Chapter 10
Far From Home
CIA Headquarters Langley, VA 0856 hours local time
In the weeks since Amy's birthday, she had played the phone message from Clay over and over again. She had the message memorized now; all the words and inflections were in her heart, as well as her head.
There had been no new messages, or information about Clay; where he was or what he was doing, or his status. Amy kept telling herself no news was good news. As long as he was alive, and reporting into Langley, he was fine, but she would never be in that loop. When the Agency knew he was dead, they would let her know. She thought this was poor comfort, but it was the truth. As long as she heard nothing, he was fine.
So the call from Marcus Stillman to come and see him at his office in Langley had her worried. If it was bad news, wouldn't he or some agent come to tell her? They certainly would not make her come to CIA Headquarters to give her bad news. Still, why did he want to talk to her? Amy considered these questions again, as she walked down the hallway toward Stillman's office. When she arrived, she was shown in immediately.
Marcus Stillman stood up to greet her. He shook her hand, thanked her for coming in, and seated her in a chair off to the side of the office. He sat in another chair beside her, and looked intently at her, a small smile on his face, and a very bland, unreadable expression in his eyes. Amy thought he had probably practiced that look over many years.
'Thank you for coming to see me Major Webb. I hope everything is going well for you? How do you like working at JAG?' He asked, trying for a friendly conversational tone.
Amy politely answered his questions, but kept her guard up. 'I like working at JAG very much. And I am fine, thank you.'
'Good, good. I suppose you are wondering why I asked to talk to you. Let me first assure you that Clay is all right. We are receiving reports from him through various contacts, and they are very encouraging. I know he has been gone a long time, and it must be hard on you.' He had taken on a fatherly tone with this last sentence, and all it did was make Amy more uncomfortable. She acknowledged this with a faint smile and nod. Once these niceties were out of the way, Marcus decided to get to work.
'Major, I wanted to talk to you and ask for your help with simple mission.'
This surprised Amy, and in spite of her wish to keep a neutral expression, her eyebrows shot up.
'A mission for the CIA? I'm sorry Mr. Stillman, but I am really not interested in working for the Agency. I am very happy in the Marine Corps and with working at JAG…' Amy tried to be polite, but wanted to empress on Stillman that she was not going to get dragged into the Agency. Stillman was not going to be put off so easily though. He interrupted Amy.
'Major, I understand how you would feel about the Agency right now, and I am not recruiting you as an agent. I just need someone with your background, and language skills, and experience to help on this one assignment.' Stillman paused here, hoping Amy would hear him out. When she offered no more objections, he continued.
'It is in Iraq, but it is not a dangerous placement. We need a woman, who speaks Farsi, and can blend in with the people. We would have you set up what we call a safe house.'
Amy had heard that term used before in the context of the police or other security agencies, but didn't know what the CIA would use one for. 'What exactly is a safe house for the CIA?' she asked.
'We have several agents working alone and under deep cover in Iraq. They are men who have a list of supporters, or contacts where they can get information from, but very few of these supporters will help our agents with food or shelter for a few days, or pass information from the agents back up the line to Langley. So, we let the supporters know that a safe house is available in the area, and when they are contacted by an agent, they will tell them where it is located, and for how long it is available.'
'So it is not available for very long?' Amy asked. She had to admit, she was intrigued by the idea of offering help.
'No, for your own safety, the safe house is only available for a week or so, and then we try and set up a new one elsewhere.' Stillman answered, slipping in the use of the first person to try and get Amy to agree to do it.
He continued, 'You would stay in a house that has been rented in your name, the cover name we give you, and give the story that you will be meeting a male relative while staying there. It is not so unusual in Iraq, there are many people moving around these days, trying to settle in safe places away from the fighting and insurgent attacks. If you are contacted by an agent, you will be able to offer him food, shelter and time to sleep while someone else watches his back. You may have to administer first aid, give them money, papers, and most importantly, give them a chance to pass along information to be brought back here. This will be very important, since you will be a direct line of communication for them.'
Amy was getting the idea of how it would all work. It seemed simple enough. But it all seemed to go a little too smoothly. Before she could form any questions, Stillman went on.
'There is one other thing. You will pass along exit plans and papers for the agents. You must try and convince any agents you meet to wrap up loose ends, and use the exit plan you give them. It is getting a little too dangerous for them to be out there in such deep cover. And now that the Iraq government is operating, it would not look good for the US to still have spies operating in the new sovereign nation.'
'So to clarify what you are asking of me,' Amy began. 'I would set up a safe house for any agent that might need to contact me. I would offer them shelter, food, medicine, money, and an exit plan, and convince them to use the plan at the soonest possible opportunity. Why not have them just leave with me?' she asked.
'They will not be able to just disappear, and getting two people out is twice as hard, you understand. No, we would have you leave separately. As I said they will have to take care to tie up their stories, and contacts, etc. No, you will hand them plans, contacts, tickets if need be, so they can get out of the country in a few days, after they leave you.'
Amy had to ask the one question that was burning on her lips. 'Is Clay one of the agents that have to leave? Will I see him?'
'No'. Stillman said flatly. 'Clay is not in the sector that you will be in. I'm sorry but the chances of you seeing him are slim to none.' Stillman watched Amy's face fall, just slightly at this statement. 'But,' he said, 'you may see someone who was in contact with Clay, or who will see him soon, and you could pass a message along to him.' He didn't want to get her hopes up, but he knew that any chance for her to contact Clay may be all he needed to get her cooperation. He felt a slight twinge of conscience at using her emotions against her this way, but it was only a twinge.
'I suppose you have to have an answer from me right away?' Amy asked. She knew she could not leave the office without giving him an answer, but she wanted to buy sometime to think.
'Yes, right now.' Stillman answered.
'What will I tell the Admiral?'
'Admiral Chedwiggen is used to having his people work with the Agency at times. This would not be anything new. I will handle contacting him for you if you like.'
Amy thought for a moment more. She would not see Clay, but she may be able to get a message to him, or talk to someone who had seen him recently. 'Why me? The CIA doesn't have any other brown eyed female operatives who speak Farsi?' She thought this was all too convenient, too easy somehow.
'None with your…experience, shall we say? We need someone we can trust, who will keep their head. You have proven yourself there.' He said.
Amy took a deep breath. 'But aren't I a liability now? Wouldn't I break under pressure this time if I was captured?' she didn't even want to think of that possibility. She wasn't sure herself what she would do when faced with the enemy again.
Marcus Stillman smiled a fatherly smile. Something else Amy was sure he had practiced over the years. 'You will be quite safe. I wouldn't think of sending you if I thought you would be in danger. We just need a level head and experience here. Can you help us out, Amy? Help us, help agents like Clay, and help your country?' Even Marcus knew that was a bit thick, but there was a ring of truth to what he said, and Amy knew it too.
'All right. I will help you with this one mission. But do not start including my name anywhere on your roster of available agents. I am serving my country, not the CIA.'
'I understand.' He said. 'And thank you, Amy.' He stood and walked her to the door. 'My assistant will bring to the stationing office. There you will receive your formal orders, and all the information and papers you will need to travel. I will call JAG Ops and talk with the Admiral.'
She said goodbye, and he closed the door behind her. She was the best person for this particular mission. And he hoped it worked. It was his last chance, and the agent's last chance.
Deserted road Somewhere in Northern Iraq Mid-morning
Aamal Sahed was walking toward the village he had been directed to 3 days ago. He expected to get there by noon. He had been told by the contact that a woman with a large blue market bag would be the person talk to. She would be in the market place at mid-day, and he should approach her and say that 'the fruit across the street is fresher.' It never failed to amaze him the silly things that people came up with to make contact.
His empty stomach growled at the thought of fruit, or food for that matter. His stash of money and food had run out days ago. The last thing he had eaten was a couple days ago. Some bread and cheese an old woman had given him, when he had collapsed outside her hut. He had only sat down there to take advantage of the shade, and wait for the dizziness to ware off. He wasn't begging, but she had shared the bread and cheese with him anyway. It was probably all she had for herself. He had thanked her for her kindness, in what little Farsi he had learned, and she had smiled. He wasn't sure if she had appreciated the thanks, or if he had said something wrong. At that point he had not cared. It was the first bit of food he had to eat in days. He kept his eyes open for a well, or stream. He needed water too.
He smiled to himself. Here he was, Clayton Neville Webb, Harvard Graduate, Special Director of Operations, Middle East, Northern Iraq, working as a CIA Operative in the field under an assumed name; one of the richest and most experienced agents he knew, walking on a deserted road, begging for food. Since going underground to try and find Kharrat and Hassid, his life had been very different. It was good for him though, he was making progress, following his prey. He had decided to follow them from afar, to try and find out what their plan was, what their target was. But this had taken time. He had lost track of the days and weeks, months now since he had been in Baghdad and Hassid had gotten away. Going to this village today had taken him off their path, but he needed the rest, and needed to get some more money, food, and other supplies. He had finally accepted the fact he needed some help.
So he would take a few days, he thought. Rest, re-supply, and then set off again. He would pick up where he had left off on Kharrat's trail, and finish the job. He would pass along his plan and information he had gathered on Kharrat's group to the person at the safe house. And, he would write a letter to his wife. Let the support person hide it away and deliver it to Amy when they got back to Washington. Amy, just thinking of her put a smile on his face. He hoped with all his heart she was still waiting for him, would still be married to him when he got back. He thought of her everyday, and it hurt, but he couldn't stop. He will make it home to her, and they will have a life together. This was the hope he clung to, as he walked around this war torn country.
Village in Northern Iraq Market area Mid Day
Aamal/Clay made it to the market in time. It was a good sized village and there were a number of people milling around the booths the farmers had set up. He sat down on the side of one booth to watch for the woman and the blue bag. He hoped he could stay awake and make contact. He needed the rest, but he had to find her first.
It did not take long. He was not able to get a good look at any of the women, since they all wore the traditional black robes, and head scarf. But all he really needed was to see one with a blue market bag, and he finally saw her, walking down the road, checking in each stall, taking her time looking over the food. He watched her buy a few items, and place them in her bag. He caught her searching the crowd from time to time, but she was not obvious about it. It could be anyone, doing the daily shopping, watching for their friends in the marketplace, or looking at what the farmers had to offer.
Amy strolled around the booths, buying the food she thought she would need for the next day or so. There was no way to keep the food fresh, without electricity in the small hut she was using, but the food would keep well enough until she came here again tomorrow. She had been in place for three days now, without being approached by anyone, Iraqi or American. She would content herself that she was here and ready if anyone needed her. She would just have to wait until someone came to her. She scanned the crowd in the street, not really knowing what she was looking for, just looking.
She made her way to a fruit stall, where she might be contacted. It was now or never. As she looked over the produce there, she felt someone come up close behind her, closer than necessary, and her heart quickened. She heard a voice say 'The fruit across the street is fresher' in very poorly accented Farsi, and she froze. The voice was slightly familiar some how, but it couldn't be. She took a quick breath to calm down, and turned to look at the speaker. There, standing right behind her, looking at the food stood her husband. She couldn't believe it. He looked very different, but it was Clay. His face was thinner, and tanned, with a thin beard, his eyes were red rimmed and darting around him, checking faces in the crowd. He of course had no idea it was her, since her face was covered by her head scarf. Her mouth was dry; she didn't know what to say. She didn't want to make a scene right here in the open. She decided she should just follow procedure. She nudged him to get his attention, and walked out into the street, away from the crowded booth.
As planned, he followed close behind her. When they were away from any close listeners, he placed his had on her shoulder, and whispered in English. 'Where is the house?' Once he had said this, he looked at her face for the first time. Those eyes, he knew, but it couldn't be. His tired mind was playing tricks on him.
Amy saw the flash of recognition, and also noted how quickly Clay dismissed it. Her heart was in her throat, her blood pounding in her head. She was surprised he couldn't hear it himself. She looked up at his face, tried to poor all her love into her eyes, since that was all he could see. 'Clay, it is me. It's Amy.'
Clay's head was swimming. He shook it slightly, blinked to clear his vision, but she was still standing there in front of him, his wife. Amy. She was here. She reached out and took his hand in hers. They were her hands. Small and white. He couldn't think.
Amy looked around, watching the crowd. They couldn't talk here. They had to get back to the house. 'Clay,' she looked back up at him. He looked confused, disoriented. 'The house is down at the end of this street. On the left, blue door. Go in through the back. I will follow you.'
Years of training kicked in for Clay, and he ignored what was staring him in the face, to concentrate on the task at hand. They had to go somewhere they could talk safely, and maybe, in the mean time, he can clear his mind of this hallucination. 'Down the street on the left, blue door.' He repeated. 'Take your time here, and then take another route back to the house.' He ordered her. Then released her shoulder and hand, and began walking in the direction of the house. How could this be? Why would Amy be here? He was in worse shape than he thought. She couldn't be here, he told himself. It was only to be expected that being so weak from lack of food and rest for so long, he would think of, and wish for comfort from the most important person in his life. His wife. It was just a brown-eyed agent that sounded like Amy. Had to be. His befuddled mind had her saying things he wanted to hear. It would be all right though. Some sleep and food would straighten him out, and this agent would be able to get word to Amy. It would be fine.
But, she was so real. And she had been the right size, and didn't his hand feel something when he placed it on her shoulder. Some jolt of recognition? He just had to make it to the house. They would meet there, and everything would be straightened out. What if it was Amy? He had to get her home, it was dangerous here. He became angry at the thought of what she might be doing here. How that may compromise him. It certainly complicated things. What if it wasn't her? All these questions rolled around in his head as he walked down the street. He had to get to the house. Then he can plan what needed to be done.
Amy continued shopping, knowing she had to get enough for two people now. She took her time, but it was hard to walk slowly around the street when her heart and mind were racing. She wanted to be with Clay. When she felt that enough time had gone by, she slowly made her way down the street, and around a few extra buildings, before going to the house.
She opened the door and was roughly pulled inside. The door was closed behind her and she was pushed against the wall and her head scarf was torn off. He held her there, using his body to hold her against the wall, and looking at her face. Searching it, to be sure it was her. He pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was forceful, hungry, angry. Not an "I've missed you" sort of kiss, it was more punishing.
He pulled his head away from her for a moment, and looked in her eyes. Amy saw anger there, and something else she couldn't name, something reckless. They were both breathless after the kiss, like they had been running. Between gasps he said, 'I don't know whether to rip off your clothes and take you here, or bundle you up and get you on the next plane out of here.'
Amy didn't know what to reply to any of this, the rough kiss, his statement, or the anger in his eyes.
Clay looked at her again, and calmed his breathing. She looked so beautiful. More beautiful than he remembered, and she was right here, with him. He gently touched her cheek, and moved closer to kiss her again. This time it was gentle, and slow.
When he pulled away, Amy finally found her voice. 'Hi honey. I missed you too.' She said with a smile.
Unfortunately that set Clay off again. He let go of her and paced the small room. 'You think this is a game! Kharrat's men are out there, they have been following me. This is a dangerous situation!' he shouted.
This set Amy off too. She was angry now. Who did he think he was talking to her that way? 'You don't have to tell me how dangerous Kharrat and his men are. I know that better than you do.'
This was met by silence. They stared at each other across the room for a moment. Finally Clay asked, more calmly, 'What are you doing here?'
'My job.' Amy stated.
'What, looking for your husband who hasn't checked in for a while?' Clay asked sarcastically. 'I'm sorry, I was busy.'
Amy didn't understand where all this anger was coming from, but she couldn't stop to think about it now. When Clay got like this, she immediately got on the defensive. 'You are my husband and I love you, but my world doesn't revolve around you Clay. I'm here for the CIA to provide a save house. You came to the market and met me, remember?'
'You are working for the Company now? Who sent you?' Clay demanded.
Amy knew he would not calm down until he had all his questions answered so she provided him the information. 'No, I am not working for the company now. I'm T.A.D. her under Stillman's orders.'
'Marcus sent you!' Clay shouted, and then didn't wait for an answer. 'I'll kill him.' Amy got the impression this was not an idle threat. 'And you came here, accepted the job as an excuse to look for me? Right?' Clay said accusingly.
'No. Marcus made it very clear I would not see you. So, he either lied…,' Now some pieces were falling into place for Amy. 'Or, Marcus wasn't sure where you are. When was the last time you checked in with anyone Clay?' she asked. Was he acting on his own? Was CIA not aware of his plan or where he was? Amy was going to find start getting her own answers from him.
Clay however ignored the question. He wanted his information first. 'What are your orders?'
Amy recognized the evasion, and also started to see beyond the front he had set up. She notes the signs of fatigue, the dark circles under his eyes, the stooped posture, and hollow cheeks. After a pause, she answers his question calmly. At least her anger had gone. 'My orders are to set up a safe house. Provide food and rest for any agent who contacts me. I can give first aid if needed, currency, supplies. I should collect any information, and pass it along when I get back.'
She waited for a reaction to this information, and received a pointed, haunted stare. Reaction time is down too, she thought to herself, another sign of fatigue. A look of surprise was there too, but was quickly covered up. Finally he turned away from her to think. 'Clay, tell me what is going on.'
'That's classified.' He answered, and moved further away. He was starting to relax, and she saw just how worn out he was. He was beginning to let go of the façade that he lived with while working underground to protect himself. He was beginning to feel safe. She hated taking advantage of this release for him, but she had to know what was going on, for both of their sakes. 'Clay, tell me. I'm in the middle of it now and I need to know.'
'You need to be back home and safe, that's what we both need.' Clay retorted. 'You are my wife, and I love you, but my world doesn't revolve around you, to coin a phrase.'
Amy knew this was just the exhaustion talking. He wasn't thinking clearly. She moved to him and placed her hand gently on his arm. He looked at her wearily at first, and then with a sigh, gave into her. Clay was too tired, too weak to argue any more. He had let his guard down for one moment, and had lost the strength to replace it. He knew that was the plan in the first place. 'Please Clay, talk to me.' She said. It wasn't fair, he thought. He began the explanation.
'Three agents have been found dead in the past two months. They had been beaten, tortured like you.' He looked at her, amazed again at what she had survived. 'They had gotten too close maybe, and were caught. But Kharrat has to be stopped. He is putting an army together now and he has to be captured and the group broken up. I'm close Amy. I could do it.'
Amy was scared, for him and for herself. She asked 'Why you? Is there anyone else who can help you? It sounds too dangerous on your own.'
'I may be the only one left out here that could bring them down. I have to try.' Clay said wearily.
'Clay,' Amy began, but he interrupted her, gently taking her face in his hands. 'He knew I would have the hardest time resisting you.' Clay said.
'Who? What are you talking about Clay?' Amy asked.
'What are your exact orders? What have you left out?' Clay asked again, knowing there was more.
Amy sighed and repeated the memorized list, 'To provide a safe house, offer food, rest, supplies, currency, and…' she paused as another piece fell into place. 'Provide papers and contacts for the agents to get out of the country, and encourage them to use it.'
Clay thought for a moment, and then asked, 'When do you leave?'
'I have my papers to leave in 3 days.'
Clay looked at her. He loved her so much, and had been alone for so long. He finally let go of the last of his defenses. 'Marcus knew exactly what he was doing. I am the last available operative in the area, and he wants me to come in. He knew I wouldn't come in willingly. If he had passed orders through the usual channels, he knew I would have ignored them. This mission is personal with me, and though I shouldn't be involved, he let me handle it. But now it is too dangerous, there is no back up anymore. He had to convince me to come back, and knew I would have the hardest time resisting the order from my wife. That is why you are here.' Clay closed his eyes a moment; it was getting harder to keep them open. He looked at Amy again. He knew he would do anything to keep her safe. 'Marcus is hoping I will go back with you, to keep you safe.'
Clay was leaning more and more on Amy. His exhaustion was taking over, and he was having a hard time staying awake and on his feet. Amy decided the rest of this discussion could wait. 'Clay, you need to rest now.' She put her arm around him, and turned toward the other room in the house, the one with a bed.
'I'm afraid if I sleep, I'll sleep straight through for a week.' Clay said with a smile.
'It doesn't matter. I'm here; I'll watch your back.' Amy stated as she helped him lay down on the low bed.
'Did you bring a quilt?' he asked sleepily. 'I could always sleep under one of your quilts.' He stretched out on the mattress and was instantly asleep.
Amy shook her head, looking at him. 'I don't think you will have any trouble.' She tucked a blanket around him, and left the room.
CIA Safe House Village in Iraq 1312 hours local time
Clay started to slowly be aware of sounds around him, voices from the street, a cart going by, and a woman singing. A soft breeze moved across his face and he smiled, thinking of Amy. All the lazy mornings he had been with her. Waking up to hear her humming or singing softly in the kitchen as she began breakfast. If he kept his eyes closed, Clay thought, I can pretend a little longer that she is here with me. He smelled meat frying, and eggs cooking. His empty stomach turned over in hunger. When did I eat last? He asked himself. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. He was in a room, in a bed…then the memory of yesterday came to him, but he still wasn't ready to believe it. He sat upright in bed and called 'Amy!' only half expecting that she would answer, and he would be sure it had all been a dream.
After only a moment, he saw her. She came to the door to the small room, wearing some dark Iraqi clothes, and her head was bear, her face was bright and smiling. 'Hey sleepy. I thought the smell of food would finally wake you up.'
Clay wasn't sure if it was the sight of her in front of him, the lack of food or the adrenaline rush of waking up, probably a bit of all three, but suddenly he was dizzy, and his vision blurred. He put his head down on his knees until the dizziness pasted. Amy came to sit beside him in the bed, and put her arm around him. 'I know I'm beautiful, but you don't have to faint at the sight of me.' She joked.
His voice was muffled as he said 'You are beautiful. The most beautiful thing I have seen in months.' He brought his head up slightly and looked at her. 'I love you, so much.'
'I love you too.' She said smiling. 'Come on, breakfast is ready. You will feel better once you eat something.'
He slowly slid off the bed and followed her into the other room. He remembered it all now, and knew they had some unfinished business to discuss. But it could wait until he had eaten. He sat down and dug right in to the food she had prepared. It was all delicious. Half way through, he noticed she was not eating, just sitting across from him watching. 'You are not eating?' he asked with a mouth full of food.
'No, I have eaten already, twice.'
'Twice?' he asked confused.
'It is pasted noon Clay. You slept the clock round, and then some. Clay just shook his head and kept eating. 'It has been a while since you had a meal, or a full night's sleep, right?' Amy stated, watching him.
Clay had finished the first helping, and was dishing up more on his plate. 'I've slept where and when I can. I ran out of food and money a while ago, and have traded or scrounged or begged for food since. I can look pretty pathetic when I have to.' He said, almost proud of himself.
'You wouldn't have to try very hard to look pathetic right now.' Amy said.
Clay smiled at that remark. He could imagine what he looked like now, dirty, tired, scruffy beard, ripped and dirty clothes. He finally sat back, having satisfied that hunger, and looked across at his smiling wife, and felt a new hunger, which had nothing to do with his stomach. 'How much time is there before night fall?' he asked, eyeing her.
Amy slowly got up, taking away some dishes and moving to the sink. 'Almost 5 hours I would say.' She answered.
'Good. Just enough time.' Clay said, moving behind her.
'Enough time for what?' she asked, and turned to see him hovering beside her.
Clay slipped his arms around her and pulled her close. 'Enough time to take my wife to bed' and he began to demonstrate what he had in mind to do there, nibbling here and there on her neck and ears.
Amy giggled, and moved in closer to him. It had been a long time. 'And then what happens after dark?' she asked, thinking she knew what he had in mind.
'Then we pack up, get out of here, and get you started for home.' Clay stated between kisses.
Amy stiffened at this reply. 'No' she said, and pulled away from him, turning around and facing the sink. This was going to be cleared up between now, before anything else, no matter how bad she wanted him.
Clay was just as unmoving however. 'Yes you are Amy. I'm sending you home now.' Clay was not in the mood to argue over this one point.
'Clay, I can't go anywhere for 2 days. My travel papers from CIA are pre-dated. To try and change them, or use them would arouse suspicion and I need to avoid that.'
'Amy, I need to finish the mission here, and it is too dangerous for you.' Clay stated.
'Just how are you going to finish this without any backup?' Amy demanded.
'You have contacts for me? I will use them.' Clay answered.
'These are people who can help you with some information passing. They are not going to cover your back, or go out looking for you if you are missing a few days.'
'I'll be fine.' He said to reassure her.
'You just said it was dangerous. You will be alone out there. You need back up,' she started, but he cut her off.
'I can't wait for any new back up to arrive, and I can't go home now and leave this job unfinished. I'm too close.'
'I'll stay. I'll be your back up.' Amy said. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.
'Out of the question.' Clay said and moved away from her. The moment was lost now.
Amy was not ready to give up so easily. 'We wouldn't travel together. I will stay a day or two behind. You can leave messages with the list of contacts…' the plan was all ready forming in her mind how they could do it.
Clay would not even listen. 'No, it is too dangerous. I won't let you.'
'Clay I can handle myself.'
'I know you can. I don't want to worry about you behind me.' Clay saw again the sight of her in the hospital bed in Baghdad after she had been found. 'Beaten up, or with a bullet through your head this time. No, you are going home and that is final.'
Amy knew she had lost, that he would not change his mind, he was too protective, but she was still mad. 'And you will stay here alone. Oh, that's right, some kind of super spy huh?'
He just stared at her from across the room.
'You'll send me home; risk your life, then what? I'm the one who gets to imagine you in a ditch somewhere with a bullet through your head!' she shouted, close to tears.
Clay knew what she would go through. What she had already gone through these past months because of his work. There was nothing to say to help. He just waited.
Amy calmed down. She moved onto the next subject. 'I have exit papers for you; tickets, money, contacts in and outside the country. They are all set up for one month from now. Can you finish this in a month?' she asked, looking up at him.
Clay thought he could finish it in a month. He would finish it, or be dead in that time, but he didn't say that to Amy. He suspected she knew it all ready anyway. 'A month will probably be enough time.'
'Promise me you will start home in one month, no matter where you are.' She pleaded.
Clay came over to her, sensing an end to their quarrel, an arrangement they could both live with. He put his arms around her, and looked her solemnly in the eye, 'I give you my vow, as seriously as the vows I took before the minister the last time we were together, that I will come home to you in a month.' He hoped with all his heart he could keep that promise. And, that he would come home alive to her, and not in a box.
Amy looked at Clay, and knew the promise was real, but that they both hoped he would be alive to fulfill the promise. 'All right.' She said.
Clay leaned down to seal the promise with a kiss. A kiss that confessed his love for her, and his need for her.
Amy moved her mouth away, and whispered 'Stay with me here for two days.'
'No, Amy….,' he whispered back.
She stopped his protest with her fingers, and pleading in her eyes. 'Clay, you are exhausted. You need rest; need to get your strength back, before you take on the world again.'
'I'm fine.' He told her. 'I have plenty of strength.' And he pulled her in tighter to let her feel just how much strength he had.
'I know,' she said with a sly smile. 'But do it for me. Give me these 2 days with you.'
Wary, Clay said, 'You are not going to change my mind about sending you home. It tore my heart out to leave you that morning outside the house, but I will say goodbye to you again.' He looked in her eyes, and saw the loneliness there. He knew his eyes showed the same emotion, his heart was just as lonely. 'I can give you two days.' And without another word, he kissed her deeply, and moved toward the small room with the bed on the floor.
One month later Train station Somewhere in Iraq 1632 hours local time
Aamal/Clay bought his train ticket, and moved out of the station building toward the platform into the late afternoon sun. He had said good bye to the contact already, outside the station. There was a place open on the bench under the roof in the shade, but he was too restless to sit right now, so he moved around the platform, looking casually at the other travelers.
There were many women and children moving around, waiting for the train, and some older men. There didn't seem to be too many young men around, or many that were around his age. No doubt they were out fighting, or policing somewhere.
Clay watched some boys playing nearby. Then he heard a mother calling them, obviously chewing them out because they had strayed too far. Mothers are the same the world over he thought, with a slight smile.
He thought of his own mother, and of Amy. He was keeping his promise. He was on his way home. He had the ticket in his hand to start the long and complicated journey back to Washington. Part of him was glad to be on the way home. He was tired of living this way. But part of him was disappointed too. The mission was not finished. Kharrat was still out there. He had lost their trail a week ago, and had not been able to find more information about where they had gone. The resources had run out now, and he was left with no choice but to pack up and leave. He would have to continue watching for signs for them from the government level.
As he paced around the platform, he noticed three large trucks drive up on the far side of the railway yard, where some cargo cars were standing. He continued watching, and saw Mohammad Hassid get out of one of the trucks. Clay was sure it was him. After the time they had spent together in the prison in Baghdad, he would not forget that face. Hassid was walking to one of the cargo cars, and directing men from the trucks and the area of the rail yard to begin loading the cargo from the railway cars, into his trucks.
Then Clay saw Kharrat, he approached Hassid from another one of the trucks. They were right here! The men were pointing guns at the railway workers to get them to help in the loading of the cargo. Clay wished he could just pull out a gun, and shoot them both on sight, but it would not help matters, and would surely be the death of him.
He mind was racing. This was his chance. He could just walk up and join the loading of the trucks, and infiltrate the group. But what then, assassinate the leaders in their sleep one night? Or, join the group, find out their plans then try and get word to the authorities and try to get word to the coalition forces and try to stop them? He had to do something, he couldn't just walk away. They had fallen right into his lap! He knew enough Farsi to get by, he thought. He could do it for a few days….
Clay looked down at his own train ticket, but he did not see the writing there, he only saw Amy's face. 'Darling, I'm sorry.' He said, and ripped the ticket in half. That may have been his last chance with her too. Breaking this promise…she just had to understand. He had to stop them, for the country's sake. That was what he was here to do.
As he dropped the ruined ticket to the ground, he watched it flutter away. 'I love you, Amy.' He said into the wind.
He the pack with his few belongings onto his back, wrapped the scarf around the lower part of his head, and walked over to the railway cars. He stepped into line, and received a box, which he then brought over to one of the trucks, and helped load the supplies.
Six weeks later Amy Webb's Residence Alexandria, VA 2020 hours local time
Amy sat in the window, reading one of her favorite books. Some music was playing in the background. She had worked late at JAG Headquarters, and was now enjoying the quiet evening at home. She had been counting the days since she came home from her assignment in Iraq. She thought she would be hearing from Clay soon, confirming he was on his way home. She hoped so anyway.
The doorbell rang, and she marked her place and went to open the door. There stood Marcus Stillman. 'Hello Amy.' He said.
Amy was surprised, but glad to see Marcus. 'Marcus. Come in, please.' She said.
Marcus entered the room. 'Please sit down.' Amy offered. She was hoping he had some news for her about Clay, and when he might be home.
Marcus sat down, and looked at Amy's smiling excited face. He hated this part of his job. He especially hated having to do this for Clay, and Amy.
'So, do you have some news about my husband? Is he on his way home?' Amy asked hopefully.
'No, Amy, Clay is not on his way home.' Marcus said. He wanted to take this slowly. Fast or slow, it never seemed to help.
Amy sat back on the chair with a frustrated sigh. 'He had promised me…' then she stopped. She didn't want to go into what Clay had promised her with his boss, it may not be appropriate. 'What happened? Did he get too close to Kharrat to give up right now?' she asked. Maybe that was it, she thought. Maybe he was close to catching Kharrat and his group, and would be home a little later.
'Amy, I'm sorry, but no…' Marcus began, but Amy interrupted him. He saw the beginnings of fear in her eyes; maybe she was guessing what he was really here for.
'They haven't caught him, have they?' A cold fist had started to grab at her heart. She couldn't bare the thought of Clay a prisoner of those animals. 'Please, Marcus, they aren't holding him.'
'No, Amy he is not a prisoner.' It was time to stop this. Marcus took a deep breath. 'Clayton is dead. I'm sorry Amy.'
Marcus watched as the look of fear on Amy's face was replaced by confusion. Then that was replaced by shock. Her features went blank as the realization sank inside.
Amy's body went numb. Dead. Marcus said Clayton was dead. 'You're sure, Marcus. He has been missing, presumed dead before.' Somehow Amy knew that this was just grasping at straws.
All Marcus said was, 'We are sure. It was confirmed. I'm sorry.'
The only thing Amy felt was the cold fist constricting her heart. The rest of her was empty. 'I had always…I mean…I knew it was always a possibility…' Amy said, mostly to herself. Her hands were cold, and were beginning to shake. She pressed them together, squeezing her fingers together to stop the shaking, at least for a little while. She was not finished talking with Marcus yet. 'What happened?'
Marcus looked at her and debated how much to tell her. 'Tell me Marcus, and don't give me the company line. I'll go over there and find out for myself if you don't. I'd probably do a better job of it too. You know that.' Amy said angrily as he hesitated to answer her question.
He knew she was right. He decided to tell her everything. 'He was on his way home Amy. He had begun making the contacts, following the exit plan. His contact brought him to the train station that would take him out of the country, confirmed that Clay had bought his ticket and moved off to the platforms. The contact left after that. There was an explosion. The track had been booby trapped and the train Clay was to board set it off. The platform was destroyed, as well as most of the train.' He stopped here; he wasn't sure how to put the next part into words. 'There is nothing left, Amy. What remains there were of those who were killed on the platform were buried quickly in the city graveyard.'
So, an unmarked grave in a far away country, with probably nothing left to exhume even if she wanted to try. She didn't. It didn't matter really. Clay was gone. Bringing any earthly remains back here would not be much comfort for her now.
Amy sat and listened, unsure of what to do or say next. Marcus sat across from her, waiting for whatever she may need. A thought did come to her. 'What about Porter?'
'I am on my way to talk to her. You needed to be told first. Would you like to come with me to talk to her?' He asked. He didn't want to leave her alone right now.
'No. I will leave that to you.' Amy said.
'I don't think you should be alone right now, Amy. Is there anyone I can call for you? Or take you somewhere?' Marcus asked helpfully.
Amy thought for a minute. There were calls to make, one to her father, and to her brother. She would have to call Sarah and Harm too. That all seemed like too much to handle right now. She just wanted to be alone.
'No. I will call my family myself, not right now though. I will let you go over to Porter's and talk with her. Tell her I will call her in the morning.' Amy promised.
'Call me too, Amy.' Marcus suggested. 'Call me if you need anything at all. I want to be sure you are all right.'
'Thank you Marcus.' Amy wasn't sure she would ever be all right again. Her life with Clay had been so short it seemed, and the rest of her life stretched out in front of her…empty.
Marcus got up, laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a fatherly squeeze. He didn't know what else to say or do. Nothing would have helped anyway he thought. He moved quietly through the room to the door, and let himself out, leaving Amy by herself.
End of Chapter 10
CIA Headquarters Langley, VA 0856 hours local time
In the weeks since Amy's birthday, she had played the phone message from Clay over and over again. She had the message memorized now; all the words and inflections were in her heart, as well as her head.
There had been no new messages, or information about Clay; where he was or what he was doing, or his status. Amy kept telling herself no news was good news. As long as he was alive, and reporting into Langley, he was fine, but she would never be in that loop. When the Agency knew he was dead, they would let her know. She thought this was poor comfort, but it was the truth. As long as she heard nothing, he was fine.
So the call from Marcus Stillman to come and see him at his office in Langley had her worried. If it was bad news, wouldn't he or some agent come to tell her? They certainly would not make her come to CIA Headquarters to give her bad news. Still, why did he want to talk to her? Amy considered these questions again, as she walked down the hallway toward Stillman's office. When she arrived, she was shown in immediately.
Marcus Stillman stood up to greet her. He shook her hand, thanked her for coming in, and seated her in a chair off to the side of the office. He sat in another chair beside her, and looked intently at her, a small smile on his face, and a very bland, unreadable expression in his eyes. Amy thought he had probably practiced that look over many years.
'Thank you for coming to see me Major Webb. I hope everything is going well for you? How do you like working at JAG?' He asked, trying for a friendly conversational tone.
Amy politely answered his questions, but kept her guard up. 'I like working at JAG very much. And I am fine, thank you.'
'Good, good. I suppose you are wondering why I asked to talk to you. Let me first assure you that Clay is all right. We are receiving reports from him through various contacts, and they are very encouraging. I know he has been gone a long time, and it must be hard on you.' He had taken on a fatherly tone with this last sentence, and all it did was make Amy more uncomfortable. She acknowledged this with a faint smile and nod. Once these niceties were out of the way, Marcus decided to get to work.
'Major, I wanted to talk to you and ask for your help with simple mission.'
This surprised Amy, and in spite of her wish to keep a neutral expression, her eyebrows shot up.
'A mission for the CIA? I'm sorry Mr. Stillman, but I am really not interested in working for the Agency. I am very happy in the Marine Corps and with working at JAG…' Amy tried to be polite, but wanted to empress on Stillman that she was not going to get dragged into the Agency. Stillman was not going to be put off so easily though. He interrupted Amy.
'Major, I understand how you would feel about the Agency right now, and I am not recruiting you as an agent. I just need someone with your background, and language skills, and experience to help on this one assignment.' Stillman paused here, hoping Amy would hear him out. When she offered no more objections, he continued.
'It is in Iraq, but it is not a dangerous placement. We need a woman, who speaks Farsi, and can blend in with the people. We would have you set up what we call a safe house.'
Amy had heard that term used before in the context of the police or other security agencies, but didn't know what the CIA would use one for. 'What exactly is a safe house for the CIA?' she asked.
'We have several agents working alone and under deep cover in Iraq. They are men who have a list of supporters, or contacts where they can get information from, but very few of these supporters will help our agents with food or shelter for a few days, or pass information from the agents back up the line to Langley. So, we let the supporters know that a safe house is available in the area, and when they are contacted by an agent, they will tell them where it is located, and for how long it is available.'
'So it is not available for very long?' Amy asked. She had to admit, she was intrigued by the idea of offering help.
'No, for your own safety, the safe house is only available for a week or so, and then we try and set up a new one elsewhere.' Stillman answered, slipping in the use of the first person to try and get Amy to agree to do it.
He continued, 'You would stay in a house that has been rented in your name, the cover name we give you, and give the story that you will be meeting a male relative while staying there. It is not so unusual in Iraq, there are many people moving around these days, trying to settle in safe places away from the fighting and insurgent attacks. If you are contacted by an agent, you will be able to offer him food, shelter and time to sleep while someone else watches his back. You may have to administer first aid, give them money, papers, and most importantly, give them a chance to pass along information to be brought back here. This will be very important, since you will be a direct line of communication for them.'
Amy was getting the idea of how it would all work. It seemed simple enough. But it all seemed to go a little too smoothly. Before she could form any questions, Stillman went on.
'There is one other thing. You will pass along exit plans and papers for the agents. You must try and convince any agents you meet to wrap up loose ends, and use the exit plan you give them. It is getting a little too dangerous for them to be out there in such deep cover. And now that the Iraq government is operating, it would not look good for the US to still have spies operating in the new sovereign nation.'
'So to clarify what you are asking of me,' Amy began. 'I would set up a safe house for any agent that might need to contact me. I would offer them shelter, food, medicine, money, and an exit plan, and convince them to use the plan at the soonest possible opportunity. Why not have them just leave with me?' she asked.
'They will not be able to just disappear, and getting two people out is twice as hard, you understand. No, we would have you leave separately. As I said they will have to take care to tie up their stories, and contacts, etc. No, you will hand them plans, contacts, tickets if need be, so they can get out of the country in a few days, after they leave you.'
Amy had to ask the one question that was burning on her lips. 'Is Clay one of the agents that have to leave? Will I see him?'
'No'. Stillman said flatly. 'Clay is not in the sector that you will be in. I'm sorry but the chances of you seeing him are slim to none.' Stillman watched Amy's face fall, just slightly at this statement. 'But,' he said, 'you may see someone who was in contact with Clay, or who will see him soon, and you could pass a message along to him.' He didn't want to get her hopes up, but he knew that any chance for her to contact Clay may be all he needed to get her cooperation. He felt a slight twinge of conscience at using her emotions against her this way, but it was only a twinge.
'I suppose you have to have an answer from me right away?' Amy asked. She knew she could not leave the office without giving him an answer, but she wanted to buy sometime to think.
'Yes, right now.' Stillman answered.
'What will I tell the Admiral?'
'Admiral Chedwiggen is used to having his people work with the Agency at times. This would not be anything new. I will handle contacting him for you if you like.'
Amy thought for a moment more. She would not see Clay, but she may be able to get a message to him, or talk to someone who had seen him recently. 'Why me? The CIA doesn't have any other brown eyed female operatives who speak Farsi?' She thought this was all too convenient, too easy somehow.
'None with your…experience, shall we say? We need someone we can trust, who will keep their head. You have proven yourself there.' He said.
Amy took a deep breath. 'But aren't I a liability now? Wouldn't I break under pressure this time if I was captured?' she didn't even want to think of that possibility. She wasn't sure herself what she would do when faced with the enemy again.
Marcus Stillman smiled a fatherly smile. Something else Amy was sure he had practiced over the years. 'You will be quite safe. I wouldn't think of sending you if I thought you would be in danger. We just need a level head and experience here. Can you help us out, Amy? Help us, help agents like Clay, and help your country?' Even Marcus knew that was a bit thick, but there was a ring of truth to what he said, and Amy knew it too.
'All right. I will help you with this one mission. But do not start including my name anywhere on your roster of available agents. I am serving my country, not the CIA.'
'I understand.' He said. 'And thank you, Amy.' He stood and walked her to the door. 'My assistant will bring to the stationing office. There you will receive your formal orders, and all the information and papers you will need to travel. I will call JAG Ops and talk with the Admiral.'
She said goodbye, and he closed the door behind her. She was the best person for this particular mission. And he hoped it worked. It was his last chance, and the agent's last chance.
Deserted road Somewhere in Northern Iraq Mid-morning
Aamal Sahed was walking toward the village he had been directed to 3 days ago. He expected to get there by noon. He had been told by the contact that a woman with a large blue market bag would be the person talk to. She would be in the market place at mid-day, and he should approach her and say that 'the fruit across the street is fresher.' It never failed to amaze him the silly things that people came up with to make contact.
His empty stomach growled at the thought of fruit, or food for that matter. His stash of money and food had run out days ago. The last thing he had eaten was a couple days ago. Some bread and cheese an old woman had given him, when he had collapsed outside her hut. He had only sat down there to take advantage of the shade, and wait for the dizziness to ware off. He wasn't begging, but she had shared the bread and cheese with him anyway. It was probably all she had for herself. He had thanked her for her kindness, in what little Farsi he had learned, and she had smiled. He wasn't sure if she had appreciated the thanks, or if he had said something wrong. At that point he had not cared. It was the first bit of food he had to eat in days. He kept his eyes open for a well, or stream. He needed water too.
He smiled to himself. Here he was, Clayton Neville Webb, Harvard Graduate, Special Director of Operations, Middle East, Northern Iraq, working as a CIA Operative in the field under an assumed name; one of the richest and most experienced agents he knew, walking on a deserted road, begging for food. Since going underground to try and find Kharrat and Hassid, his life had been very different. It was good for him though, he was making progress, following his prey. He had decided to follow them from afar, to try and find out what their plan was, what their target was. But this had taken time. He had lost track of the days and weeks, months now since he had been in Baghdad and Hassid had gotten away. Going to this village today had taken him off their path, but he needed the rest, and needed to get some more money, food, and other supplies. He had finally accepted the fact he needed some help.
So he would take a few days, he thought. Rest, re-supply, and then set off again. He would pick up where he had left off on Kharrat's trail, and finish the job. He would pass along his plan and information he had gathered on Kharrat's group to the person at the safe house. And, he would write a letter to his wife. Let the support person hide it away and deliver it to Amy when they got back to Washington. Amy, just thinking of her put a smile on his face. He hoped with all his heart she was still waiting for him, would still be married to him when he got back. He thought of her everyday, and it hurt, but he couldn't stop. He will make it home to her, and they will have a life together. This was the hope he clung to, as he walked around this war torn country.
Village in Northern Iraq Market area Mid Day
Aamal/Clay made it to the market in time. It was a good sized village and there were a number of people milling around the booths the farmers had set up. He sat down on the side of one booth to watch for the woman and the blue bag. He hoped he could stay awake and make contact. He needed the rest, but he had to find her first.
It did not take long. He was not able to get a good look at any of the women, since they all wore the traditional black robes, and head scarf. But all he really needed was to see one with a blue market bag, and he finally saw her, walking down the road, checking in each stall, taking her time looking over the food. He watched her buy a few items, and place them in her bag. He caught her searching the crowd from time to time, but she was not obvious about it. It could be anyone, doing the daily shopping, watching for their friends in the marketplace, or looking at what the farmers had to offer.
Amy strolled around the booths, buying the food she thought she would need for the next day or so. There was no way to keep the food fresh, without electricity in the small hut she was using, but the food would keep well enough until she came here again tomorrow. She had been in place for three days now, without being approached by anyone, Iraqi or American. She would content herself that she was here and ready if anyone needed her. She would just have to wait until someone came to her. She scanned the crowd in the street, not really knowing what she was looking for, just looking.
She made her way to a fruit stall, where she might be contacted. It was now or never. As she looked over the produce there, she felt someone come up close behind her, closer than necessary, and her heart quickened. She heard a voice say 'The fruit across the street is fresher' in very poorly accented Farsi, and she froze. The voice was slightly familiar some how, but it couldn't be. She took a quick breath to calm down, and turned to look at the speaker. There, standing right behind her, looking at the food stood her husband. She couldn't believe it. He looked very different, but it was Clay. His face was thinner, and tanned, with a thin beard, his eyes were red rimmed and darting around him, checking faces in the crowd. He of course had no idea it was her, since her face was covered by her head scarf. Her mouth was dry; she didn't know what to say. She didn't want to make a scene right here in the open. She decided she should just follow procedure. She nudged him to get his attention, and walked out into the street, away from the crowded booth.
As planned, he followed close behind her. When they were away from any close listeners, he placed his had on her shoulder, and whispered in English. 'Where is the house?' Once he had said this, he looked at her face for the first time. Those eyes, he knew, but it couldn't be. His tired mind was playing tricks on him.
Amy saw the flash of recognition, and also noted how quickly Clay dismissed it. Her heart was in her throat, her blood pounding in her head. She was surprised he couldn't hear it himself. She looked up at his face, tried to poor all her love into her eyes, since that was all he could see. 'Clay, it is me. It's Amy.'
Clay's head was swimming. He shook it slightly, blinked to clear his vision, but she was still standing there in front of him, his wife. Amy. She was here. She reached out and took his hand in hers. They were her hands. Small and white. He couldn't think.
Amy looked around, watching the crowd. They couldn't talk here. They had to get back to the house. 'Clay,' she looked back up at him. He looked confused, disoriented. 'The house is down at the end of this street. On the left, blue door. Go in through the back. I will follow you.'
Years of training kicked in for Clay, and he ignored what was staring him in the face, to concentrate on the task at hand. They had to go somewhere they could talk safely, and maybe, in the mean time, he can clear his mind of this hallucination. 'Down the street on the left, blue door.' He repeated. 'Take your time here, and then take another route back to the house.' He ordered her. Then released her shoulder and hand, and began walking in the direction of the house. How could this be? Why would Amy be here? He was in worse shape than he thought. She couldn't be here, he told himself. It was only to be expected that being so weak from lack of food and rest for so long, he would think of, and wish for comfort from the most important person in his life. His wife. It was just a brown-eyed agent that sounded like Amy. Had to be. His befuddled mind had her saying things he wanted to hear. It would be all right though. Some sleep and food would straighten him out, and this agent would be able to get word to Amy. It would be fine.
But, she was so real. And she had been the right size, and didn't his hand feel something when he placed it on her shoulder. Some jolt of recognition? He just had to make it to the house. They would meet there, and everything would be straightened out. What if it was Amy? He had to get her home, it was dangerous here. He became angry at the thought of what she might be doing here. How that may compromise him. It certainly complicated things. What if it wasn't her? All these questions rolled around in his head as he walked down the street. He had to get to the house. Then he can plan what needed to be done.
Amy continued shopping, knowing she had to get enough for two people now. She took her time, but it was hard to walk slowly around the street when her heart and mind were racing. She wanted to be with Clay. When she felt that enough time had gone by, she slowly made her way down the street, and around a few extra buildings, before going to the house.
She opened the door and was roughly pulled inside. The door was closed behind her and she was pushed against the wall and her head scarf was torn off. He held her there, using his body to hold her against the wall, and looking at her face. Searching it, to be sure it was her. He pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was forceful, hungry, angry. Not an "I've missed you" sort of kiss, it was more punishing.
He pulled his head away from her for a moment, and looked in her eyes. Amy saw anger there, and something else she couldn't name, something reckless. They were both breathless after the kiss, like they had been running. Between gasps he said, 'I don't know whether to rip off your clothes and take you here, or bundle you up and get you on the next plane out of here.'
Amy didn't know what to reply to any of this, the rough kiss, his statement, or the anger in his eyes.
Clay looked at her again, and calmed his breathing. She looked so beautiful. More beautiful than he remembered, and she was right here, with him. He gently touched her cheek, and moved closer to kiss her again. This time it was gentle, and slow.
When he pulled away, Amy finally found her voice. 'Hi honey. I missed you too.' She said with a smile.
Unfortunately that set Clay off again. He let go of her and paced the small room. 'You think this is a game! Kharrat's men are out there, they have been following me. This is a dangerous situation!' he shouted.
This set Amy off too. She was angry now. Who did he think he was talking to her that way? 'You don't have to tell me how dangerous Kharrat and his men are. I know that better than you do.'
This was met by silence. They stared at each other across the room for a moment. Finally Clay asked, more calmly, 'What are you doing here?'
'My job.' Amy stated.
'What, looking for your husband who hasn't checked in for a while?' Clay asked sarcastically. 'I'm sorry, I was busy.'
Amy didn't understand where all this anger was coming from, but she couldn't stop to think about it now. When Clay got like this, she immediately got on the defensive. 'You are my husband and I love you, but my world doesn't revolve around you Clay. I'm here for the CIA to provide a save house. You came to the market and met me, remember?'
'You are working for the Company now? Who sent you?' Clay demanded.
Amy knew he would not calm down until he had all his questions answered so she provided him the information. 'No, I am not working for the company now. I'm T.A.D. her under Stillman's orders.'
'Marcus sent you!' Clay shouted, and then didn't wait for an answer. 'I'll kill him.' Amy got the impression this was not an idle threat. 'And you came here, accepted the job as an excuse to look for me? Right?' Clay said accusingly.
'No. Marcus made it very clear I would not see you. So, he either lied…,' Now some pieces were falling into place for Amy. 'Or, Marcus wasn't sure where you are. When was the last time you checked in with anyone Clay?' she asked. Was he acting on his own? Was CIA not aware of his plan or where he was? Amy was going to find start getting her own answers from him.
Clay however ignored the question. He wanted his information first. 'What are your orders?'
Amy recognized the evasion, and also started to see beyond the front he had set up. She notes the signs of fatigue, the dark circles under his eyes, the stooped posture, and hollow cheeks. After a pause, she answers his question calmly. At least her anger had gone. 'My orders are to set up a safe house. Provide food and rest for any agent who contacts me. I can give first aid if needed, currency, supplies. I should collect any information, and pass it along when I get back.'
She waited for a reaction to this information, and received a pointed, haunted stare. Reaction time is down too, she thought to herself, another sign of fatigue. A look of surprise was there too, but was quickly covered up. Finally he turned away from her to think. 'Clay, tell me what is going on.'
'That's classified.' He answered, and moved further away. He was starting to relax, and she saw just how worn out he was. He was beginning to let go of the façade that he lived with while working underground to protect himself. He was beginning to feel safe. She hated taking advantage of this release for him, but she had to know what was going on, for both of their sakes. 'Clay, tell me. I'm in the middle of it now and I need to know.'
'You need to be back home and safe, that's what we both need.' Clay retorted. 'You are my wife, and I love you, but my world doesn't revolve around you, to coin a phrase.'
Amy knew this was just the exhaustion talking. He wasn't thinking clearly. She moved to him and placed her hand gently on his arm. He looked at her wearily at first, and then with a sigh, gave into her. Clay was too tired, too weak to argue any more. He had let his guard down for one moment, and had lost the strength to replace it. He knew that was the plan in the first place. 'Please Clay, talk to me.' She said. It wasn't fair, he thought. He began the explanation.
'Three agents have been found dead in the past two months. They had been beaten, tortured like you.' He looked at her, amazed again at what she had survived. 'They had gotten too close maybe, and were caught. But Kharrat has to be stopped. He is putting an army together now and he has to be captured and the group broken up. I'm close Amy. I could do it.'
Amy was scared, for him and for herself. She asked 'Why you? Is there anyone else who can help you? It sounds too dangerous on your own.'
'I may be the only one left out here that could bring them down. I have to try.' Clay said wearily.
'Clay,' Amy began, but he interrupted her, gently taking her face in his hands. 'He knew I would have the hardest time resisting you.' Clay said.
'Who? What are you talking about Clay?' Amy asked.
'What are your exact orders? What have you left out?' Clay asked again, knowing there was more.
Amy sighed and repeated the memorized list, 'To provide a safe house, offer food, rest, supplies, currency, and…' she paused as another piece fell into place. 'Provide papers and contacts for the agents to get out of the country, and encourage them to use it.'
Clay thought for a moment, and then asked, 'When do you leave?'
'I have my papers to leave in 3 days.'
Clay looked at her. He loved her so much, and had been alone for so long. He finally let go of the last of his defenses. 'Marcus knew exactly what he was doing. I am the last available operative in the area, and he wants me to come in. He knew I wouldn't come in willingly. If he had passed orders through the usual channels, he knew I would have ignored them. This mission is personal with me, and though I shouldn't be involved, he let me handle it. But now it is too dangerous, there is no back up anymore. He had to convince me to come back, and knew I would have the hardest time resisting the order from my wife. That is why you are here.' Clay closed his eyes a moment; it was getting harder to keep them open. He looked at Amy again. He knew he would do anything to keep her safe. 'Marcus is hoping I will go back with you, to keep you safe.'
Clay was leaning more and more on Amy. His exhaustion was taking over, and he was having a hard time staying awake and on his feet. Amy decided the rest of this discussion could wait. 'Clay, you need to rest now.' She put her arm around him, and turned toward the other room in the house, the one with a bed.
'I'm afraid if I sleep, I'll sleep straight through for a week.' Clay said with a smile.
'It doesn't matter. I'm here; I'll watch your back.' Amy stated as she helped him lay down on the low bed.
'Did you bring a quilt?' he asked sleepily. 'I could always sleep under one of your quilts.' He stretched out on the mattress and was instantly asleep.
Amy shook her head, looking at him. 'I don't think you will have any trouble.' She tucked a blanket around him, and left the room.
CIA Safe House Village in Iraq 1312 hours local time
Clay started to slowly be aware of sounds around him, voices from the street, a cart going by, and a woman singing. A soft breeze moved across his face and he smiled, thinking of Amy. All the lazy mornings he had been with her. Waking up to hear her humming or singing softly in the kitchen as she began breakfast. If he kept his eyes closed, Clay thought, I can pretend a little longer that she is here with me. He smelled meat frying, and eggs cooking. His empty stomach turned over in hunger. When did I eat last? He asked himself. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. He was in a room, in a bed…then the memory of yesterday came to him, but he still wasn't ready to believe it. He sat upright in bed and called 'Amy!' only half expecting that she would answer, and he would be sure it had all been a dream.
After only a moment, he saw her. She came to the door to the small room, wearing some dark Iraqi clothes, and her head was bear, her face was bright and smiling. 'Hey sleepy. I thought the smell of food would finally wake you up.'
Clay wasn't sure if it was the sight of her in front of him, the lack of food or the adrenaline rush of waking up, probably a bit of all three, but suddenly he was dizzy, and his vision blurred. He put his head down on his knees until the dizziness pasted. Amy came to sit beside him in the bed, and put her arm around him. 'I know I'm beautiful, but you don't have to faint at the sight of me.' She joked.
His voice was muffled as he said 'You are beautiful. The most beautiful thing I have seen in months.' He brought his head up slightly and looked at her. 'I love you, so much.'
'I love you too.' She said smiling. 'Come on, breakfast is ready. You will feel better once you eat something.'
He slowly slid off the bed and followed her into the other room. He remembered it all now, and knew they had some unfinished business to discuss. But it could wait until he had eaten. He sat down and dug right in to the food she had prepared. It was all delicious. Half way through, he noticed she was not eating, just sitting across from him watching. 'You are not eating?' he asked with a mouth full of food.
'No, I have eaten already, twice.'
'Twice?' he asked confused.
'It is pasted noon Clay. You slept the clock round, and then some. Clay just shook his head and kept eating. 'It has been a while since you had a meal, or a full night's sleep, right?' Amy stated, watching him.
Clay had finished the first helping, and was dishing up more on his plate. 'I've slept where and when I can. I ran out of food and money a while ago, and have traded or scrounged or begged for food since. I can look pretty pathetic when I have to.' He said, almost proud of himself.
'You wouldn't have to try very hard to look pathetic right now.' Amy said.
Clay smiled at that remark. He could imagine what he looked like now, dirty, tired, scruffy beard, ripped and dirty clothes. He finally sat back, having satisfied that hunger, and looked across at his smiling wife, and felt a new hunger, which had nothing to do with his stomach. 'How much time is there before night fall?' he asked, eyeing her.
Amy slowly got up, taking away some dishes and moving to the sink. 'Almost 5 hours I would say.' She answered.
'Good. Just enough time.' Clay said, moving behind her.
'Enough time for what?' she asked, and turned to see him hovering beside her.
Clay slipped his arms around her and pulled her close. 'Enough time to take my wife to bed' and he began to demonstrate what he had in mind to do there, nibbling here and there on her neck and ears.
Amy giggled, and moved in closer to him. It had been a long time. 'And then what happens after dark?' she asked, thinking she knew what he had in mind.
'Then we pack up, get out of here, and get you started for home.' Clay stated between kisses.
Amy stiffened at this reply. 'No' she said, and pulled away from him, turning around and facing the sink. This was going to be cleared up between now, before anything else, no matter how bad she wanted him.
Clay was just as unmoving however. 'Yes you are Amy. I'm sending you home now.' Clay was not in the mood to argue over this one point.
'Clay, I can't go anywhere for 2 days. My travel papers from CIA are pre-dated. To try and change them, or use them would arouse suspicion and I need to avoid that.'
'Amy, I need to finish the mission here, and it is too dangerous for you.' Clay stated.
'Just how are you going to finish this without any backup?' Amy demanded.
'You have contacts for me? I will use them.' Clay answered.
'These are people who can help you with some information passing. They are not going to cover your back, or go out looking for you if you are missing a few days.'
'I'll be fine.' He said to reassure her.
'You just said it was dangerous. You will be alone out there. You need back up,' she started, but he cut her off.
'I can't wait for any new back up to arrive, and I can't go home now and leave this job unfinished. I'm too close.'
'I'll stay. I'll be your back up.' Amy said. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.
'Out of the question.' Clay said and moved away from her. The moment was lost now.
Amy was not ready to give up so easily. 'We wouldn't travel together. I will stay a day or two behind. You can leave messages with the list of contacts…' the plan was all ready forming in her mind how they could do it.
Clay would not even listen. 'No, it is too dangerous. I won't let you.'
'Clay I can handle myself.'
'I know you can. I don't want to worry about you behind me.' Clay saw again the sight of her in the hospital bed in Baghdad after she had been found. 'Beaten up, or with a bullet through your head this time. No, you are going home and that is final.'
Amy knew she had lost, that he would not change his mind, he was too protective, but she was still mad. 'And you will stay here alone. Oh, that's right, some kind of super spy huh?'
He just stared at her from across the room.
'You'll send me home; risk your life, then what? I'm the one who gets to imagine you in a ditch somewhere with a bullet through your head!' she shouted, close to tears.
Clay knew what she would go through. What she had already gone through these past months because of his work. There was nothing to say to help. He just waited.
Amy calmed down. She moved onto the next subject. 'I have exit papers for you; tickets, money, contacts in and outside the country. They are all set up for one month from now. Can you finish this in a month?' she asked, looking up at him.
Clay thought he could finish it in a month. He would finish it, or be dead in that time, but he didn't say that to Amy. He suspected she knew it all ready anyway. 'A month will probably be enough time.'
'Promise me you will start home in one month, no matter where you are.' She pleaded.
Clay came over to her, sensing an end to their quarrel, an arrangement they could both live with. He put his arms around her, and looked her solemnly in the eye, 'I give you my vow, as seriously as the vows I took before the minister the last time we were together, that I will come home to you in a month.' He hoped with all his heart he could keep that promise. And, that he would come home alive to her, and not in a box.
Amy looked at Clay, and knew the promise was real, but that they both hoped he would be alive to fulfill the promise. 'All right.' She said.
Clay leaned down to seal the promise with a kiss. A kiss that confessed his love for her, and his need for her.
Amy moved her mouth away, and whispered 'Stay with me here for two days.'
'No, Amy….,' he whispered back.
She stopped his protest with her fingers, and pleading in her eyes. 'Clay, you are exhausted. You need rest; need to get your strength back, before you take on the world again.'
'I'm fine.' He told her. 'I have plenty of strength.' And he pulled her in tighter to let her feel just how much strength he had.
'I know,' she said with a sly smile. 'But do it for me. Give me these 2 days with you.'
Wary, Clay said, 'You are not going to change my mind about sending you home. It tore my heart out to leave you that morning outside the house, but I will say goodbye to you again.' He looked in her eyes, and saw the loneliness there. He knew his eyes showed the same emotion, his heart was just as lonely. 'I can give you two days.' And without another word, he kissed her deeply, and moved toward the small room with the bed on the floor.
One month later Train station Somewhere in Iraq 1632 hours local time
Aamal/Clay bought his train ticket, and moved out of the station building toward the platform into the late afternoon sun. He had said good bye to the contact already, outside the station. There was a place open on the bench under the roof in the shade, but he was too restless to sit right now, so he moved around the platform, looking casually at the other travelers.
There were many women and children moving around, waiting for the train, and some older men. There didn't seem to be too many young men around, or many that were around his age. No doubt they were out fighting, or policing somewhere.
Clay watched some boys playing nearby. Then he heard a mother calling them, obviously chewing them out because they had strayed too far. Mothers are the same the world over he thought, with a slight smile.
He thought of his own mother, and of Amy. He was keeping his promise. He was on his way home. He had the ticket in his hand to start the long and complicated journey back to Washington. Part of him was glad to be on the way home. He was tired of living this way. But part of him was disappointed too. The mission was not finished. Kharrat was still out there. He had lost their trail a week ago, and had not been able to find more information about where they had gone. The resources had run out now, and he was left with no choice but to pack up and leave. He would have to continue watching for signs for them from the government level.
As he paced around the platform, he noticed three large trucks drive up on the far side of the railway yard, where some cargo cars were standing. He continued watching, and saw Mohammad Hassid get out of one of the trucks. Clay was sure it was him. After the time they had spent together in the prison in Baghdad, he would not forget that face. Hassid was walking to one of the cargo cars, and directing men from the trucks and the area of the rail yard to begin loading the cargo from the railway cars, into his trucks.
Then Clay saw Kharrat, he approached Hassid from another one of the trucks. They were right here! The men were pointing guns at the railway workers to get them to help in the loading of the cargo. Clay wished he could just pull out a gun, and shoot them both on sight, but it would not help matters, and would surely be the death of him.
He mind was racing. This was his chance. He could just walk up and join the loading of the trucks, and infiltrate the group. But what then, assassinate the leaders in their sleep one night? Or, join the group, find out their plans then try and get word to the authorities and try to get word to the coalition forces and try to stop them? He had to do something, he couldn't just walk away. They had fallen right into his lap! He knew enough Farsi to get by, he thought. He could do it for a few days….
Clay looked down at his own train ticket, but he did not see the writing there, he only saw Amy's face. 'Darling, I'm sorry.' He said, and ripped the ticket in half. That may have been his last chance with her too. Breaking this promise…she just had to understand. He had to stop them, for the country's sake. That was what he was here to do.
As he dropped the ruined ticket to the ground, he watched it flutter away. 'I love you, Amy.' He said into the wind.
He the pack with his few belongings onto his back, wrapped the scarf around the lower part of his head, and walked over to the railway cars. He stepped into line, and received a box, which he then brought over to one of the trucks, and helped load the supplies.
Six weeks later Amy Webb's Residence Alexandria, VA 2020 hours local time
Amy sat in the window, reading one of her favorite books. Some music was playing in the background. She had worked late at JAG Headquarters, and was now enjoying the quiet evening at home. She had been counting the days since she came home from her assignment in Iraq. She thought she would be hearing from Clay soon, confirming he was on his way home. She hoped so anyway.
The doorbell rang, and she marked her place and went to open the door. There stood Marcus Stillman. 'Hello Amy.' He said.
Amy was surprised, but glad to see Marcus. 'Marcus. Come in, please.' She said.
Marcus entered the room. 'Please sit down.' Amy offered. She was hoping he had some news for her about Clay, and when he might be home.
Marcus sat down, and looked at Amy's smiling excited face. He hated this part of his job. He especially hated having to do this for Clay, and Amy.
'So, do you have some news about my husband? Is he on his way home?' Amy asked hopefully.
'No, Amy, Clay is not on his way home.' Marcus said. He wanted to take this slowly. Fast or slow, it never seemed to help.
Amy sat back on the chair with a frustrated sigh. 'He had promised me…' then she stopped. She didn't want to go into what Clay had promised her with his boss, it may not be appropriate. 'What happened? Did he get too close to Kharrat to give up right now?' she asked. Maybe that was it, she thought. Maybe he was close to catching Kharrat and his group, and would be home a little later.
'Amy, I'm sorry, but no…' Marcus began, but Amy interrupted him. He saw the beginnings of fear in her eyes; maybe she was guessing what he was really here for.
'They haven't caught him, have they?' A cold fist had started to grab at her heart. She couldn't bare the thought of Clay a prisoner of those animals. 'Please, Marcus, they aren't holding him.'
'No, Amy he is not a prisoner.' It was time to stop this. Marcus took a deep breath. 'Clayton is dead. I'm sorry Amy.'
Marcus watched as the look of fear on Amy's face was replaced by confusion. Then that was replaced by shock. Her features went blank as the realization sank inside.
Amy's body went numb. Dead. Marcus said Clayton was dead. 'You're sure, Marcus. He has been missing, presumed dead before.' Somehow Amy knew that this was just grasping at straws.
All Marcus said was, 'We are sure. It was confirmed. I'm sorry.'
The only thing Amy felt was the cold fist constricting her heart. The rest of her was empty. 'I had always…I mean…I knew it was always a possibility…' Amy said, mostly to herself. Her hands were cold, and were beginning to shake. She pressed them together, squeezing her fingers together to stop the shaking, at least for a little while. She was not finished talking with Marcus yet. 'What happened?'
Marcus looked at her and debated how much to tell her. 'Tell me Marcus, and don't give me the company line. I'll go over there and find out for myself if you don't. I'd probably do a better job of it too. You know that.' Amy said angrily as he hesitated to answer her question.
He knew she was right. He decided to tell her everything. 'He was on his way home Amy. He had begun making the contacts, following the exit plan. His contact brought him to the train station that would take him out of the country, confirmed that Clay had bought his ticket and moved off to the platforms. The contact left after that. There was an explosion. The track had been booby trapped and the train Clay was to board set it off. The platform was destroyed, as well as most of the train.' He stopped here; he wasn't sure how to put the next part into words. 'There is nothing left, Amy. What remains there were of those who were killed on the platform were buried quickly in the city graveyard.'
So, an unmarked grave in a far away country, with probably nothing left to exhume even if she wanted to try. She didn't. It didn't matter really. Clay was gone. Bringing any earthly remains back here would not be much comfort for her now.
Amy sat and listened, unsure of what to do or say next. Marcus sat across from her, waiting for whatever she may need. A thought did come to her. 'What about Porter?'
'I am on my way to talk to her. You needed to be told first. Would you like to come with me to talk to her?' He asked. He didn't want to leave her alone right now.
'No. I will leave that to you.' Amy said.
'I don't think you should be alone right now, Amy. Is there anyone I can call for you? Or take you somewhere?' Marcus asked helpfully.
Amy thought for a minute. There were calls to make, one to her father, and to her brother. She would have to call Sarah and Harm too. That all seemed like too much to handle right now. She just wanted to be alone.
'No. I will call my family myself, not right now though. I will let you go over to Porter's and talk with her. Tell her I will call her in the morning.' Amy promised.
'Call me too, Amy.' Marcus suggested. 'Call me if you need anything at all. I want to be sure you are all right.'
'Thank you Marcus.' Amy wasn't sure she would ever be all right again. Her life with Clay had been so short it seemed, and the rest of her life stretched out in front of her…empty.
Marcus got up, laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a fatherly squeeze. He didn't know what else to say or do. Nothing would have helped anyway he thought. He moved quietly through the room to the door, and let himself out, leaving Amy by herself.
End of Chapter 10