Andrew Kaplan - Carrie's run

She shook her head no, her blond hair swaying. “I’m curious, Davis. How did you know about tonight’s meet? Who told you? It wasn’t me and it wasn’t Virgil. Was it Ziad? One of the FL guys? Did they jump the gun because of you?”

He pointed the pistol at her.

“You seem to be confused, Mathison. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the station chief, not you. If I can give the cell phone to Langley, maybe the mess you’ve made won’t be a total fiasco. Give it here.” He held out his free hand.

She put the cell phone back into her pocket. “What are you going to do, Davis? Shoot me?” she said.

“You really don’t have a clue, do you?” He smiled. “This is a midterm election year. No one is going to screw with the Agency. You’re done here. We’re doing extraordinary renditions of Islamist extremists. You’re being reassigned. You can interrogate bad guys in northeastern Poland, middle of piss-all nowhere. I suggest you dress warm, Mathison. I hear it’s cold there this time of year.”

“I’m not going anywhere. And you’ll have to take this from me,” she said, tapping the pocket where she’d put the cell phone.

“I have people coming. When they get here, they’ll take you to the airport,” he said, leaning back. “Before that’s done, you’ll of course give me the cell phone.”

“I won’t go.”

“In that case, you’re done,” he said, looking as smug as a fraternity president watching a pledge make a fool of himself. “Your career’s over. And I will press charges, Carrie. I guarantee we’ll get something to stick. Truth is, it’s impossible to be in this business and not break some law or congressional rule or other.”

They sat not speaking, Carrie thinking that shits like him always got away with it, but she’d nail him somehow if it was the last thing she did. The apartment was silent, not even the sounds of Beirut evening traffic breaking through. She wondered if her career really was over. It would end when Fielding’s people came. Just like her father, she thought.

There was a knock at the door.

Ouzai, Beirut, Lebanon

Fielding answered the door, gun in hand. It was Saul Berenson, pulling a wheeled suitcase, obviously having come straight from the airport. Virgil was with him, carrying his assault rifle in a rigid plastic gun case.

“Hello, Davis. Expecting an invasion?” Saul asked, coming in, eyes on the gun. Virgil followed.

“Mathison blew Achilles, our last safe house. I wouldn’t put it past her to blow this one,” Fielding said, putting the gun into his pocket.

Saul took off his jacket and sat opposite Carrie. He looked at Fielding, who, after a moment, put the gun away.

“I understand Nightingale’s dead,” he said to Carrie.

“Rana too,” she muttered, looking away. “Fielding says she was just a contact.”

Saul rubbed his hands as if it were cold. “Pity we couldn’t interrogate him. Might’ve nailed it down a thousand percent.”

“What did you expect?” Fielding said. “I told you she’s too new to run an op like this. You should have given it to me.”

Saul looked at Fielding. “What would you have done differently, Davis? For the record,” he said quietly.

“I would’ve used our people, not Forces Libanaises. And I would’ve picked the spot,” Fielding said.

“There wasn’t time-and he was already susp-” Carrie started to say, but Saul held his hand up to stop her.

“She had my authorization,” he said.

“Look, Saul, I know she’s your protégé, but this is my station. Do you want me to run it or don’t you?” Fielding said.

“Wait,” Carrie said, taking the cell phone out and handing it to Saul. “It wasn’t a total loss. This is Nightingale’s.”

Saul tossed it to Virgil.

“I want every damn nitpicky little thing that’s ever been on that phone,” he told Virgil, who nodded; then he turned to Fielding. “I need to talk to Carrie alone, Davis. But you’ll be glad to know she’s leaving Beirut.”

“But, Saul-” she said, then stopped at a look from him.

Saul turned to Fielding, who was smiling broadly.

“You’re doing the right th-” Fielding started to say, but Saul interrupted.

“You’re leaving too, Davis. I need to talk to you too. I’ll meet you at your office, the one on Rue Maarad, in”-he glanced at his watch-“about an hour.”

“What are you talking about? Leaving?” Fielding said, standing up.

“Langley. We need you back there.” Saul smiled. “It’s all fine. I’ll explain everything. Now I need to straighten Carrie out first, okay?” He looked at Carrie. “What are you drinking?”

“Vodka. Belvedere.”

“May I?” he said, reaching for her glass. “It’s been a hell of a long flight.”

Fielding looked at Carrie grimly and got his jacket. He watched Saul finish the vodka in the glass.

“What about the station? Who’s going to be in charge?” Fielding asked.

“We’re bringing in Saunders from Ankara. Don’t worry. It’s just temporary,” Saul said reassuringly, making a gesture like it was no big deal.

“Jeez, Saul. Can you give me a hint?” Fielding asked.

Saul shook his head. “Your ears only. I don’t want these two”-he indicated Carrie and Virgil-“to know. I’ll be by shortly. I promise.”

Fielding studied Saul for a moment as if trying to decide whether to believe him. “So you know, I’ve got some of my guys coming,” he said. “We didn’t want a repeat of Achilles.”

“Call ’em off. We won’t need them,” Saul said, waving him away. “I’ll brief you in an hour, okay?”

Fielding nodded and, not taking his eyes off Saul, left the apartment.

“Are you completely insane? Do you know what that asshole-” she started to say, but Saul put his finger to his lips to stop her and looked at Virgil, who went to the door and opened it to make sure Fielding was gone. “What’s going on? Why’d you want to see me alone?”

Saul broke into a grin. Virgil, looking at the two of them, smiled.

“Do you know what you did? Have you any idea?” Saul said.

“What are you talking about?”

“That picture you sent. The one from the contact you tracked down, that Marielle.”

“The man, Mohammed Siddiqi. What about him?”

Saul leaned forward and touched her arm. “Well, according to your former boss Alan Yerushenko and his entire team, plus everyone at NESA, they are telling us with a seventy-plus percent probability that what you sent, the person you identified as one Mohammed Siddiqi, a so-called Qatari, who, by the way, according to Doha doesn’t exist, is the only known photograph of Abu Ubaida, right-hand man and number two of Abu Nazir, head of al-Qaeda in Iraq and the person in all likelihood behind the attacks in New York.”

She rocked back, stunned. Unbelievable, she thought. One minute she was being shipped off to Poland and now suddenly she had just hit a home run to win a World Series game.

“What about Fielding?” she asked.

“When he gets off the plane, Langley’ll handle it.” He frowned. “It won’t be pleasant. I don’t know what in the name of God he was thinking. Or how deep he’s in, or with whom.”

“What about Langley? Am I off the shit list?”

Saul grinned. “Are you kidding? As far as the director’s concerned, you are the prom queen, Wonder Woman and the female James Bond rolled into one. Yerushenko said if he wasn’t already married and a grandfather, he’d marry you. We finally have a shot at getting this son of a bitch.”

“What about David?” she asked, not looking at him.

“Estes too.”

“So why’d you say I was leaving? I’ve got a lot more to do here.”