Chapter Thirty-One
Defense Intelligence Headquarters
Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling
Washington, DC
The migraine was a freight train. She had felt it coming. At first it had been distant, like a rumble on the tracks. And then it had become louder, sharper, and angrier. And now she could feel it drilling into her skull just behind her right eye. Her doctor had warned her.
“Too much coffee. Too little sleep, and too much stress, Samantha,” she’d said. “You need a break.”
A break. I wish.
It had been a long day. Ranger’s stomach growled.
She glanced at her watch. It was well past dinnertime and the cafeteria’s closing time.
Though she hadn’t eaten anything since the two reheated pizza slices she had for breakfast, she didn’t think her digestive system could handle another packaged burger from the vending machine.
She reached into the top drawer of her desk, unscrewed the cap of a white-and-blue bottle with a snap, and swallowed four Advil pills using the dregs of her fifth coffee of the day.
She then made her way to the espresso-colored leather armchair that she kept by the window and sat down, propping her legs on the matching ottoman.
The number of nights she crashed here every month, a secure tablet still glowing on her chest, was embarrassing.
Her office was as no nonsense as she was.
It was utilitarian, somewhat spacious, but definitely not modern.
Apart from the armchair she slept in more often than her own bed, everything else in her office was government issue.
Even the generic pictures of the Swiss Alps on the walls, though she had selected them herself.
Ranger leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
Despite the large amount of coffee she had ingested, she was dead tired.
She, along with her team, had worked nonstop for the last twenty-four hours trying to figure out what had happened in Mallorca, and then in Turkey.
A knock at the door jolted her, and she looked at her watch again.
Shit. I fell asleep.
Her assistant, a young man with perfectly combed hair and orange-rimmed glasses, poked his head in.
“Nicklas Drescher is here,” he said.
“Yeah. Send him in,” she replied, getting to her feet.
Drescher stepped in a moment later, walking with a slight limp—the cost of a mission in Venezuela where he had saved Ranger’s life and lost his right leg.
He was of medium height and build and wore a gray suit that wasn’t tailored but seemed to hang perfectly on him.
His face was unreadable, almost bored, but Ranger knew better.
Behind those eyes was a mind that never stopped turning.
“Nicklas,” she welcomed him with a genuine smile. “It’s good to see you.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips, but didn’t touch the skin. It was a courtly habit she’d once found annoying. Not anymore.
“The pleasure is all mine, Sam,” he said.
“Coffee?”
He waved her off and sank into one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Did you hear from them?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, I did. A colleague in Istanbul confirmed Caspian and Liesel made contact. They’re in a CIA safe house waiting for instructions.”
Drescher nodded, and she saw the relief on his face.
“If the BND can help in any way . . .”
“I appreciate it. And I’ll make sure to ask if we do. But we’ve got it handled for now,” she said.
He gave her a skeptical look. “You do?”
Ranger arched a brow. “Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me I missed something?”
“Not at all. Just wondering where you stand on Everett Westcott.”
Everett Westcott. The name alone made her temples throb harder. Ranger reached for the Advil bottle again, thought better of it, and placed it on the desk instead.
“We’ve started looking,” she said. “Quietly. But like I told Caspian, Westcott isn’t just connected to the highest levels of power, the man’s revered in many circles.”
Drescher nodded. “We feel the same way.”
“We? As in the BND?” she asked.
The German spy gave a noncommittal shrug. “And the entire German government.”
She looked at the bottle of Advil. Her doctor had warned her to cut back. Apparently sixteen pills a day wasn’t sustainable. She sighed and reached into the mini fridge behind her desk. She grabbed two bottles of water and tossed one to Drescher.
“Hearts United has your government’s support?” she asked.
“Full support,” Drescher confirmed. “And to be honest, I understand why.”
Ranger popped four more pills and took a swig from her bottle. Her doctor would throw a fit, but her doctor wasn’t trying to hold the world together with chewing gum and half-truths, was she?
“What about Sofie?” she asked.
A shadow flickered behind the German spy’s eyes. “Not much more than what you already know,” he said.
“You believed she was dead?”
“We all did. Until we didn’t.”
“Meaning?”
Drescher leaned forward. “She’s the reason we recalled Liesel to Berlin a few months back. Facial recognition flagged Sofie in an African airport.”
“An African airport? Can you be more specific?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Ranger understood. The BND was clearly breaking a few laws in accessing a foreign nation’s security system.
“What’s the BND doing scanning for long-dead logistics officers in African airports?” Ranger asked.
“That’s just it, my friend. We’re not.”
She set her water down. “Then who submitted her into the system?”
“Not sure, but if you’re asking me to guess, I’d say it’s probably the same people who green-lit the arrest warrant for Caspian and Liesel in Turkey.”
Her pulse ticked upward.
“We’re trying to trace it,” she said. “But Ankara isn’t exactly cooperating. I don’t need to tell you how strained our relations are with them at the moment.”
Drescher didn’t reply. He didn’t have to.
Every intelligence officer worth their salt knew that the United States’ relationship with Turkey had shifted from alliance to uneasy coexistence.
The Cold War had bonded them, and NATO had reinforced the link, but now?
Turkey was hedging its bets. Buying the S-400 missile systems from Moscow hadn’t just sent shock waves through the Pentagon, it had triggered sanctions.
Ankara claimed it allowed them a certain strategic autonomy, but Washington had called it a betrayal.
Add in the disputes over Syria and the American support for some Kurdish groups, and the whole relationship had turned into a transactional mess.
“It’s a different world, I guess,” she offered.
“Different times, different rules,” Drescher said.
“Okay. Let’s assume you’re right and that the same person flagged Sofie and framed Caspian and Liesel. That means we’re asking the same two questions.”
“Who. And why,” Drescher said.
“Outside of our respective organizations and a few other agencies allied to us, there aren’t many players who could pull off both,” Ranger said.
“Hearts United is one,” Drescher suggested.
She stared at her friend. “You really think that NGO is pulling the strings?”
“I don’t know. I’m not jumping to conclusions here, Sam. I’m just asking questions.”
Ranger crossed her arms. “Hearts United has done real work, with real, positive impact. They installed solar grids in Chad, provided access to clean water across the Sahel—”
“And food aid to Ethiopia,” Drescher interjected. “I know all that, Sam.”
But Ranger wasn’t done. “They’re planning huge infrastructures projects, and they’ve already transformed whole regions—”
Drescher cut her off. “There. You just said it.”
“Said what? I don’t understand.”
“They’ve transformed whole regions,” Drescher said.
“Yes. For the better. C’mon, Nicklas, Hearts United is one of the few organizations that’s actually helping.”
“I’m not saying they aren’t.”
“For God’s sake. Then what are you saying?”
He met her eyes. “Have you looked closely? At the projects themselves?”
“I’ve read the briefs.”
“The briefs. Right,” he said, standing.
She rose with him. “Wait a goddamn second, will you? You just planted a bomb in the room, and now you’re leaving?”
“I have to go back to the embassy. I’m sorry.”
Ranger sighed. “All right. You want me to look closer, I’ll look closer. I owe you that much.”
“And more,” he said, a smile appearing on his lips.
“Yes. And more,” Ranger agreed. “But you need to help me out here. What should I look for exactly?”
“Sam, I don’t want to skew your judgment,” he said.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m serious,” he insisted. “If we both reach the same conclusion independently, we’ll know it’s solid. As I said, I’m not jumping to conclusions.”
She knew he was right. “A hint, then?”
Drescher paused at the door. “Kenya,” he said. “Start there. And again, don’t hesitate to reach out if you need our help.”
And with that, he walked out of her office, leaving her staring at the bottle of Advil, wondering if she was going to need a hell of a lot more.