Lady Death

scanner one at a time so the computer could record their eye signature. Finally, the duty officer allowed them beyond the sealed door.
Wilson took the lead. They walked along a hallway, through a door accessed by Wilson’s pass card, and into a conference room.
“Where are the other prisoners?” Raven said.
“Need to know,” Wilson said. “You don’t.”
Raven laughed again. “Maybe I should rejoin,” he said, “so I can learn all these wonderful secrets.”
“Is that what it will take?”
Bottles of water and fruit waited on the table. They needed to start the debrief right away. Wilson picked up a handset from the middle of the table and asked for somebody named “Harmony”. He put the phone down.
Raven handed Tanya a bottle of water. He took a long drink. A woman entered with a laptop and digital recorder. She set up on the table. Wilson introduced her as Harmony Moyer, their recorder. She wore a smart blue suit with her long hair tied back. Very little makeup gave her a girl-next-door appearance. Confident brown eyes. She didn’t shy away from Raven or Tanya as she shook their hands.
She’d take notes, Wilson explained, and the conversation would be recorded as well. He asked Tanya to sit. Raven remained standing.
Wilson said, “We’re going to start with basic questions, and work up to your involvement with the Islamic Union.”
“I’m not saying a word,” Tanya stated.
“What?”
“You get nothing until I get a deal,” she said.

13
Fisher didn’t like sitting in front of the Senate Intelligence Committee.
He understood the need for oversight of intelligence operations. No question there. But he didn’t respect the people assigned as his overwatch. None of the 15 politicians on the panel had ever served in the CIA. Some had never worn a uniform. The Democrat from California, who chaired the committee, had recently walked away unscathed from a major scandal. The FBI outed her personal driver as a Chinese spy. He’d been her driver for over 20 years, yet the matter wasn’t treated as a critical failure. It should have been. The Senator from California liked to run her mouth to show off her importance. She shouldn’t be anywhere near the committee, and Fisher wasn’t the only one who thought so.
But still she sat, asking questions in turn with the others, staring at him.
It was easy to compromise the panel despite their security measures. He had no faith in anything he and Jack Rogers said remaining secret for long.
Fisher and CIA General Counsel Jack Rogers made their pitch. They explained the defection of Tanya Jafari and her intelligence on Francesca Sloan. They presented their evidence connecting Sloan to the White Widow alias. Then the panel responded. They put up immediate barriers.
“She’s a British subject,” one senator said. “We should turn this over to MI6 and let them deal with her.”
“Islamic Union bombings have killed Americans, too,” Fisher retorted. “We’ve never deferred to another agency in cases like this.”
“I don’t approve of these drone strikes to begin with,” said another. “The last administration was way too trigger happy. Can’t we poison her food or something?”
“With all due respect, Senator, getting close to the White Widow isn’t an option.”
Fisher and Rogers, at a table in front of the raised dais the senators sat behind, had to look up. As if the senators were gods on Mt. Olympus. Ridiculous.
“What do we know about this Operation Triangle?” another senator asked. “Are you sure it’s real? Or is your informant making it up?”
“Tanya Jafari has no reason to lie to us, Senator.”
“On the contrary, she has every reason to lie. She wants asylum. Or whatever she’s asking for. She wants our protection.”
“Her intel on Sloan has so far checked out.”
“She gave you a picture,” the jowly politician pressed. He was a Republican from Colorado, the newest member of the rotating panel. “She could have given you any picture. Are you sure it’s this White Widow you’re so scared of?”
Jack Rogers jumped in. “I’ve reviewed the information our informant gave us. Her background matches what we already know. What we’ve lacked is positive identification.”
“I’m not asking you, Counselor.”
Rogers pushed. “This target meets the qualifications for a termination protocol.”
“It isn’t for you to decide, Counselor.”
“May we have a vote?” Rogers said.
“I’m not done—”
The chairwoman snapped, “Enough!”
Fisher’s eyes settled on the senator from California. He took a deep breath. Apart from his dislike for her over the chauffeur fiasco, she usually supported the intelligence community 100%. For all her faults, she was at least a defense hawk, but not the type hip deep in the military industrial complex. She didn’t vote for war to make money.
Unlike some of her colleagues.
“It’s thin, Mr. Fisher,” the senator said.
“We’ve confirmed as much as possible with the amount of information we have, ma’am,” he told her. Believe me, I wish we had more too. “As I’ve said, all we’ve ever lacked is a picture of Sloan. And her name.”
“You never knew she was British until now.”
“No, we didn’t.”
The senator from California examined the pages in a folder in front of her. They all had received a copy of Francesca Sloan’s picture, and a summary of Fisher and Rogers’ testimony.
“All right. We can go in circles all day, but we have what we need. If our informant tells us there’s an operation underway, we need to stop it. I’m not going to sit through more news coverage of another attack. All in favor?”
All but the jowly senator from Colorado voted to put Francesca Sloan on the kill list. Termination protocol approved. The document with a list of terrorist targets would now go to the president for the final decision. One more meeting. But Fisher knew the president well. He’d rubber-stamp the mission.
Too much mother-may-I, Fisher thought. If we don’t move fast, she’ll get away.
But those were the rules, and he had to work within them.
He wasn’t Sam Raven.
The meeting adjourned, Fisher and Rogers left the chamber room.
“When can we see the president?” Fisher said.
He and Rogers sat in the back of a black limousine.