Killer Instinct (Instinct #2)(66)

“I’m only a courier,” said Sadira.

“Not anymore you’re not. Not after you take care of Reinhart and then help me with what comes next.”

“What’s that?” she asked. “What comes next?”

“After Reinhart,” he said. He would tell her then. “Then I will know I can trust you enough.”

“If you want him dead so badly, why is he still alive?”

“Because I made the mistake of trusting someone else to do the job. Now Reinhart is expecting me. But he won’t be expecting you.”

Sadira leaned back in her chair as if she were considering her options. But she’d already made up her mind when the Mudir told her about Reinhart’s CIA past. “Okay,” she said. “How soon do you need it done?”





CHAPTER 93


SADIRA HAD asked for my number outside the courthouse when we agreed on dinner. She was going to text me the restaurant and what time. There was a new Italian place on the Upper West Side she wanted to try but didn’t know if we could get a reservation. “Stay tuned” were her last words to me.

By that afternoon, they were still her last words to me.

I hadn’t heard from her. No text. No call. Nothing. What changed? Did she figure something out? Is she on to me?

I was about to call Julian to get her number when there was a knock at the door. Foxx was back for another visit.

He’d had his driver take me back into Manhattan that morning to one of the shell offices in midtown that fronted as a CIA station. After the New York headquarters at 7 World Trade Center was destroyed on 9/11, the Agency had opted to utilize multiple locations around the city. The conference room I was hanging out in belonged to a supposed international shipping company.

There was no file in Foxx’s hand this time, but his expression left little mystery as to why he’d returned. He had more news, and it wasn’t good.

“She’s leaving the country,” he announced. Sadira Yavari was skipping town.

“When?” I asked.

“Sunday. Turkish Air to Tehran via Istanbul.”

“I’m gonna guess it’s not a round-trip ticket.”

Foxx shook his head. “One way. Non-refundable,” he said. “The kicker? She only just booked it today.”

“What about her recent calls?” I asked.

“Nothing to Iran, and no one we haven’t already checked out,” he said.

Foxx hadn’t told me, but I’d assumed the Agency had been monitoring Sadira’s phone records, both landline and cell, if not listening to the calls themselves. Of course, by law, the CIA is prohibited from collecting foreign intelligence based on the domestic activities of US citizens. Then again, the C has never stood for compliance.

I had one more question. “Did you put a body on her?”

There was a chance Foxx had tailed her without telling me, and there was also a chance that he still didn’t want to. But he didn’t hesitate.

“I was sort of counting on you for that,” he said, “starting with your dinner tonight.” He glanced at his watch. He knew Sadira hadn’t been in touch with me. “But so much for that.”

I grabbed my phone, checking for any new texts or voicemails even though I had my ringer on. Still nothing from her. It was time to face reality.

“Okay, I’m on board,” I said. “Let’s bring her in.”

This time, Foxx hesitated. “We’re not going to do that,” he said finally.

I thought that’s what you originally wanted, I would’ve said if I didn’t already know what he meant. Sometimes it’s all in the tone.

The Agency wasn’t going to bring her in. No. They were going to take her down.

Permanently.





CHAPTER 94


“WAS IT your call?” I asked.

“It was my recommendation. Ultimately it was the director’s call,” he said.

“Same difference.”

Foxx shrugged. “Maybe.”

More like definitely. The director of the CIA is like the owner of an NFL football team. He might have final say on operations, but if he’s smart, he defers to the coach, the one closest to the action, when it comes to play calling. Especially with a guy like Foxx. Foxx was basically the Bill Belichick of section chiefs. If he recommended having Sadira Yavari meet with an “unfortunate accident,” then that’s what was going to happen.

“Why, though?” I asked.

“You know why,” said Foxx. “She’s a case that can’t go to trial.”

“What about what she knows? Who she knows?”

“That’s why I okayed your dinner with her.”

“You can still bring her in,” I said.

“Not after she stood you up.”

That was Foxx’s way of saying she would be less than cooperative under questioning. It was also a nod to the perverse irony of every piece of anti-torture legislation, especially in a world where the vast majority of information gathered at Guantánamo Bay and other dark sites around the globe turns out not to be actionable.

Bluntly put, killing terrorism suspects is far less of a headache for the CIA than waterboarding them.

I thought about trying to talk Foxx out of the decision. Plead my case. The reason I didn’t was because all I could hear was Tracy’s voice in my head. This wasn’t Tracy, the idealist. This was the law school grad, the realist. My case was a lost cause. Without Sadira, there was nothing to argue. My lead witness had gone missing.