Five Years in Yemen Read online

  My family had never gone to church. When I was growing up, I don’t remember hearing my father—who’d been an alcoholic—ever speak about God, and my mother, a high school science teacher, had always claimed to be an atheist.

  Not long before she’d passed away, she’d tried to talk to me about God, but by then, she’d been in the latter stages of Alzheimer’s, and I hadn’t been able to understand what she was trying to tell me.

  Pastor John, the man who’d conducted my mother’s funeral, had visited my mother regularly in the nursing home where she’d been a resident. After talking with him about my mother, I’d decided she’d come to faith in Christ at some point in her life.

  Perhaps she’d even been praying for me while I was in Tehran.

  Because of my upbringing, I’d never attended a Sunday morning church service until a few months ago when I’d visited Bethel Church in Norman after being invited by one of their members.

  That Sunday, I’d arrived at the church wearing an Armani suit. Except for a few older guys, I was the only one there with a suit on. The following Sunday, I’d worn a pair of slacks and a sports shirt, which was what I was wearing today.

  The appropriateness of my clothing wasn’t my only concern.

  I was also wondering if the worship service would have the same kind of format as the one at Bethel, where it had taken me a few Sundays before I was able to figure out when to sing, when to stand, and, most importantly, what to say when perfect strangers wanted to shake hands with me.

  * * * *

  Even though I arrived at Nikki’s church twenty minutes before she’d told me the service was supposed to start, the parking lot was nearly full. Since I wasn’t able to spot her car anywhere, I texted her to see where we should meet.

  She immediately texted me back and said she was sitting at the coffee bar just inside the lobby of the church.

  Coffee bar?

  As I walked across the parking lot, I looked down at her text message again to make sure I’d read it correctly.

  It definitely said coffee bar.

  I’d never seen a coffee bar at Bethel.

  I knew I hadn’t missed it because, at the time, I’d been the target of a Hezbollah assassin, and I’d done an extensive recon of Bethel’s facilities as a precautionary measure.

  I felt no such threat today, although I did feel a little intimidated when I walked inside the lobby of the Faith Community Church and saw the crowds, heard the loud music coming from the auditorium, and shook hands with someone handing out programs at the door.

  I took a program and walked across the lobby to the Church Grounds Coffee Bar, where I saw Nikki sitting at a small round table drinking a cup of coffee.

  She saw me a few seconds later and waved. When I walked up, she pointed down at her cup and asked, “Would you like a cup? It’s actually pretty good coffee.”

  I sat down in the chair opposite her and said, “No, I’m good.” I glanced around the room. “Is this something new? I didn’t realize churches had coffee bars.”

  “A lot of churches have them these days. This one was added when the foyer was remodeled a few years ago, and I’ve noticed it’s become quite the gathering place. Actually, I believe that was the thought behind the whole concept. The elders wanted to provide a place where people could sit around and talk.”

  “You mean like people used to do around a town square?”

  She smiled. “I believe the elders used a more biblical concept to sell the idea. If I remember correctly, they referenced the well in Jesus’ day.”

  “Maybe the pastor will mention the coffee bar in his sermon today,” I said, pointing at the program. “It says the title of his sermon will be An Unlikely Convert: The Woman at the Well. His scripture reference is from the fourth Chapter of John. I’ve been reading the Gospel of John, so this should be interesting.”

  Nikki took a drink of coffee, and then glanced down at her watch.

  “We have a few minutes before the service starts. I was up pretty late last night, so I should probably get as much of this caffeine in me as possible.” She laughed. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not implying the pastor’s sermons are boring.”

  “Why were you up late last night? Did something happen?”

  “No, nothing happened. No dead bodies turned up. Of course, that’s good, but we’re still not any closer to solving the case.”

  “Since the killer’s pattern was broken, it might help you solve the case.”

  She nodded. “We’re taking that into account. By the way, I thought you might like to know the GMC Yukon that was parked at the basketball court yesterday was gone this morning.”

  “Maybe that’s because the driver and I had a long talk after I dropped you off at the police station last night.”

  * * * *

  Nikki immediately started interrogating me about my statement, but I tried putting her off, not only because I didn’t think I had enough time to go into the details before the service began, but also because I was a little leery of talking to her about it in such a public setting.

  However, after she insisted on knowing who’d been driving the Yukon, I told her it was Travis Zachary, and I gave her an abbreviated version of why he’d been running surveillance on her.

  She didn’t make any comments until after we’d entered the auditorium and taken a seat. “Have you told your boss about this?”

  “He wasn’t too happy when I told him I’d allowed you to tag along, but, in the end, since we may have gotten some new intel out of Travis, he was willing to overlook what he called my lack of judgment.”

  Nikki looked amused. “I don’t imagine you get accused of that very often.”

  Before I had a chance to respond, a group of singers appeared on stage and encouraged the congregation to stand and sing along with them.

  From that point forward, I tried to forget about Jacob Levin and my upcoming mission and concentrate on a mission that took place 2,000 years ago and was still affecting the world today.

  * * * *

  As Nikki and I walked out of the church an hour later, I was surprised by how much I’d enjoyed hearing the pastor’s insight into an event in the life of Jesus.

  Several months ago, when I’d read the story for the first time, I thought I understood what was going on between Jesus and the woman at the well, but now, I saw things a little differently.

  It was a lot like reading a Strategic Biographical Analysis Report on an individual prepared by one of the Agency’s analysts, and then hearing someone who’d studied the individual for many years describe his personality.

  Sometimes, there was a big difference between the two, and I’d learned it was always better to have both kinds of insight into a person’s character, especially if that person had the ability to affect my operation in some way.

  In this instance, it was obvious the pastor knew much more about Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman than I did, and I needed to go back and try to figure out how his insight might affect my life.

  Moments later, I realized Nikki had asked me a question. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I was asking you where you wanted to go eat lunch today.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You choose.”

  “How about Mexican? There are two Tex-Mex restaurants over on Interstate Drive by the mall. We could see which one has the shortest line and then decide.”

  “Sounds good. I’m parked on the other side of the parking lot. I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

  Before Nikki got inside her vehicle, she said, “When we get to the restaurant, remind me to get those binoculars out of your back seat. I’m supposed to return them to the Property Department first thing tomorrow morning. My lieutenant wasn’t happy last night when I told him I’d forgotten them.”

  Fortunately, after we arrived at Ted’s Café on Interstate Drive, the only thing on Nikki’s mind was a beef burrito, not a pair of binoculars.

  * * * *

  Once our
waiter brought us some chips and salsa, I told Nikki I’d shared the news of our engagement with Carla.

  Then, I brought up the idea of us going to Flint for Thanksgiving.

  “I’d love that,” she said. “I’ve never been to a big family Thanksgiving dinner, and it will give me an opportunity to talk about the wedding with Carla.”

  “Carla was pretty excited when I told her we were coming. I’m warning you, though. She’ll probably invite all our relatives, along with at least half the neighborhood.”

  Nikki looked as if she found that prospect appealing. A few seconds later, she reached across the table and took my hand.

  “Thank you for planning this, Titus. It should be a lot of fun.”

  I squeezed her hand. “I’m glad it makes you happy.”

  When I saw the smile on her face, I was tempted to keep quiet and not tell her about my ulterior motive in planning the trip to Michigan. I was pretty sure if I kept my mouth shut, she might continue to think of me as a generous, thoughtful, do-anything-for-her type of guy.

  But, the more I thought about fostering that deception, the less appealing it sounded, and once the waiter had taken away our empty plates, I said, “I have a confession to make, Nikki.”

  She looked down at the ring on her finger. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts about us getting married.”

  I shook my head. “No, of course not. Why would you say that?”

  “For one thing, you have a very serious look on your face, and for another, you’ve been a little preoccupied today.”

  “You’re right on both counts, but it doesn’t have anything to do with us. At least, not in the way you’re thinking.”

  She nodded. “Okay, forgive my insecurities.”

  Not long after Nikki and I’d met, she’d admitted to having some psychological hang-ups left over from her childhood, and, knowing her background, I didn’t find her admission all that surprising.

  Her mother—the only parent she’d ever known—had been sent to prison for armed robbery when she was only three years old. When we’d talked about the residual effects of her growing up in a foster home, she’d acknowledged her biggest issue was never feeling secure in any kind of relationship.

  “You heard me, didn’t you?” I asked, taking hold of her hand. “I’m not having second thoughts about marrying you.”

  She smiled. “I heard you. Now, let me hear your confession.”

  “Okay, here it is. I hadn’t thought about taking you to Flint to spend Thanksgiving with my family until this morning when I was talking to Douglas about Travis Zachary.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why? What’s the connection?”

  I summarized what Travis had said about the phone call he’d received from Stephen Gault after our visit. “Douglas assured me no one at the Agency had been in contact with Gault, so that couldn’t be the reason he made the phone call to Travis after we saw him in Springfield.”

  “Did your boss have any idea why Stephen called Travis?”

  “If he did, he wasn’t telling me, but he did say he was sending a surveillance team to Detroit to keep an eye on Stephen, and he mentioned once he heard back from them, he’d send someone to have a chat with him.”

  “I’m guessing you volunteered to have that chat with Gault.”

  I nodded. “I admit when I asked Douglas for the assignment, I stretched the truth and told him I’d already planned our trip to Flint.”

  “I’m surprised he agreed to let you do it when you’re supposed to be on leave. You told me he’s a real stickler for following the rules.”

  “He’s all for following the rules, except when he decides to break them, and that only happens when he thinks someone else has broken them first.”

  “So, who’s broken the rules in this instance?”

  “That’s what he wants me to find out.”

  * * * *

  As Nikki and I were leaving the restaurant, she got a call from her partner who asked her to meet him at the OU campus so they could run down a lead on the Stadium Killer case.

  After giving me a quick goodbye kiss, she got inside her SUV and headed out of the parking lot.

  Once I saw her drive off, I used the browser on my iPhone to look up stores where I might be able to purchase a pair of Bushnell Rangefinders.

  I found several places that sold the binoculars, but I also discovered there were several models to choose from.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember seeing any model number on the NPD’s brand-new Rangefinders—which were now sitting at the bottom of Summit Lake—but I thought of someone who might be able to help me, and I gave him a call.

  Thirty minutes later, I was sitting across from Danny Jarrar at a Starbucks in the University Town Center on 24th Street.

  Danny, who was of Lebanese descent, had thinning black hair, a dark moustache, and an olive complexion. He was shorter than me and considerably heavier, but, despite that, he was in great shape, which probably meant he was still working out at the gym every day.

  “Hey, thanks for inviting me to have coffee,” he said. “The Dallas Cowboys aren’t playing today, so I was trying to figure out how to spend my Sunday afternoon.”

  I gestured at his cup. “Consider that payback for the help you gave me yesterday.”

  “Did you find out why the guy was following you?”

  “He thought I was a Southridge recruiter, and he was hoping I’d offer him a job.”

  “Was that the cover you used when you saw him in Springfield?”

  I nodded and changed the subject before Danny had a chance to ask me any more questions.

  “What are you working on these days?” I asked. “The last time we talked, you were trying to shut down a human smuggling ring operated by one of the drug cartels.”

  “That’s still an ongoing operation. I know it’s hard to believe, but the newest threat these days is ISIS. We recently arrested a twenty-seven-year-old man who had pledged allegiance to ISIS on Facebook and was sending money to the terrorist group in Iraq.”

  Danny went on to describe an investigation he was conducting into an ISIS-linked group, which he said may have been responsible for an attempted beheading in Oklahoma City.

  During Danny’s ten-minute narrative, I didn’t have to do much more than simply nod my head. A couple of times I thought he was winding down, but then seconds later, he was off and running again.

  “But, listen to this,” he said. “One of my deputies recently came across an American militia group in eastern Oklahoma who’ve set up a training camp near Wetumka so they can fight ISIS in Syria. These guys are all civilians, but they’ve been communicating with a Kurdish military force fighting ISIS near Raqqa, who’ve been encouraging the militia group to join them.”

  “As far as I know, it’s not illegal for a group of Americans to go overseas to fight our enemies, even if they are civilians.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. As long as they’re not shooting at Americans, it’s okay.”

  “What’s the motivation behind this group?”

  “They hate ISIS. Plain and simple. They hear about the beheadings, the violence, all the brutality against women and children, and they want to do something. They have to act.”

  “You and I know that feeling, don’t we?”

  He drained the last drops of coffee from his cup, and said, “You bet we do. It’s the reason we do what we do.”

  “Speaking of motivation, I have a hypothetical question for you.”

  Danny rolled his eyes. “Don’t do that to me. You know I hate hypothetical questions.”

  I ignored him. “Say you heard of an operative that went AWOL after he became enamored with his surroundings. What’s your best guess as to his motivation for pulling a disappearing act?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Like usual, you haven’t given me enough details to make an intelligent analysis, but from what you’ve said, it seems obvious he went native and chunked it all for what he perceived to be a bet
ter way of life.”

  “That was my first thought too, but now I’m having a hard time buying that explanation.”

  “I thought you said this was a hypothetical situation.”

  “It is.”

  “It doesn’t sound hypothetical.”

  “Parts of it are hypothetical.”

  “Which parts?”

  “The hypothetical parts.”

  * * * *

  When Danny and I left Starbucks, I told him I needed to pick up some ammo at Academy, a sports and outdoor store located across the street from Starbucks.

  I knew this was Danny’s favorite type of retail environment, and I wasn’t surprised to hear him say he’d meet me over there.

  Once we entered Academy and headed to the firearms section in the back of the store, I said, “I think I’ll take a look at the binoculars while I’m here. I’ve been meaning to buy me a pair. Do you have any recommendations?”

  “Yeah. Get the expensive ones.”

  “I was thinking about a pair of Bushnell Rangefinders.”

  “Sure. Those are good.”

  “Are they what you use at OSBI?”

  He stopped to look at some handguns in a display case. “I’m not sure. I’m not out in the field that much anymore.”

  “Any idea what the Norman Police Department uses?”

  He turned away from the display case and stared at me.

  “No, why should I? Why don’t you ask Nikki?”

  “Ah . . . I can’t do that.”

  He leaned back against the display case and crossed his arms, a stance I’d seen him take when interrogating a prisoner.

  “Why can’t you ask Nikki?”

  “I can’t ask Nikki because if I did, she might be in trouble with her lieutenant. On Saturday, when I was doing some recon on Zachary, I grabbed the pair of Bushnell Rangefinders she’d left in my car, and now they’re at the bottom of Summit Lake. I thought I’d just replace them and not mention it to her.”

  He laughed. “You know, Titus, that would make a great story if you’d just add a few more details. For instance, you might want to include how the binoculars ended up in the lake in the first place.”