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Authors: Brad Taylor
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we
would
do the trip. If I’d known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have been acting like a jackass.”
After a moment of silence, she said, “Whatever this message is, it’s not going to be good. I can feel it. You’re going to make me do something bad.”
Jennifer had already been forced to do things in the name of the United States that the average citizen would consider horrific, and she’d understood the why, but she wanted me to say it wasn’t so this time. Wanted me to make good on my promise of letting her do something purely for the joy of scientific discovery instead of the bloody self-defense of the United States.
I didn’t know what the incoming message would say, but I knew I couldn’t promise Jennifer anything. Like a coward I changed the subject.
“How’s a mosque going to help us? We can’t even get in.”
She started walking again. “The Umayyad Mosque is one of the holiest shrines of Islam. It’s a huge tourist attraction. Yeah, we can’t get into the inner workings, but we can get to the courtyard, which is enormous. Big enough to get the signal we need with a plausible reason for being there.”
She looked back at me. “Unlike a simple soccer field.”
The comment was meant to convey she understood the mission and was thinking about how to do it given our operational cover.
We reached the end of the souk and circled around to the touristgate entrance of the mosque. After buying our tickets, we went through a doorway labeled “putting on special clothes room.” We were given hooded cloaks to wear, me because short-sleeved shirts were frowned upon and Jennifer because, well, she was a woman.
“What’s up with this place?”
“It’s the first great mosque.”
“Great is right. It looks like a crib from MTV with all the marble and gold.”
She was scowling at my verbal history slight when I saw a mausoleum off to the right, a small, white building with a red roof.
She said, “Saladin’s last resting place.”
“Saladin?
The
Saladin? For real?”
I saw a little grin seep out because I was enjoying the same thing she did. Old dead people and pottery shards.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get to the courtyard and get this God-almighty-important message.”
“Hey, let’s look around a little bit. Work the cover some. We’re tourists.”
She smiled for real. “If it’s got something to do with bloodshed, you get interested. Okay, you want me to tell you about Saladin?”
Jennifer was famous in the Taskforce for her history lessons. Not in a bad way, as if she was always spouting off, but in a good way, because she knew more about the history of the world than any knuckle-dragger in the command. In this case, I didn’t need the lesson. Saladin was a Kurd who’d smoked the European crusaders, giving them fits with his military skills. A leader of the first order. I knew all about him, but had no idea he’d been entombed in Syria.
“I’m good on this one. I’ll just go take a peek. Why don’t you take the GPS into the courtyard? I’ll catch up.”
She disappeared through a door, and I entered the mausoleum. There wasn’t much to see inside, and I realized that I was itching to know what the Taskforce wanted. I wished I hadn’t given the GPS to Jennifer, allowing her to see the message first. I glanced around for afew seconds, then took off at a fast walk to find her. I entered into the courtyard, which was as large as Jennifer said it would be. I saw her sitting down, looking at the screen.
“Did you get it?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I did.”
Her demeanor gave me no clue if it was going to be good or bad. “Well?”
She stood up and dusted off her pants. “It’s instructions for a PM.”
Whew.
PM stood for personal meet and was spy-talk for a clandestine meeting between a controller and his asset, which in this case would be us. Nothing more than an hour out of our life.
“See. All that crying over nothing. We’ll do the meet and
would
do the trip. If I’d known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have been acting like a jackass.”
After a moment of silence, she said, “Whatever this message is, it’s not going to be good. I can feel it. You’re going to make me do something bad.”
Jennifer had already been forced to do things in the name of the United States that the average citizen would consider horrific, and she’d understood the why, but she wanted me to say it wasn’t so this time. Wanted me to make good on my promise of letting her do something purely for the joy of scientific discovery instead of the bloody self-defense of the United States.
I didn’t know what the incoming message would say, but I knew I couldn’t promise Jennifer anything. Like a coward I changed the subject.
“How’s a mosque going to help us? We can’t even get in.”
She started walking again. “The Umayyad Mosque is one of the holiest shrines of Islam. It’s a huge tourist attraction. Yeah, we can’t get into the inner workings, but we can get to the courtyard, which is enormous. Big enough to get the signal we need with a plausible reason for being there.”
She looked back at me. “Unlike a simple soccer field.”
The comment was meant to convey she understood the mission and was thinking about how to do it given our operational cover.
We reached the end of the souk and circled around to the touristgate entrance of the mosque. After buying our tickets, we went through a doorway labeled “putting on special clothes room.” We were given hooded cloaks to wear, me because short-sleeved shirts were frowned upon and Jennifer because, well, she was a woman.
“What’s up with this place?”
“It’s the first great mosque.”
“Great is right. It looks like a crib from MTV with all the marble and gold.”
She was scowling at my verbal history slight when I saw a mausoleum off to the right, a small, white building with a red roof.
She said, “Saladin’s last resting place.”
“Saladin?
The
Saladin? For real?”
I saw a little grin seep out because I was enjoying the same thing she did. Old dead people and pottery shards.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get to the courtyard and get this God-almighty-important message.”
“Hey, let’s look around a little bit. Work the cover some. We’re tourists.”
She smiled for real. “If it’s got something to do with bloodshed, you get interested. Okay, you want me to tell you about Saladin?”
Jennifer was famous in the Taskforce for her history lessons. Not in a bad way, as if she was always spouting off, but in a good way, because she knew more about the history of the world than any knuckle-dragger in the command. In this case, I didn’t need the lesson. Saladin was a Kurd who’d smoked the European crusaders, giving them fits with his military skills. A leader of the first order. I knew all about him, but had no idea he’d been entombed in Syria.
“I’m good on this one. I’ll just go take a peek. Why don’t you take the GPS into the courtyard? I’ll catch up.”
She disappeared through a door, and I entered the mausoleum. There wasn’t much to see inside, and I realized that I was itching to know what the Taskforce wanted. I wished I hadn’t given the GPS to Jennifer, allowing her to see the message first. I glanced around for afew seconds, then took off at a fast walk to find her. I entered into the courtyard, which was as large as Jennifer said it would be. I saw her sitting down, looking at the screen.
“Did you get it?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I did.”
Her demeanor gave me no clue if it was going to be good or bad. “Well?”
She stood up and dusted off her pants. “It’s instructions for a PM.”
Whew.
PM stood for personal meet and was spy-talk for a clandestine meeting between a controller and his asset, which in this case would be us. Nothing more than an hour out of our life.
“See. All that crying over nothing. We’ll do the meet and
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