Chapter 3

A/N: Hey guys! Can't believe you are still reading! If you're enjoying, reviews and follows are apprecaited :)

I stared at my untouched jar of beer. Sue was sitting beside me at the bar, looking more at home there than she did anywhere else. The Hispanic bartender was serving mojito after mojito, while singing along to the Latin music that sounded in the whole club. Dancing couples moved sensually to some hot tango. I had spent many nights swirling around that dance floor myself, back when Sue was still on the hunt for sexy, preferably Latin american one-night-stands, and I was still her faithful wingman. She didn't need a wingman anymore, but it would always be our go-to bar when she needed a rant or I needed something different from the all the jazz.

"Okay, you're not drinking your booze. Should I get worried?" Sue asked in a playful tone, but I could tell she was only half- joking.

I shrugged. "I'd rather keep my mind clear. In case they change their minds about the interrogation."

Sue gave me an exasperated look. "Blondie, you have a higher alcohol tolerance than anyone I've ever known. And I'm from Colombia."

I rolled my eyes and gulped down half of my glass. "There. Happy now?"

She smiled.

"Very. Plus, you will need some alcohol in your system for what I'm about to ask you."

I raised my eyebrows. "What is that?"

"What happened between you and Estes?"

I shouldn't have been surprised. She knew. I hadn't told her, but I didn't need to. Sue always knew. It was one of the reasons why she was good at the job: She saw right through people. She'd been seeing right through me for years.

"We slept together." I only dared to look at her big brown eyes after I'd said it.

"I know that. The sexual tension between you is so obvious even Saul could see it." She said. "But I mean, how? When? WHY?"

I threw my hair back and prepared to tell her. "Remember the deal with Soraya Jan?"

"The terrorist's sixteen-year-old daughter. You were in Beirut with Saul when he recruited her. She volunteered as an informant, but then she got scared and no one could make her talk, until you asked if they could give you a try. She told you were her father was and thanks to that he got captured." She nodded. "I remember."

"She contacted me again a few weeks ago, telling me she'd gotten hold of her father's computer and a bunch of documents. As soon as I reported it they said they would send an analyst to Beirut to follow up the situation and keep an eye on Soraya…"

"…and you though they would send you." Sue finished the sentence for me.

I bit my lip so that it wouldn't quiver.

"But they didn't." she said.

"But they didn't." I nodded.

"Did they at least tell you why?"

"The words `insubordinate´ and `unexperienced´ come to mind, yeah."

Sue frowned.

"But what does Estes have to do with any of this?"

I took a deep breath. "We both stayed late that day. He walked me out, asked me if I wanted a drink. So we had some beers and we talked and all of sudden he says, that he was there when they picked the analyst, and that he didn't agree with it. That he was rooting for me. So we went back to my place. And I guess I don't need to tell you the rest…"

For a few seconds, Sue stared at me silently. Then she asked:

"Did you sleep with him because you were upset? Or because you think it would make him root harder next time?"

"What? No! Of course not!" I snapped. Although it wouldn't be the first time Sue saw something in me I hadn't seen yet.

I looked away so my eyes wouldn't keep betraying me.

"I don't know."" I whispered vaguely. "I was upset. I wanted to be there. I should have been there. It was my accomplishment, but I screwed up by being my shitty, unexperienced and insubordinate self."

"But you do lack experience, Carrie." Sue said in a sweet voice. "So do I. We've just started working at the agency, but we kick asses. And yeah, you might be a bit of a rebel sometimes, but that's because you're too smart for your own good and you are big fan of shit getting done your own way. That's okay. Stop being so hard on yourself."

I stared at my chipped red nail polish (when was the last time I'd had time for a proper manicure?)

I couldn't tell Sue. I didn't know how to explain that now that I had finally found my place in the world, I would do anything for it to need me as much as I needed it. I would do anything to fit in to the CIA as well as the CIA fit in to me, in to everything I was.

"So, David Estes…" she said. "Was he at least good?"

"Well, for someone with such a big ego, he was disappointingly small."

Sue's laugh made every male (and female) presence near us turn their heads.

"Gosh, you must have been upset."

"I know, I know. He's a jerk. But he wasn't acting like one that night…he was actually kinda sweet."

I remembered the way he tucked my hair behind my ear and said I was the brightest woman he had ever met. But deep inside, I knew I liked the words more than the person who had spoken them.

"Even if he is not a complete jerk, he is still married." Sue pointed out. "Whatever shit you are going through, he can't be the solution."

"Probably not." I agreed.

"Oh, no. I'll take none of your 'probablies'."

She gave me her best death stare, which was pretty good.

"Promise me you won't get involved with him. You'll just get yourself hurt."

I rolled my eyes, even though I knew she was right.

"I promise, Mama."

"Good." She nodded solemnly. "I want to kick your butt, but what I want more than anything, is for you to stop kicking your own."

"You mean I should step away from my area of expertise?" I joked.

She waved her hand as if taking importance off the matter.

"You'll keep your distance and in a few weeks none of you will remember what happened."

It amazed me how she had managed to keep her optimism intact while hunting terrorists for a living.

"It can´t be that easy. Nothing is that easy." I said.

"You're wrong. Our job isn't easy, I'll give you that. Afghan terrorists aren't easy, I'll give you that too. So, since you're already surrounded by all that messy stuff, my advice is to stay away from the one mess you can avoid."

She took the final sip of her beer.

"And that means, no fucking married men."

"With you there." I raised my glass.

Two seconds later, my cell phone beeped. It was text message from Saul.

"They want us back at Langley." I told Sue. "Says here it's urgent, but nothing more."

"Fuck Saul and his pathological need to create suspense."

Being used to flee on demand, we were out of the bar in less than 5 seconds. I swear I could hear the bartender sighing when Sue walked out.

"He must be there. Farid Ahmmed. Something must have happened." I said to her as we ran across the parking lot.

"Maybe he's there to deliver the rest of the message."

"What rest of the message? Sue, there is no rest to that message. He's already told us all he could possibly know. Besides, why would he risk sending it if he was coming here anyway?"

Suddenly I wasn't so excited about Ahmmed's arrival at Langley. The guy was a double agent, after all. I remember Saul saying that double agents are like acrobats walking on a tight rope: they're trying to balance their weight, but you never know for which side gravity is going to make them fall.

"Talk about messy stuff, huh?"

I laughed nervously, trying to relieve some of the pressure that was bottling up inside my chest.

"Yeah."

Sue sat behind the wheel and I jumped in to the passenger seat.

"But I meant what I said before…not everything is supposed to be so complicated, Carrie. I know that all your life you have been shown otherwise…but life it's not supposed to be so hard."

(***)

This time was different: when we burst in the Operations Room, everyone was standing completely still. It took me a second to figure out what they were all looking at.

A video was being played in the largest monitor. It looked like it'd been filmed with a bad camera. In the right corner you could see the date, September 8th, 2001, and the time, 8:32 pm. Less than two hours ago.

The room where the scene took place was small and barely lit. In front of the camera was a man whose face was covered by a dirty trash bag. His hands were tied behind his back. He was collapsed against the chair where he was sitting. If you listened closely, you could hear slight moans of pain.

Then 3 Middle-Eastern men walked in to the room. They were all wearing white, with the exception of the black shemaghs covering their heads. I gasped when I recognized one of them:

Abu Nazir.

He stood behind the prisoner and brutally took off the bag, to revealed the bruised face of Farid Ahmmed. Abu Nazir looked coldly at the camera and spoke in a hissing voice that sent chills down my spine. Three simple words:

"Consider yourselves warned."

Then, before any of us had time to process what he'd said, he lifted one hand he'd been hiding behind his back. The large knife came down heavily, and Farid Ahmmed's head rolled down the floor.