour?”
Agent Weston took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I work for the CIA and—”
“Wait a second. You said you were FBI.” Chesterfield sat forward and gave her a questioning stare.
“I said I worked for the FBI. But I am a CIA field operative assigned to…monitor the Bureau. Specifically, their domestic terrorism investigations.”
Chesterfield rocked his chair slightly, a slow smile crossing his weathered and tired face. “And you are here…why?”
She handed the folder over again and placed it gently on his desk. “I understand you have an operation in progress that deals with one Robert Bridger, ex-operative for the agency?”
Chesterfield shrugged. “Do I?”
Brenda rolled her eyes and nodded to the file. “One of his accomplices is an FBI field agent. His name is Roger Wallace. We believe that he may be in Pakistan assisting Bridger.”
Chesterfield smiled and shook his head. “I doubt that seriously. The feebs are too tight assed to allow one of their agents to operate outside of their constitutional constraints.” He picked up the file and handed it back to her. “FBI only operates domestically.”
She shook her head and tossed the file back on his desk. “Actually, that’s not entirely accurate.” She crossed her hands in front of her and stared down at him. “Wallace may have copied some…shall we say, ‘sensitive’ reports, many of which came from your offices.”
Chesterfield shrugged. “Anything from our offices would be encrypted.”
She raised a brow at him. “And don’t they have computer experts working with this…” She pulled her pocket notebook and flipped through the pages. “Ah, yes. Baba Yaga International.” She closed the notepad and pursed her lips, waiting for him to connect the dots.
Chesterfield blanched and slowly stood. He turned and flipped the file open. He browsed through the stacks of papers and finally found the inventory for “suspected documents stolen.”
“How?” He turned and stared at her. “He’d have to have carried them out in boxes.”
She blew her breath out audibly. “We believe he used a USB flash memory stick.”
Chesterfield fell into his chair. “Those are illegal in government offices.”
“So is using access cards from a dead operator with a higher clearance, yet Wallace did both.”
“Allegedly,” Chesterfield added.
“Unless you intend to act as his defense attorney, we both know that he did it. This is a courtesy call and an informal heads up to the potential shit storm you’re facing if they decode those documents.”
Chesterfield turned and studied her more closely. “You say you’re with the agency? Who do you answer to?”
She gave him a lopsided smile. “That’s way over your pay grade, Agent Chesterfield. Just know that my boss thought you would be better off knowing what’s potentially out there.”
She turned to leave and Chesterfield quickly stood and pushed the door shut in front of her. “I’m getting really tired of everybody telling me that the sky is falling and it will all be pinned on my head.” He stepped between her and the door. “I want to know who the other players are.”
She gave him a knowing smile and reached around him for the door knob. “And yet, you’ll have to settle for guessing.” She pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway. “If my boss wants you to know more, I’ll be in touch again.”
Chesterfield opened his mouth to argue but she disappeared into the darkened hallway. He watched her form fade into the shadows then turned back to the folder she had left him. He dragged a finger down the list on the inventory and groaned. “They got everything.”
He fell into his chair and stared at the darkened sky outside. It suddenly felt like the sky really was falling.
And this time…it was his fault.
Karachi, Pakistan
SAMEER HUNG UP his phone and pulled Balil to the side. “That was one of my cousins. He used to work for al-Abadi. He just spotted a convoy of al-Abadi’s people heading east, away from town.”
“You think he is running?” Balil dropped his cigarette and stepped on it.
“I would if I were him. He should know by now that the entire world is looking for him.” Sameer spat on the ground. “His life is not worth a bucket of warm piss!”
“Easy, Sameer.” Mamoon placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I have contacts east of town. I will call them and see if any have seen this convoy. We can catch up to them once we know where they are going.”
“If we leave now, we can—”
“We could not get across town in time to catch them. Not with all of the emergency vehicles still making rounds. The police are searching for him, ISI is searching for him…I would believe that his own people are searching for him.” Mamoon shook his head. “With the price on Muhammed’s head, his most trusted would surely turn him in.”
“Then where would his people be going?” Sameer asked.
Mamoon shook his head. “They may think that he is hiding in one of his properties. They may be going to ferret him out for the reward. We cannot know.” He held a hand up. “But let me make a few phone calls. Perhaps we can deduce what is happening.”
“I don’t like sitting here, doing nothing.” Balil growled. He lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. “I want to kill something.”
Mamoon groaned and held his
