Instead of sleeping like the dead, as she had the night before, Emily couldn't sleep at all.
She tried to distract herself from overthinking. Just before the "interrogation" ended and she had to go back to cooling her heels in the holding cell, Tsia slipped her a copy of the International Edition of the New York Times to give her something to do the rest of the day. But reading the edition cover to cover and even finishing the crossword puzzle only took her a few hours.
Since then, she'd been stewing over the extraction plan, interrupted only briefly by guards bringing her a sandwich for lunch and a pasta dinner that was probably better than American prison food but a shade below airplane quality. She barely picked at either.
The more she thought about the plan, the less there was to like. There were too many variables. Too much that could go wrong. What if there were other cars in the tunnel? What if the truck drivers staging the accident missed the van? What if they hit the van in the wrong spot and hurt Tsia? What if there was a mole and Doyle's men were waiting to ambush them all? What if? What if? What if? Emily could think of a million things that could go wrong, and as far as Emily could tell, there was no backup plan.
Emily tried to calm herself the best she could. You're catastrophizing, she scolded internally. She didn't really need to be a psychology expert to know that spending months undercover had probably made her paranoid beyond what was healthy or normal. As long as she was still actively working on Doyle she could suppress it. But now without any immediate work to distract her, she could practically feel the anxiety bubbling within her.
Stop it, she commanded herself. You have no choice.
And she didn't. Before leaving that morning, Clyde had told her that Jeremy and Tsia had been working on this nonstop for two months, with Sean's oversight every step of the way. They'd considered dozens of plans. This one was judged to have the highest probability of success. And Emily herself had never done any extraction planning. At this point, her only option was to trust the plan. It was the only way to get her life back.
Still, that did nothing to prevent the deep pit of anxiety that had dug its way into her stomach by the time she heard banging on her cell door during the early morning hours.
"Reynolds! Get up, it's time to go!" Emily heard Jeremy's voice. Tsia and Jeremy were awaiting her, dressed as Carabinieri officers.
"Well don't you two look dapper," Emily quipped, quietly.
"And you look awful," Jeremy said, with his characteristic German directness. "Have you slept?"
"Not at all," Emily said. "I take it you didn't bring me breakfast this time."
"It's two in the morning," he reminded her. "I'll buy you a nice big breakfast in a few hours when this is all done."
"Can we just go and talk about breakfast later?" Tsia hissed. Emily sensed that Tsia hadn't gotten much more comfortable in the field during her time away.
"Alright, alright," Jeremy agreed. "Emily, I need your hands. This still has to look right until we get you in the van."
Emily let Jeremy cuff her through the flap in the cell door.
"Little tight there, Jeremy," Emily winced.
"Sorry, Emily. It'll just be for a minute," he said, swinging the cell door open. "Let's go."
Tsia and Jeremy took up positions on either side of Emily. Jeremy was lightly grasping her and walking coolly, but Tsia had her arm in a vise grip and felt like she was trying to win a race-walking marathon.
"Tsia, slow down, it feels like you're ripping my arm off."
"Sorry," Tsia slowed as they reached the intersection of the holding cell corridor and the main entry way.
Jeremy and Tsia exchanged brief nods with the Carabinieri guards and the exterior doors buzzed open. Waiting outside was a Carabinieri transport van with a black, unmarked Alfa Romeo loitering just behind it. Emily was careful not to make eye contact with Clyde in the driver's seat. Jeremy helped Emily into the back of the van then went in behind her as Tsia headed to the cab. Jeremy shut the van door behind him, but didn't lock it, and took a seat across from Emily.
"Sorry for making them so tight," Jeremy said, withdrawing a key from his jacket pocket and releasing her cuffs.
"I'll live," Emily said. "Is Tsia going to be alright? She seems awfully nervous."
"She'll be alright, all she has to do is drive."
"Yeah, write into an intentional car wreck with a lorry," Emily pointed out.
"She just has to go straight, it's the lorry driver who has to hit the right spot," Jeremy said. "We were told by the CIA that the man they sent has been used three times to do targeted assassinations by car wreck while sparing the others. Each time successfully."
"Jesus," Emily remarked. "Are they the CIA or the mafia?"
"It's your government, you tell me," Jeremy answered.
"I'd rather not answer that question," Emily said, drawing an appreciative snort from Jeremy.
"Here," he said, handing her an ear piece and inserting one of his own. "This will keep us in contact with Clyde and Tsia."
Shortly after inserting her own ear piece, Emily heard Clyde's voice.
"Alright, let's get this done," he said, calmly. "This is Easter, sounding off."
"Wolffe, sounding off," Jeremy said.
"Mosely, sounding off," Tsia answered. Emily was reassured that she sounded fairly calm.
An expectant pause then filled the air. Emily was confused.
"Ahem, Prentiss?" Clyde said. "Prentiss?"
"Oh, right," Emily answered. After all of these months, the sound of her own name had become less familiar to her.
"Prentiss, sounding off," Emily said.
"Alright, I have contact with the lorry and will keep him advised of our position" Clyde said. "Let's go."
Emily felt the van pull forward, and they rode in silence for several minutes before Tsia' voice came over their earpieces.
"We're thirty seconds out from the tunnel," she reported. "It's about two kilometers long. I'm going to stop at the halfway point for 10 seconds and you two get out."
Emily and Jeremy positioned themselves near the van door.
"Hold on," Clyde cautioned. "I have someone behind me."
"So much for a 98.7 percent chance of no other vehicle traffic," Emily remarked.
"It's alright, we'll let them pass," Clyde said assuredly. "Slow down Tsia."
The van slowed noticeably, just as the appearance of artificial lights outside the van's metal-screened windows told Emily they were entering the tunnel.
"Are they passing, Clyde?" Emily heard Tsia asked.
"No," Clyde said, Emily noticed a hint of perturbance in his voice. "They're slowing too. What the bloody…"
"How long has it been behind you, Clyde?" Emily asked.
"Since shortly after we pulled onto the main road," Clyde answered.
"What kind of car is it?"
"It's black. Looks like an all terrain of some sort."
Emily swallowed.
"Is it a Land Rover?" she asked.
"Looks likely," Clyde answered. "How did you kn…oh," his voice died off.
"We can't stop here, we have to keep going," Emily said suddenly.
"What, why?" Jeremy asked, confused.
"A 1.3 chance of any car at this time is what your analysis says," Emily explained rapidly, her brow bebinning to sweat.. "Doyle's men drive black Land Rovers and that model has been following us for kilometers. What are the odds your analysis says of that?"
"Scheisse" Jeremy muttered.
"Yeah, shit," Emily agreed. "Tsia do not stop."
"She's right, keep moving," Clyde said.
"Call off the lorry, Clyde," Emily said.
"I'm trying darling, I'm having a hard time getting through with the tunnel."
"Try again, Clyde we have to call them off," she said frantically. She noticed the artificial lights from the tunnel were suddenly gone.
"Too late!" Jeremy cried. He grabbed Emily suddenly and pinned both her and himself up against the back of the cab.
Seconds later, the spot where Emily'd just been sitting was bashed in with a crushing force. The lorry struck the back of the van precisely, sending it into a tailspin that slammed Emily and Jeremy against the far side. For a moment, the van threatened to teeter over, but righted itself, and came to a stop.
"Emily, are you alright?"
"Yeah," she answered. Her head was throbbing from hitting her face on the wall of the van, but otherwise she felt intact. "I lost my earpiece, but I'm okay. You?"
"Yes, I am alright," he confirmed. Emily tried to look him over, but it was too dark to tell.
"Thanks for pulling me away from that," Emily said, indicating the heavily damaged back of the van.
"I just knew they were supposed to hit the very back," Jeremy said. "I thought this was our best chance."
"Good thinking."
"Are you two okay?" Emily heard Clyde's voice as he pulled the door, or what was left of it, off the back of the van and shined a flashlight in on them.
"Yes, how is Tsia?" Jeremy answered.
"I'm good," Tsia said, coming around to join Clyde. Her hair looked pretty frazzled, but she seemed no worse for wear.
An unfamiliar man joined trailed Tsia.
"Agent Carl Romano, CIA" the man identified himself. The lorry driver. He was a short, scrawny man man with salt and pepper hair and a Mediterranean complexion. Emily never would have pegged a guy that size as a stunt driver.
"What the hell's going on? There wasn't supposed to be anybody in the back of the van."
"They're fine, but we were followed," Clyde said irritably. Emily could tell he was trying to think fast.
"Did you see where he went, Clyde?" Emily asked. "The guy who was tailing you?"
"I have no idea," Clyde said. "I was a bit distracted with this mess. But we all need to get out of here, now."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Emily said.
"What?" Clyde demanded, perplexed.
"The rest of you can get out of here, but what if they're still watching us?" Emily said. "If they see Lauren Reynolds walk out of this van and into your car my cover is blown. And I am too close to chance that."
"Emily, we don't even know that they're watching," Tsia started.
"Doyle is in custody. You've only had me for two days, and already his men were following me. To break me out, or just keep tabs on me, or what, I don't know," Emily said frantially. "But if they are watching out there somewhere and they see me go with you, he will never stop hunting for me, whether he is in prison or not."
"This is why I asked you and Sean to kill Lauren Reynolds, Clyde" Emily said, slightly pleading with the team leader now. "Because she belongs to him. And he will not let her go."
Clyde locked eyes with her.
"I understand darling, I do," he said softly. "But what are you going to do, Em? You can't live in the back of this van forever."
But Emily had an idea. A very strange idea, but an idea.
"The body bag," she said.
"What?" Clyde replied.
"Tsia, didn't you tell me back at the prison that there were going to be agents posing as paramedics here with a body bag to stuff up and put in an ambulance?"
"Yeah, but…" Tsia answered.
"So are they here?"
"Yeah, they're on a team with me," Agent Romano piped up. "Got 'em on standby nearby."
"Can they lift me?"
Romano scoffed. "Yeah, they can definitely lift you."
"Call them in, have them pull me out, bag me up on the stretcher and into the ambulance. Once we get to the hospital you can secure an area where you know we won't be under surveillance and I can get out there. An area we can control. We don't control anything out here in open air."
"You want to literally be pulled out of here in a bag?" Clyde interrogated her.
"No, I don't want to. But unless any of you have any better ideas…"
Sustained silence met her last comment.
"Agent Romano," Clyde said finally. "Please get your men down here and have them bag up Agent Prentiss, then. We can't just sit here all night."
"You got it," Agent Romano said, stepping away.
"Jeremy, come on out, your lip is bleeding," Clyde said.
Jeremy clambered out of the van and next to Tsia. The way Jeremy and Tsia lightly locked hands was fairly subtle, but Emily definitely caught it.
"Just hang on for a moment I guess, Em," Clyde said. "And by the way. You are absolutely mad. But you might just be so mad you're brilliant."
…
Being stuffed into a body bag was, without a doubt, the most profoundly strange experience of Emily's life. Though she supposed very, very few people would have such an experience while alive.
But if the two CIA agents posing as paramedics found anything odd about the situation, they did a good job hiding it. Agents Nick Sabino and Andrew Poli acted as if it was just another day at the office.
"Agent Prentiss, good to meet ya, Nick Sabino," Agent Sabino introduced himself as he crawled through the wreckage in the back of the van towards Emily. Emily immediately saw while Agent Romano had scoffed when she'd asked if the agents would be able to lift her Emily was pretty sure Sabino's biceps were the size of her head. She noticed a Navy SEAL insignia prominently tattooed on one of them.
"Likewise," Emily said. "How do you want to play this?"
"Agent Poli's pulling a stretcher up with a bag. Once he's in position, I'm gonna pull you out by your shoulders. Poli will get your legs. Were gonna lay you out, zip ya up, and we'll pull you in the back of the wagon. Local hospital's ten minutes out. Romano says we got an area cordoned off there to get you in safely."
"That simple, huh?" Emily asked, a bit bemused. She liked him immediately.
"Just let us do the work," he assured her. "All you gotta do is play dead. And keep your breathing as shallows as possible until we get in the wagon. Don't want a breathing body bag."
"I will do my best," she agreed.
Once Poli had everything lined up, Emily, feeling extremely awkward, obediently laid on the floor of the van and allowed Agent Sabino to start pulling her, firmly but gently, out of the van. Once he had her most of the way out, Agent Poli grabbed her legs and she was suspended between the two men, who were conversing lightly in Italian. Emily felt herself tense up, trying to hold some of her own weight.
"Ease up, Prentiss, we got you," Sabino assure her quietly. Emily took a shallow breath and then let her body become dead weight. True to Sabino's word, Sabino and Poli adjusted seamlessly. Within a few seconds, they had her on the stretcher and were zipping up a black bag around her.
"I'm gonna leave a crack open for you to breathe, just keep it shallow," Sabino reminded her in a whisper.
Emily breathed as little as possible as she felt one of the agents secure a buckle around her midsection. Even with the small gap Sabino had left unzipped, she felt nearly suffocated by thick air and the smell of her own sweat.
God, I need a shower, Emily mused.
She was jostled a little bit as they lift the stretcher into the ambulance but did her best not to move. After the doors were shut and Emily felt the ambulance pull away, Agent Sabino unzipped the body bag around Emily and she sat up on the stretcher as Agent Poli drove the ambulance toward the local hospital.
"Gotta say, I've had to put a few people in body bags, but you're the first one I've seen come out of one," Sabino quipped, flashing her a white-toothed grin.
"First for everything I guess," Emily said, taking grateful gulps of deep breath for the first time in several minutes. "You seem unphased though. I take it you saw some wild shit in the SEALS?" she asked, nodding at his tattoo.
"You have no idea," he laughed. "Or maybe you do. Heard you've been undercover for awhile? Quite the extraction you had going on here."
"I suppose so," Emily conceded. She still hadn't quite come to terms with the fact that it was all, finally, over. At least assuming she could escape Italy without detection by Ian's men.
"Thank you for helping me," she added sincerely.
"Hey, no problem," he answered. "Honestly, it was kind of exciting. I joined the agency 2 years ago after a 9 years with the SEALS. Never thought I'd get to do anything exciting being stationed in Italy."
"Your Italian's good, though," Emily observed. "I heard you and Poli talking earlier."
"You speak Italian?" he asked, surprised. "No offense, but 'Prentiss' doesn't exactly sound like it's a name from the old country."
"It's not," Emily chuckled appreciatively. "I kind of grew up here. Long story."
"No joke?" Sabino asked, suitably impressed.
"No joke," Emily confirmed.
"I'm jealous," Sabino observed. "My Nana taught me how to speak it. I like to think she'd be happy I'm working here."
"I'm sure she would be," Emily acknowledged before pivoting. "So, how far out are we?"
"Only a few minutes," Sabino answered. "It's my understanding that a couple of your international friends and some of our guys went ahead to secure the ambulance port to the hospital morgue so we can sneak you in without anyone seeing."
"Thank you, for helping me," Emily said sincerely.
"Hey, no problem. You're one of us. It's what we all do for each other, right?"
"Right," Emily agreed. In the eight years she'd now spent in the CIA, she found it difficult, often weird, and occasionally downright scary. But it was also one hell of a loyal fraternity.
….
When Agent Poli finally pulled the ambulance into the morgue reception bay at the nearest hospital, Sabino held Emily back for a moment.
"Let me make sure we're clear. Hang tight," he advised her. Emily noticed that, as he left the ambulance, his hand was hovering very near his pocket, which she assumed held his service weapon. All must have been clear, though, because he returned shortly after, noticeably relaxed.
"Alright, we're good," he said. "Come on out. They wanna debrief you. Poli and I are gonna clear out."
"Not sure what's weirder," Emily commented. "Riding in a body bag or being debriefed in a morgue."
"Still beats an office job for my money," Sabino said.
"Mine too," Emily agreed. "Stay safe out there."
"And you. I'm gonna hold you to that rain check." Sabino winked, before closing the back of the ambulance as they pulled out.
Emily turned away from the departing ambulance to a very odd scene. Inside an empty hospital morgue, with two rows of cold steel doors, was a face she knew but hadn't seen in awhile. It was Alan Shirer, the deputy section chief from Brussels.
"Sir?" she said to Shirer, genuinely surprised to see him. And a bit embarrassed. He was as fastidiously dressed as when she last saw him. She, on the other hand, could feel her bangs plastered to her forehead by sweat and was painfully aware of the rumpled state of the clothes she'd been unable to change out of for three days.
"Agent Prentiss," he said, Emily immediately recognized clipped manner. "I can genuinely say it's good to see you." If he was put off by her appearance, he did a good job hiding it.
"Are you still stationed in Brussels, Sir?"
"I am," he confirmed. "And since you are, technically, still on a mission based from Brussels, it was my responsibility to ensure the success of your extraction and transfer to your next assignment."
"Back to Afghanistan, or Iraq this time?"
"Neither," Shirer answered. "At least not yet. For now you are going home."
Emily was a bit confused.
"Respectfully, Sir, 'home' is a word that hasn't really been in my vocabulary for a few years now."
Shirer smiled wryly. "Fair enough. Langley, Agent Prentiss. You're going back to HQ."
"Oh," Emily said softly.
"You're surprised?" Shirer pressed.
"I just thought with how things seem to be going in the Middle East you would want me there." Emily knew that Jack Peterson had tried hard to get her assigned away from the Middle East in the past. To help keep her nose clean. But between the breakup of the JTF and the situation on the ground, Emily thought it highly unlikely she'd escape another tour of duty there. She knew the Agency didn't have enough Arabic speakers to justify putting her elsewhere.
"Oh we do want you there. We need people like you. Badly. But first you need to go in for decompression and evaluation. Medical and psychological. Standard protocol for all agents coming out of a deep cover assignment," Shirer explained.
"And unlike you, I'm no psychology expert," he continued, scrutinizing her. "But even I can fathom what a poor idea it might be to drop someone straight from a deep cover assignment into a war zone without making sure you're alright first. You are not a robot, Agent Prentiss. Nor do we expect you to be. And believe me, Iraq is still going to be there when you get back."
Emily didn't see any sense in arguing. It was an order, not a suggestion.
"When do I leave?"
"Tonight ," Shirer answered. "An Agent is going to drive you to Base Area Aviano. About five hours northeast. From there you'll be on an Air Force flight home."
"But," Emily started.
"And I am aware you have a profile to finish for the JTF," Shirer cut Emily off, anticipating her protest. "You will be permitted to work on that while you are in Langley. But given that your cover identity is now supposed to be dead, I want you out of the vicinity immediately."
"Understood, sir," Emily acknowledged.
"You'll need these," he added, producing a manilla envelope. Inside, Emily found her real passport, bank cards, and driver's license, all of which had been left with the CIA when she went undercover. "You'll see your driver's license expired on your birthday," Shirer observed. "You'll have to re-test. Even the CIA doesn't dare mess with the DMV," Shirer remarked. Emily sensed the slightest bit of sarcasm emanating from the straight-laced chief.
"Before we have you go…" Shirer continued. "The JTF wants a few moments to debrief, and I have agreed. But keep it brief. We are on a schedule to get you to Aviano."
"Yes sir."
Shirer made for a door in the back of the morgue and exited the barred-door, admitting Clyde as he left.
….
"Hello, darling," Clyde said. "I must say, for a dead woman you look remarkable."
"So you took care of it?" Emily sought confirmation. "Lauren Reynolds is dead?"
"Finito," Clyde confirmed. "See for yourself."
Clyde handed Emily an official-looking document. It was a death certificate from the local coroner—or a very, very good forgery of one. Lauren Reynolds had been declared dead minutes ago, caused by internal bleeding from a vehicular impact injury.
"Alright," Emily breathed a sigh of relief.
"If you're ever morbidly curious we even got her a nice little niche and plaque in a columbaria in Brussels. Not sure who or what the ashes will be from though."
"No thank you. I am good."
"And," Clyde added. "I took the liberty of collecting her effects. If you'd like them."
"Effects?" Emily asked. "What effects?"
From his pocket, Clyde withdrew the gold chain and ring Ian had given her. They'd taken it off of her at the jail and Emily had forgotten all about it. Clyde was staring intently at Emily.
"I found this quite interesting," he said, as he handed the chain to Emily. She couldn't quite read his tone, but she didn't like it. It almost sounded like an interrogation. "We did get awfully close now didn't we?"
Emily was not about to take the veiled criticism lying down.
"Are you kidding me?" she demanded. "You knew what the assignment was when you gave it to me! You wanted me to get close. I got close. And I got you Valhalla. I did my job."
"I'm not questioning that, and I never will, Em. Ever," he assured her. "But I need to know you can be objective. Because I am going to help the interrogators break this man. Whatever it takes. I don't care if they have to beat it all out of him. But the best way to break him will be from our profile and I need to know you aren't protecting him. Consciously or not."
Emily bristled. How dare he accuse her of not be objective. Sean had been given the direct oversight over Emily's undercover assignment and extraction planning because Clyde couldn't be objective about Doyle.
"So you're just questioning my loyalty?" she glowered. "I am not protecting him."
And she wasn't. But she was going to protect someone. She was going to protect Declan. The fact that Clyde was so blithely willing to allow the Russians to essentially torture Ian told her everything she needed to know. She wasn't sure if Clyde would go so far as to harm or use a child, but it was a risk she would not take. Emily decided right then and there she would tell Clyde anything. Everything. Except Declan.
"You will get your profile, Clyde," she continued. "Do whatever you want with it."
He studied her carefully.
"Alright," he said finally. "I'll look forward to it. I hear you have a flight to catch. Do travel home safely."
"This is a very shitty way to say goodbye," she observed.
"Oh I have a feeling this is not goodbye for you and me, darling." He said cheekily as he retreated for the door. Not for the first time, Emily marveled at how Clyde could turn from a cold-hearted jackass to jaunty schoolboy on a dime. It was as irritating and disconcerting as it was endearing. "I look forward to seeing you in your next life."
…
Thirty minutes later, hastily concealed under sunglasses and a blonde wig that made her feel twice as ridiculous as she looked, Emily was in the back of a car headed to Aviano and beyond that, to home. Whatever that meant these days.