Lady Death

said. “Did you see how he was looking at me?”
“I saw how you were looking at him,” Tanya said.
“He’s better looking than Ahmad!”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Tanya laughed.
The two women stopped at Francesca’s car and Fran unlocked the door. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Try to get some sleep tonight.”
“I’m too jazzed to sleep! Was this a great night or what?” With another laugh, Francesca slid behind the wheel and started the engine. Tanya crossed the parking lot to her car and sat behind the wheel a moment.
Yeah, Ahmad was a hunk, all right. And she had his phone number.
She started the car and drove home.

2
Present Day
Raven looked along the table at grim faces.
The conference room at CIA HQ looked identical the one at the Blue Ridge black site. Raven couldn’t remember the last time he’d set foot in the headquarters building, but he’d had no time to look around.
Fisher sat at the head of the table. Behind him, hung on the wall, was a large screen television.
Clark Wilson sat next to Raven on one side, with Layla McCarthy, Fisher’s number two, across from Raven.
Fisher opened the meeting. He looked tired. There were more lines on his face than Raven remembered from their last get-together; his hair was grayer. But the Deputy Director of Operations still held a commanding presence.
“Can anybody explain what the hell happened?”
Somebody tapped on the glass behind Raven. He turned to look as Wilson waved the man in. The man who entered was younger than everybody else. He was in his mid-20s, with a short haircut and sharp jaw, and wore the standard issue CIA suit-and-tie like a pro. He held a laptop and sat next to Wilson.
Wilson said, “This is Paul Heinrich, one of my top analysts.”
“What do you have?”
Heinrich lifted the laptop lid and turned on the power. “A few pieces of the puzzle, sir.”
“Short version?”
“Everything she told us was a lie. Sort of.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tanya told enough of the truth to send us after Francesca Sloan,” Heinrich said, “but made up her personal history.”
Heinrich hit a few keys and asked Fisher to turn on the wall-mounted big screen. Fisher moved to the side to allow everybody to view the television.
A picture of a much younger Tanya Jafari appeared on the screen. It looked like a driver’s license picture.
“She was born Tanya Schrader, in Berlin,” Heinrich said.
“Not Tanya Distel?” Fisher said.
“Correct, sir. There are several Distel families in Germany, but none match with her. She lied about her father’s business, too.”
“In what way?”
“Her father is not a janitor. He is Hugo Schrader, and he runs one of the biggest venture capital firms in Germany. She worked for her father as an accountant. So did Francesca Sloan.”
Raven frowned. “Wait. The Schrader name is familiar.”
“It should be,” Wilson said. “Hugo Schrader was a member of the Red Army Faction. Sat at the knee of Ulrike Meinhof. Wrote a book about the experience.”
The Red Army Faction, aka the Baader-Meinhof Gang, active from 1970 to 1998, began as a group of student radicals pushing a left-wing agenda. They were also upset about former Nazis holding positions of power in Germany. When protests were ineffective, they turned to terrorism. The RAF killed a total of 34 people and lost 28 of their own over their most active years. Most of the original leaders died in battles with police or in prison. Others survived until the official disbanding in 1998. Raven wondered where Hugo Schrader fit in with the saga.
“He didn’t get killed with the rest? Go to jail?” Raven said.
Wilson shook his head.
“I wonder how he managed to stay out,” Raven said.
“He had dirt on somebody for sure,” Wilson said. “Probably still does.”
“Let’s back up,” Fisher said. “Tanya and Sloan met working for Tanya’s father. How did they end up with Islamic Union?”
Heinrich said, “We can deduce that they both joined the Union the same way. Sloan ran off with her boyfriend, Tamal Alvi, whom we believed was the founding father of the group. She met him in Berlin. Her family spoke out in the UK press.” He tapped another key, and a newspaper article appeared on the screen. “They say Alvi seduced her into joining the organization. She left everything behind to be with him. We know Alvi was active at a training camp in Pakistan. It’s likely Sloan was there, too.”
“And Tanya too?”
“Yes. According to Mr. Raven’s statement, she trained at the camp in Pakistan.”
“But there’s something missing.”
“Yes, sir,” Heinrich said. “Tanya’s family never spoke to the press.”
“So, if she ran off with the boyfriend on her own—”
“They either didn’t care,” Heinrich said, “or supported her.”
Layla McCarthy scoffed. “Insane.”
“Like father, like daughter?” Raven said. “Did Hugo inspire his kid to fight the power like her old man?”
“Possible,” Wilson said. “It would explain a few things.”
“Like what?”
“Where the Islamic Union got its money from,” Wilson said. “How they appeared out of nowhere so quickly.”
Fisher said, “Schrader wrote checks?”
“We have no proof, but it’s possible.”
“Are you checking his financials?”
“We are.”
“Where is Tamal Alvi from, and how did he turn radical?” Fisher said.
Wilson said, “Remember the guy who crashed a truck into a café?”
Everyone nodded.
“Alvi and his roommate, Ahmad, started holding public meetings after the attack. They wanted to show the German people not all Muslims were terrorists.”
“What changed their minds?” Layla McCarthy said.
“Attacks on their families from a gang of thugs,” Wilson said. “Ahmad’s grandfather, who wasn’t well at the time, was killed in one of the attacks.”
Fisher turned to Raven. “Did she tell you anything about a boyfriend or a husband, Sam?”
“She did mention the name Ahmad on the flight over,” Raven said.
Heinrich cleared his laptop screen and began typing. A thin man appeared on the screen. The picture showed him walking through an airport and carrying suitcases. He was dressed casually with a black leather jacket a size too large for his small frame.
“Ahmad Jafari,” Heinrich said. “He shared an apartment with Tamal Alvi.”
“There’s your connection,” Raven said.
“Status of Jafari?” Fisher asked.
“Quite dead,