Aberhadji nodded. He had no immediate family and had had none since he was young. His father had died in the war against Iraq, and his mother passed away a year later, mostly out of grief.

“Well then, let us put you down for a week. The matter is decided,” said Fars.

“It should be stated as indefinite.”

“Yes, well, we will say two. If, at the end of two weeks—”

“It should say indefinite. It may be less than two.”

“Well then, two weeks can cover it for the moment.”

“It should say indefinite.”

Fars could not grant someone an indefinite leave except for a medical emergency. Aberhadji’s honesty was a problem.

Fars decided it need not be. He could prepare two versions of the request—one for Aberhadji to sign, the other for the Tehran bureaucrats. Problem solved.

“So, indefinite. And should we put down that the business is a matter of a personal nature? Clearly, you’re not going on a vacation. I only have to ask,” Fars added, “because you know I have to make these reports each week to Tehran. In this economy, I think they are always throwing problems in to keep us on our toes.”

“It is a private matter. Certainly.”

“Good,” said Fars, choosing to interpret that as personal. “I will take care of it,” he added, rising. “Don’t worry. Take whatever time you need.”

6

McLean, Virginia

Three days later

DANNY FREAH FOUND HIS EXCITEMENT GROWING AS HE made the arrangements to take the new Whiplash assignment. It had been quite a while since he had been involved in a “black” or secret project, and he’d forgotten just how quickly things could move once they had that imprimatur. Breanna assigned one of her assistants as a facilitator, taking care of the paperwork and everything else necessary, even finding him a condo to rent.

“It won’t be much,” she warned, “but you won’t be there very much anyway.”

Actually, the apartment had its own terrace and a view of the river. The bedroom was about twice the size of the living room he had been renting in Kentucky. Best of all, he could afford the rent.

The only problem was that the moving company he’d hired to cart his furniture couldn’t arrange to pick up everything and deliver it for several weeks. Danny spent the weekend packing and taking care of last minute arrangements. After a Sunday afternoon good-bye party that stretched well into Monday morning, he hopped in his rental car and drove straight back to Washington, D.C., stopping at a McDonald’s to shave and change into his uniform. Parking at the Pentagon without a permit these days was a fool’s errand, so instead he returned the car to a rental agency at Reagan Airport and took the Metro. As the train reached the stop, he thought of the prim and proper woman he’d seen the last time he was there. He couldn’t help wondering if he’d run into her again.

As it happened, he did run into her—and a lot sooner than he’d thought. For when he reported to Breanna Stockard’s office as directed, he found her manning the secretary’s desk.

“You’re Mary Clair Bennett?” he asked, extending his hand.

“Colonel Freah. Prompt. Very good,” said Ms. Bennett, who did not take his hand.

“I, um—we met,” he told her.

“I am sorry. I do not recall.”

“On the train.”

“Train?”

“It’s not important. That’s a great apartment you found me. It’s fantastic.”

“Naturally.”

“I want to thank you for all your help with these arrangements. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“It is my job, Colonel.”

“Ah, Danny, I see you’ve met Ms. Bennett,” said Breanna, coming in from the hall.

“Me and M.C. go way back,” said Danny.

Breanna had never heard anyone, including Ms. Bennett herself, refer to her as anything other than Ms. Bennett. She glanced at the secretary, who was glaring at Danny.

He didn’t notice, and wouldn’t have let on if he did.

“Let’s get you situated,” Breanna said. “Ms. Bennett, you can reach me via text. I’ll be gone for most of the day.”

“Yes, Ms. Stockard. Of course.”

“Where’d you dig her up?” Danny asked as they waited for the elevator.

“She’s wonderfully efficient, if a little stuffy.”

“That’s like saying the North Pole is a little cold.”

“I don’t need a friend,” said Breanna. “What was with the M.C. bit? I think you better lay off that.”

“I’ll get her to thaw. You’ll see,” said Danny. He was already planning to send her flowers as a thank-you for the apartment and everything else. “How long do you think it will take to get a Pentagon parking permit?”

“You won’t need one. You’re not going to be working here. You won’t even have an office here.”

“Oh?”

Forty minutes later Breanna presented Danny to a plainclothes CIA security detail at the entrance pavilion of the CIA’s campus in McLean, Virginia. Known as Langley, the headquarters complex was among the most closely watched and guarded area in the world. Despite the fact that he already possessed a high-level military clearance, the CIA security people had him sit in a special biometric chair that “read” 114 different biometric aspects, measuring everything from his weight to the size of his ankles. While this was going on, a machine in the corner analyzed the DNA from a scraping in his cheek, and another machine took stock of his saliva.

“So am I who I think I am?” Danny asked when the technician in charge of the measurements told him they were done.

“You are Daniel Freah, according to the computer,” replied the technician. “Though I have no idea if that’s who you are.”

A woman in the next room gave Danny a small bluish-red ring to wear on his right pinky. It fit perfectly.

“That has all your biometric data in it,” she told him. “You don’t need any other ID while you’re here.”

The ring had other functions, as Breanna explained while they walked back to her waiting car. An integrated circuit allowed it to be used as an encryption device in a dedicated communication system. It could also be tracked via the same satellites, allowing it to be used as a backup locator. The system would also recognize if it was removed from his body, or if his pulse stopped; while it could still be tracked in that case, it would no longer function as an active ID.

“Basically, we’ll know where you are at all times,” said Breanna. “There’s no escape.”

She meant it as a joke, but already Danny was feeling as if he’d gotten into a little more than he’d expected. They drove past the main CIA building, continuing around to a nondescript office building at the far corner of the complex. The building looked as if it dated from the 1950s or perhaps early 1960s, but in fact was only three years old. A single story structure, it had no external markings or any other identification. This was not unique at Langley; anyone who didn’t know where he or she was going didn’t belong there.

After Breanna and Danny passed through an automated security system in the lobby, Breanna led him to an office diagonally across from the reception area. The guard standing at the door nodded but didn’t step aside until the door, operated by its own sensor, swung open behind him.

Danny was expecting to find a standard office inside—his office, he thought. But instead he found an empty room with a narrow staircase to one side. Breanna led him to the staircase, gesturing that he should descend. He did, and found himself staring at a steel door.

“State your name,” said a mechanical voice from somewhere behind the door.

“Danny Freah.”

“Rank?”

“Colonel.”

“What is your favorite color?”

Danny thought of answering that he didn’t have a favorite color, but decided he had better play it straight.