The Leveling

“Under whose orders?”


“I can’t tell you.” Decker hoped they would think some government was actually issuing him orders—that someone would actually care if he disappeared.

“You wish the same fate as your friend?”

Confuse them. Buy time. They won’t kill you until they think they’ve learned everything they can from you.

“In two weeks you’ll figure it all out for yourself.”

“Two weeks? Why two weeks?”

“In two weeks you’ll find out.”

“You lie.”

“Whatever, dude.”

“You speak like an American.”

“I am an American.”

“What is your name?”

“John Decker.” Decker hoped that they’d find out about his Navy SEAL experience and mistakenly assume that he was still a SEAL, and think that he was a high-value capture.

The man produced Alty’s iPhone and placed it on a stool a few feet in front of Decker.

Decker tried not to stare at it, tried not to show his distress.

“You sent an e-mail from this phone just before you were captured. Why?”

“That’s not my phone.”

“One of the people you sent the e-mail to is a CIA agent named Mark Sava. Are you working for him?”

So they knew about the photos he’d e-mailed to Mark and Daria. It was so stupid of him, forgetting to put the damn iPhone in his gear bag inside the chimney.

“I said that’s not my phone. I didn’t send any e-mails from it.” Decker gestured to Alty with his chin. “It’s his phone.”

“Then why wasn’t it with him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he dropped it.”

“It was recovered from the roof.”

“So maybe he dropped it when he was on the roof with me.”

“When was he on the roof with you?”

“Before you shot him. We were both up there.”

“If this isn’t your phone, then surely you have a cell phone of your own. Or a camera?”

“They’re with my partner.” In two weeks something happens. You have a partner. Keep track of your lies. Believe your lies.

“Your partner is dead. You can see this for yourself.” The man wearing the black turban lifted Alty’s chin and let the lifeless head drop.

“Alty was our guide. My partner wasn’t captured.”

“You have no partner.”

“I did.”

“And you claim this partner now has your belongings, including your cell phone and camera?”

“He does.”

“Where is this partner now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he also working for Sava?”

“I told you I’m not working for Sava. I can’t tell you who I’m working for.”

A second later, Decker absorbed a heavy blow to the head, which was followed by another, and another. Amateurs, he thought. Beating someone was a lousy way to extract information. He began to think that maybe he could handle this.

You have a partner. Something happens in two weeks. Keep the lies simple. Wait for them to make a mistake.





19


Almaty, Kazakhstan



DARIA SAT WITH her hands crossed over her chest as Mark told her about the assassination attempt, his expulsion from Azerbaijan, the e-mail from Decker, and finally, his meeting with Holtz.

She thought he looked about the same as the last time she’d seen him. The same brown eyes; still not visibly muscular, though she knew he was deceptively strong, in a lithe, sinewy way. Maybe a little more gray around the temples, but not much. He could have passed for an old thirty or a young fifty. Not the kind of guy most people would notice.

She’d once been fooled by his average-looking appearance, but now she saw past it. Now she noticed right away that his eyes were cold, and just a bit too wide set, making him look a little reptilian. Now she picked up immediately on the natural half sneer on his lips. Though she knew he was capable of great kindness, that expression reminded her that he was equally capable of apathy, even cruelty.

“It was Holtz who told me where to find you,” said Mark.

“You didn’t get my message?”

“What message?”

“I called you in Baku.”

“Must have been after I left.”

“I called because I got the e-mail too.”

“So you were the CC on it. I wondered.”

“I recognized Deck’s arm too. I thought he might be in trouble, so I wanted you to contact Holtz. Which you did anyway.”

“Why didn’t someone come after you the way they did to me?”

“Maybe because my e-mail address doesn’t have my name on it?”

“Clever.”

“Maybe because all my e-mails are run through an account that encrypts them before forwarding them to a second account?”

His eyes fixed on her. “I wasn’t thinking like a spy, Daria. I was thinking like a professor. Because that’s what I am. Or rather, was.”

“By the way. Holtz was lying. He didn’t fire me. I quit.”

“OK.”

Daria stared at Mark for a second, trying to gauge whether he believed her. Then it hit her—he didn’t care one way or the other. Because he didn’t care about her. She had to get that through her head once and for all.