Lady Death

end of the runway. The stern-faced flight attendant opened the door and lowered the steps. Raven and Tanya carried their luggage forward. The flight attendant returned Raven’s gun and said goodbye. Two security men remained silent. Raven and Tanya stepped onto the tarmac.
Clark Wilson waited on the side of the runway. Behind him stood another security crew and two blacked out Suburbans.
“Sam!”
Raven and Wilson shook hands. Raven introduced Tanya. Wilson greeted her with a handshake and a “Welcome to the United States”, then escorted both into one of the SUVs. A security officer with an M4 between his knees sat up front while they took the rear seats. The two rear seats faced each other, and Wilson sat across from Raven and Tanya.
The other members of the security team climbed into the second SUV. The engines rumbled to life and the vehicles began the slow crawl through forest pathways to a road.
“Nice flight?” Wilson said.
“She cheats at gin,” Raven said.
Tanya let out another chime-tingling laugh. “He let me win.” To Wilson she said, “Did my intel pan out?”
“So far,” Wilson said.
“Good.”
Wilson and Raven exchanged a look. It told Raven all he needed to know. The intel might be good, but there were problems at the office. Somebody had doubts. Probably Christopher Fisher. As always, the man needed more information.
Raven looked out a window. The SUVs moved at around 20 miles an hour through the rutted pathway, the lush forest passing slowly.
He’d dealt with bureaucracy at HQ same as all field officers. With contempt and creative solutions. He’d more than once gone around the backs of his superiors to accomplish a task. It was one of the reasons he’d left the agency, and the main reason he hadn’t gone back. If he was going to take risks, he wanted the decision to be his alone.
Tanya said, “There’s more you need to know about Francesca.”
“I’m listening,” Clark said.
“Operation Triangle.”
“Which means what?”
“I don’t know. She and the other commanders discussed it before leaving for Damascus. It’s one of the reasons she’s going there.”
“We haven’t heard any chatter about a new attack,” Wilson said.
“You aren’t aware of how we’re communicating,” Tanya said. “No more open communications. Now we have a different way.”
“Explain.”
“Gmail. Messages saved in draft folders. They don’t send anything. Cell leaders have access to a single account and leave messages for others.”
“You know the account?”
“They will have changed it by now.”
“Changing accounts doesn’t delete messages.”
“Correct, but—”
“They can delete messages one-by-one,” Raven cut in. “The account will be empty.”
Wilson grinned. “Nothing is ever deleted in cyberspace.”
The SUV made a turn and picked up speed. They were on the road now, a winding two-lane road taking them deeper into the mountains. And the CIA’s secret facility within.

11
Christopher Fisher’s day began earlier than normal. With Wilson picking up Raven and Tanya Jafari, he scheduled a visit with Jack Rogers, chief legal counsel at the CIA. Layla McCarthy sat beside him in the big office.
They outlined the operation against Francesca Sloan. Fisher did most of the talking, with McCarthy adding a point now and then. They showed Rogers the picture of Sloan. “More information is forthcoming,” Fisher added when he finished.
“When?”
“As soon as Tanya Jafari gets here.”
They needed Rogers to sign off on a termination protocol. The drone strike had to be “legal”, which meant following the rules of engagement the CIA had set in Syria.
Jack Rogers sat behind a clean desk with a picture of his family on one corner. In his 70s with gray hair, and a stern face, he’d been the CIA’s chief legal counsel for over a decade.
“We can’t have any collateral damage,” Rogers said. He sat back in his chair.
“Are you saying no?” Fisher said.
“It’s a no as far as a drone strike in Sukkariyeh is concerned, yeah.”
“But we have a chance to knock out Sloan and her command council,” Fisher said.
“I understand, but Sukkariyeh is a populated area. We don’t know where she’ll be in the city yet. I’m sure as hell not letting you fire a missile into an apartment building in Damascus either.”
“What do you suggest, Jack?”
“Catch her on the way. Middle of the desert. Nobody but the bad guys will get hurt.”
“And we let the rest of them get away?” Fisher said. “They’ll clear everything out of Sukkariyeh as soon as news of her death reaches them.”
“I can’t authorize a missile strike in a civilian area,” Rogers said. “You know the rules, Chris.”
“Break them.”
“The Senate Intelligence Committee will have my ass if I do. Never mind the DCI.”
Fisher glanced at Layla McCarthy, who remained silent. Fisher knew he and Rogers would have to present the case to the senate committee too. If he couldn’t get past Rogers, no way were they getting the approval of the committee.
The “rules” did more to hamper the CIA than help. After the debacle of US involvement to date, nobody wanted more trouble. Nobody wanted to admit Syria existed until the heat settled.
“Then we get her in the desert,” Fisher said, “and play catch up with the rest later.”
“It’s the only way,” Rogers said.
“When can we put this in front of the committee?”
Rogers checked his watch. “If we hurry, we can catch them in two hours.”
“If she leaves Damascus before there’s a decision,” Fisher said, “we’re screwed.”
“Then you better hope she’s a stickler for her schedule,” the lawyer said.
“Ditto the committee,” Layla added.
Fisher only frowned.
Layla McCarthy kept up with Fisher’s quick pace as they walked down the hallway.
“Hayden and his crew,” Layla said, “can follow Sloan. It will help if we have eyes on her.”
“It puts them at risk of exposure, capture, or death.”
“How important is this target?”
“This is why I like drones,” Fisher said. “But put them on stand-by.”
“I’ll call when I get back to my desk.”
“Damn rules of engagement,” Fisher said. “All this ‘mother may I’ is letting the enemy get the upper hand.”
“Don’t forget we have Raven,” she said. “He’s always good for a cowboy act.”
Fisher scoffed.
“What’s your disagreement with him?” she said. They turned a