The Bin Laden Plot

“Technically, nothing is required. Rolow’s not under suspicion for anything; it’s more of an oddity at this point. But someone is going to have to pop the question to him — ask him why he hasn’t mentioned the relationship and find out what he knows about her. Do you want me to handle it, or do you want to talk with him?”

Christine considered the issue, then replied, “I’ll talk with him.” She stood. “Right now, as a matter of fact.”

“That might not be a good idea,” McFarland said. “He’s in a mood.”

Christine smiled. “That’s the best time to engage.”

* * *

She walked down the hallway to Rolow’s office. His door was closed, so she knocked, then entered after his acknowledgment. He was typing on his computer keyboard, his eyes fixed on the display.

“Can you wait a second?” he asked. “I’m dealing with something urgent.”

“That’ll work,” Christine replied sarcastically. “I’ll start talking, and you can pay more attention when I say something important.”

Rolow glanced at her before returning his attention to the display. He hadn’t picked up on her tone.

“After you left, Tracey provided an additional update on the SecNav investigation…”

“Uh-huh,” Rolow said as he kept typing.

“It was an interesting discovery concerning one of Verbeck’s previous romantic relationships.”

Rolow’s fingers stopped typing. He looked up at her. “And?”

“Why haven’t you mentioned that you dated Brenda for five years?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Because it’s not relevant.”

“That’s not how this is supposed to work. You provide the data, and we do the assessment.”

“So, now I’m guilty in some way because I dated Brenda? Does that mean that anyone who’s had a past relationship with a suspect is guilty by association?”

Before Christine could answer, he asked, “What about you and Mixell? You, Harrison, and Mixell are childhood chums. Best buddies. Given your previous relationship with Mixell, why aren’t you under suspicion every time he pops onto our radar?”

Rolow had a point. Her close friendship with Mixell was a delicate issue, considering current events. But she decided to ignore Rolow’s question.

“What happened between you?”

Rolow smiled, recognizing Christine’s deflection of his question. “I found her to be a bit too… conniving.”

Christine laughed. “Too conniving for the CIA’s deputy director for operations?”

“Brenda is a brilliant woman, her intellect overshadowed only by her ambition. She’s bent on climbing the rungs of power, always working on one scheme or another. To Brenda, relationships are merely a means to an end. She was more interested in what I could do for her professionally than what I had to offer as a boyfriend or husband. Regarding our relationship, there’s nothing noteworthy that I can recall. But if you must know the details, her favorite color is pink and she loves strawberry ice cream. She’s really good in bed, and her favorite position is — ”

“Okay, you can stop,” Christine interjected.

There was a tense moment between them before Christine asked, “Is there anything noteworthy that you recall about Brenda?”

“Not at the moment.”

“If you do, let us know.”

“Of course. That was always the plan.” Rolow smiled again. “Is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment,” Christine replied.

40 SALMIYA, KUWAIT

Harrison stepped from the bathroom into the small bedroom, his hair still damp from his shower. It was warm in the room — it was still over a hundred degrees in the city even though night had fallen — and he wore only a pair of shorts. Khalila was likewise skimpily dressed after her shower, wearing a thin white spaghetti-strap shirt that contrasted with her olive skin, plus a matching pair of cotton gym shorts. She was sitting on a wide window ledge, her long legs drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her shins, staring at the nightlife traversing the busy street below.

Khalila had been unusually quiet after her confrontation with Rolow during their VTC with Langley. As she stared at the city lights, she seemed lost in her thoughts.

“You should move away from the window,” Harrison said.

“I’m fine,” Khalila said. “It’s bullet-resistant glass.”

They were in a flat on the sixth floor of the safe house. Tonight, the facility was packed with every paramilitary operations officer that Ashour could get his hands on, and Khalila and Harrison had agreed to share a room, as they typically did while traveling. Things appeared calm at the moment, with both intelligence organizations — the CIA and Kuwait Security Service — taking a pause from the previous night’s bloodshed, assessing how best to proceed. Not taking any chances, Ashour had reinforced the safe house, in case the KSS had discovered its location and decided to take retribution.