Lady Death

an office was an understatement. There were tables and chairs clustered in one corner of the bare room. The floors were uncarpeted concrete, the walls cold gray concrete, and there was an ever-present chill. Fluorescent bulbs shined above. Lymann sat in front of a big screen monitor connected to a variety of computing devices and blinking servers stacked in a metal rack. Wires ran everywhere.
No windows. Strategically placed circulating fans blew the stuffy air around.
Colleen returned with a mug of steaming coffee. Hayden didn’t want any. Lymann grumbled. “How come you didn’t bring me one?”
“I’m not your mother,” she said.
Lymann cursed under his breath and left the chair for his own mug. Colleen smiled. Hayden shook his head. They argued like brother and sister.
When Lymann returned, the screen came to life. Clark Wilson looked at them through a camera on the other side of the world.

9
“We have to confirm the presence of and take out a major player in the Islamic Union,” Wilson said.
“Hell of a hello, Clark,” Hayden said.
“We have to move fast. She’ll only be in Damascus for three days.”
Colleen said, “She? You mean the White Widow?”
“Yes. We have an informant on the way to tell us more, but she gave us a picture and a location in case she didn’t make it.”
“This I have to see,” Lymann said.
Wilson vanished from the screen. In his place was the photo of Francesca Sloan. Wilson gave Hayden and his team the rundown, leaving out Fisher’s concerns.
Hayden grabbed a notepad of flash paper and a pen. “Where’s the apartment?”
Wilson returned to the screen. “Corner of Ibn Battuta Street and Rawdat Al Midan.”
Lymann rolled his chair to a neighboring computer and tapped two keys. A laser printer hummed and spat out a picture of Francesca Sloan.
Hayden, at another terminal, looked up the building’s location. “Got it. Building under construction across the street, and on the opposite corner the produce souk.”
“Good surveillance points?” Wilson said.
“We’ll make it happen. You want confirmation, and then what?”
“Drone strike.”
“Not in Damascus,” Hayden said.
“Of course not. She’s leaving for Sukkariyeh and an IU base. We need eyes on her because we don’t know the timetable. We want to track her and make the drone strike when she gets to the base.”
“Understood.”
“How big is your tactical team?”
“Not big enough. It would be nice if we had a deal with the locals.”
“Now’s not the time to debate policy, but I get it. I’ll send more people to you.”
“Right.”
“Joe?” Wilson said.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Don’t lose her.”
Wilson disconnected and Hayden turned to his crew. Colleen brought her coffee halfway to her lips.
“Make it to go,” he said. “Both of you.”
“Why?” Lymann said.
“We’re checking out this apartment building. I have a feeling the Union may own the entire building.” To Lymann, “Did you gas up the Rover this afternoon?”
“She’s got a full tank, Skipper.”
“All right, get the com units, and let’s move.”
Hayden and his crew left their chairs.
Hayden sat on a park bench with a partial view of the apartment building. Behind him, green trees and the city’s ubiquitous jasmine flowers. The flower grew everywhere in the city. Between him and the apartment building was a busy construction site. The crew was beginning their day and took no notice of him.
Lymann and Colleen remained in the Rover, parked a short sprint down the road at the busy produce souk.
Without binoculars, which would have given him away, Hayden had no close look of the building. He couldn’t identify faces. But his general observation revealed details telling him Wilson had been correct. There were sentries on the roof.
“How many?” Colleen said over the wireless com unit in his right ear.
“At least four, all armed,” Hayden reported. “They wander back and forth.”
“A roof entry to bug the place is out,” Lymann said.
“We wouldn’t know where to put the gear anyway,” Hayden said. “With our luck we’d put everything in the wrong room. Can you see movement in the windows?” he added. Colleen had binoculars.
“Negative. Most of the drapes on this side are closed.”
“We can confirm the building is in use, and our mysterious informant is probably telling the truth.”
“Can we go home now?” Lymann said.
Hayden paused for a moment, scanning the building levels once more. No decorations on any balcony. Satellite television dishes sprouted at the two roof corners facing him.
“I think we’re done here, yeah,” Hayden said.
Hayden told Colleen and Lymann to stand by with the motor running. He left the park and cut through the block behind him. From there Hayden made his way to the souk and the black Land Rover. The souk was packed with shoppers and vendors, and he blended easily with the crowd. He climbed into the back seat. Colleen drove off.
“How’s the coffee?” Hayden said. He wiped sweat from his face. The 68-degrees of the early morning was climbing into the mid-70s.
“Still good,” she said.
Lymann said, “We need to call in some help to keep the building covered.”
“We’ll handle it,” Hayden said. “In the meantime, we need to do some shopping.”
“Great,” Colleen said. “Like we don’t have enough tomatoes already.”
Hayden laughed.
Colleen didn’t think it was funny.


10
The Cessna Citation descended. Raven and Tanya, their gin game long over, sat with their seatbelts strapped.
They watched the green forest flashing by below as the morning sun shined bright. Raven looked for the small airstrip in the distance but didn’t see it. This wasn’t his first landing at the secluded runway. It was a tricky landing. Pilots had to crest over trees and make a last-second dive to hit the runway correctly.
Tanya smiled at him. “This is getting exciting.”
“Almost there.”
He’d grown more confident in her story during the flight. She seemed more relaxed than she had been in Stockholm. He hoped Wilson and the Agency made her a proper deal.
The strip lay ahead. The jet banked to line up. The pilot climbed over the trees, then dropped the nose. The nose lifted once again before the back wheels smacked onto the runway with a screech of rubber.
The jet stopped at the