Page 221 of Whisper

“That night meant everything to me,” Dawood whispered.

Kris turned his back on Dawood. “It was a mistake.” He jerked his chin to Dan’s office. “This way.”

Like all senior CIA officers, Dan had a secured home office, modified by the agency’s techs to transmit classified data between Langley and his home. Emergencies arose at all hours, and sometimes there wasn’t time to get to Langley. Dan’s home office was soundproof, swept for bugs once a month, and had a dedicated, encrypted data line going to his computer.

And he had full access to the CIA’s database.

“Stand there.” Kris pointed to the center of the officer, the center of Dan’s throw rug. “Don’t move. Don’t touch anything.”

Dawood fidgeted as Kris slipped behind Dan’s desk, logged in to his computer.

“It’s time for noon prayers,” Dawood said softly. “May I pray here?”

Kris shrugged. “I don’t care. As long as you don’t leave that spot.”

Dawood’s soft voice filled the room, his deep Arabic swimming around Kris’s head, into his soul and around his heart. He bowed, prostrated. Recited from the Quran.

Prayed for Kris, for his happiness. For his soul.

Kris slammed Dan’s keyboard on the desk, typed hard and fast. How dare Dawood pray for him. How dare he. After everything, how dare Dawood even breathe his name, think of him at all.

Mission logs appeared, two years’ worth of Afghanistan operations, a seemingly endless file. Kris sighed. He’d have to sort them, somehow. He scanned for the operations that had failed. Operations where their officers had been killed.

Was it actually possible? Was any of Dawood’s story believable at all?

Could a CIA officer ever work for al-Qaeda?

If he thought it was possible for Dawood, what made it any less believable if the mole were sitting at Langley right now?

Did he have a duty to check it out, explore the possibility?

Or did he have a duty to turn Dawood in, hand his ass to the FBI for interrogation? If a mole did exist, wouldn’t someone other than them, a fallen CIA officer and the CIA’s most hated, be better equipped to find said mole?

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket at the exact same time the search results came back.Five missions with dead CIA officers. He pulled out his cell.

Dan had texted.Hey. Bad news. There’s a fire in Aden, in Yemen. Looks like an oil refinery was deliberately lit up in the middle of the night.

Kris looked up. Stared at Dawood.

Lines from the hadith came back to him, slammed into him like a shotgun to the heart:And a fire will burn forth in Yemen, driving the people to the place of judgment, the final reckoning.

He texted back.[ It’s one of the signs of the Islamic apocalypse. ]

Yeah. We think it’s part of a coordinated attempt to make whatever attack is planned look like part of the Islamic end times.

His vision swam. His fingers scraped against Dan’s desk, scratching in the stillness. Dawood’s Arabic fluttered, the rise and fall of his prayers moving in a careful rhythm.

“Dawood,” he said slowly. “Who is in Yemen?”

Dawood froze.

“Who is in Yemen? Who are you working with?”

“Don’t ask me that. Please.”

“‘And a fire will burn forth in Yemen, driving the people to the place of judgment’,” he recited. “There’s a fucking fire burning in Yemen right now! And you left two of your jihadi brothers there, in Aden! Who the fuck is in Yemen, Dawood? What aren’t you telling me?”

“I have prayed with them!” Dawood cried. “I have lived with them for years, shared tears and joys with them!”