Homeland: Carrie's Run: A Homeland Novel (13 page)

CHAPTER 17

Lenox Hill, New York City

They took Dima to Lenox Hill, the nearest hospital trauma emergency room. Carrie, Saul and Koslowski raced straight up Park Avenue to Seventy-Seventh Street in a squad car. By the time they got there, several other members of the Hercules team were with Raeden, who’d been knocked down by a round from an AR-15.

Carrie raced past them and found a group of doctors and police around a curtained space. Two NYPD patrolmen stopped her.

“Is Jihan in there?” she asked.

“Let her through,” Koslowski said, and they pushed past the police. A youngish doctor and a nurse were making notes on a computer screen. Dima was lying motionless on a gurney, her eyes open.

“Is she dead?” Carrie asked.

“She was already dead when she arrived,” the doctor said over his shoulder. “Are you a relative?”

“No, nothing like that,” she said, looking at Dima, her blouse open, her chest unbelievably bloody between her breasts, and thinking, Why did you do it? You were the party girl, not a true believer. What were you playing at this time? Who put you up to this? She hated seeing her exposed like that. Looking around, she found a folded sheet at the foot of the gurney and pulled it up over Dima’s body and face.

She backed out and went over to Raeden, surrounded by his team. His shirt was off and there was a red bruise the size of a man’s hand on his chest right over his heart.

“You okay?” she asked him.

He nodded. “Thank God for Kevlar. Saved my ass.”

“It wasn’t your ass that round hit,” one of his teammates said, and the others sniggered.

“You Mathison?” Raeden asked her.

“Yes.”

“We had to take her down. I’m sorry,” he said.

“So am I,” she said. “I had questions only she could answer.”

When she came out of the curtained-off area they’d put Raeden in, she saw David Estes standing with Saul, Koslowski and Sanders. They were watching a television news conference on a TV mounted on the wall near the nurses’ station. Deputy Commissioner Cassani was standing there, along with the mayor and the police commissioner. The mayor was doing the talking.

“I want to stress again that thanks to the excellent work of New York’s Counter-Terrorism Bureau in close cooperation with their counterparts in the FBI, this terrorist plot against our city was completely foiled without a single officer or innocent civilian being harmed. There was no loss of life and no damage done to property. This was a superb example of what we do every day to protect our citizens,” the mayor said.

“Acts like he did it single-handed,” Sanders muttered.

“He’s a politician. Taking credit for something they had nothing to do with is what they do best,” Saul said.

“He didn’t even know about it till about an hour ago,” Sanders said with a grimace. He looked at Carrie. “By the way, you were right. They were going after the Brooklyn Bridge. We found a schematic in the truck.”

“How?” Saul asked.

“Looks like they were going to park the truck right next to one of the suspension towers,” Sanders said.

“Would it have worked?”

“I have no idea. Probably take a team of structural engineers to figure that one out, but maybe.” He shrugged. “Right in the middle of evening rush hour. They would’ve killed a lot of people.”

Estes looked away from the TV and directly at Carrie.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Dima’s dead,” she said. “I needed to interrogate her. I have a lot of questions, David,” she said, looking into his eyes. “A lot.”

He looked around.

“Is there a place we can talk?” he asked one of the nurses.

“There’s a chapel down the hall,” she said.

“C’mon,” he said to Carrie.

“Maybe I should come,” Saul said, watching them.

“Give us a minute, Saul,” Estes said, and walked down the hall. After a second, Carrie followed. They walked into an empty room with folding chairs and, on a sideboard against the far wall, a cross and a menorah.

“I needed to see you,” he said. “We left a lot unsaid.”

“I can’t think about that now, David. I really can’t. I knew this woman. I knew her. She was a stupid, pretty party girl who liked to drink and seduce men, and the only reason she was working with us was the money. Her fantasy wasn’t some
jihadi
paradise bullshit, it was a rich good-looking guy who would take care of her. So what in the hell was she doing here? How did that happen? You tell me.”

“I don’t know, but I think we both know you’re not going to let it go till you find out.”

She took a breath. “You got that right. Why did you come?”

“I had to see you.” He looked around the room. “But not here. I’m at the New York Palace on Madison. Room 4208. You can see Saint Patrick’s and Rockefeller Center.”

“I’m not a damn tourist, David. I don’t care.”

“Look,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I have to meet with Cassani and the mayor and the Secret Service guys. My job is such bullshit sometimes. Don’t think there aren’t times when I envy the people under me who do the real work. Come by tonight and we’ll talk.”

“Am I still in exile to Intel Analysis? Maybe you don’t like me, but Yerushenko does.”

“We’ll talk,” he said, heading for the door.

She and Saul
were sitting at a table in the Marriott’s modernistic bar. Although it was almost midnight, the bar was crowded with businessmen and sleek, unbelievably slim women. The noise level was high, too high to hear the TV behind the bar showing NBA highlights.

“You want to tell me about it?” Saul asked.

“No,” she said, poking the lime slice in her margarita with her fingernail. “Because then you might feel you had to do something about it.”

“And you don’t want me to?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

At the bar, there was a sound of loud laughter. Someone called out, “Did you see Dwyane Wade’s lay-up, man? Effing unbelievable.”

“Come on, Carrie. I told you to enlighten him,” Saul said. “I didn’t say have an affair.”

“I’m not having an affair,” she said, still toying with her drink.

“Then what is happening?”

She looked directly at him. “None of your damn business. Besides, whatever I did, or whatever you think I did, there are people alive today in New York, maybe even some of the people in this room, because of what I did. So don’t lecture me, Saul. I don’t deserve it.”

“No,” he said softly. “You don’t.” He took a long sip of his single-malt Scotch. “You did a helluva job. Everyone did.”

She shook her head, setting her long blond hair moving. “We were lucky. When those FBI guys started shooting around the HMTD, I cringed. One bullet in that stuff and they’d’ve blown up half of Brooklyn.”

“Luck counts too. Napoleon said he’d rather have lucky generals than smart ones.”

“Good for Napoleon,” she said, and put her hand on his arm. “Don’t try to be my father, Saul. I have a father and believe me, one is way more than enough. You know, if I had to choose between being captured and tortured by the Taliban or reliving my childhood, I’d have to think about it a really long time.”

“I didn’t know,” he said. “And you’re right. I am a little protective of you. I’m the one who recruited you. I’m not sure I did you any favors.” He stared up at the TV screen. Basketball images flashed, something about LeBron James. “Do you care about him?”

“Do you mean am I sexually attracted to David? Yes, but give me some credit. There’s a little more to me than that,” she said, finishing her drink.

“I give you a lot of credit. What happened today was your doing. I’m not just protective of you because of guilt. You’re good, Carrie. Damn good.”

She looked around and grabbed her jacket. “This thing isn’t over. There are too many questions that need answering. You know what I have to do?” she said.

He nodded.

“Beirut,” he said.

“You see?” she said, getting up and squeezing his shoulder. “You do understand me.”

“And Estes?”

“That,” she said, “is the sixty-four-million-dollar question.”

“Be careful,” he said, motioning to the waitress for another Scotch.

“Why? What should I be afraid of?”

“Getting what you want.”

She took a
cab from the Marriott to the New York Palace, the trees in its courtyard strung with lights. I’m like a hooker, going from hotel to hotel, she thought, entering the lobby with its ornate grand staircase. They should have hookers review hotels, she thought, smiling to herself. They spend more time in them than anyone.

She walked straight to the elevator and took it up to the forty-second floor. When she knocked, David Estes opened the door. He had taken off his suit jacket and tie and was holding a glass of red wine.

“You’re right,” she said, walking in and taking off her jacket. “You can see Rockefeller Center.”

“What are you drinking?” he asked.

“Do they have tequila in those little bottles in the courtesy bar?” she asked.

“Lemme look,” he said, and went over to the console. He came back with a mini bottle of Jose Cuervo and a glass. “You want ice?”

She grimaced. “Cuervo. You’d think in a fancy place like this, it’d be a little more interesting. Cheers,” she said, opening the top and drinking it straight from the bottle.

“Cheers,” he said, taking a sip and putting down his wine. He put his arms around her. Pulling her close, he kissed her hard, his hands sliding down to her bottom and pulling her tight against him. She kissed him back, then pushed him away.

“Is this what you wanted to talk about? Maybe you should just put the money on the dresser first,” she said.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that. I can’t stop thinking about you. My marriage ended because of you. Whatever you are to me, believe me, it’s not a whore,” he said.

She sat on the sofa. From where she was, she could see the tall office buildings, some of their windows still lit up at night, even though it was late.

“Look, David, I’m attracted to you. I want to have sex with you. Maybe I’d like even more. But we’re not just people, we’re coworkers in a business where everyone around us is a spy. It’s not like we’re going to be able to keep this secret. So what are you proposing?”

He sat in the chair opposite, leaning toward her, his hands on his knees.

“I’m not sure. I want you. And it’s not just sex. I don’t know where this is going. Do you?”

“I do.” She nodded. “And it doesn’t have a happy ending. Not for me. Not for you either. It won’t work. I’m not the housewife type. Trust me, you wouldn’t like me. I’m a CIA case officer with a lot of unanswered questions. It’s time we cleared the air, you and me.”

He took a deep breath and sat back.

“Maybe I’d better have another drink,” he said.

“Both of us,” she said.

He got up, went over to the minibar and came back with mini bottles of Grey Goose. He poured them into glasses with ice and gave her one.

“What are we drinking to?” he said.

“The truth.”

“Well, I did my master’s at Harvard. ‘
Veritas
,
’ ” he said, and they drank. “Let’s have it.”

“Before we get to us, I have to tell you, there’s so much shit going on I don’t even know where to start,” she said. “Beginning with Beirut.”

“Beirut.” He nodded. “What about it?”

“Dammit, David, you’re smart as hell. You didn’t believe Fielding’s bullshit any more than Saul did, yet you exiled me from NCS. What was that about? And then I discover redacted material in our files from both Beirut Station and Damascus Station. But to make matters worse, Fielding had eleven phone numbers, three of which had months of calls deleted from NSA files. And you know what day they were deleted?”

“Was it around the same time you left Beirut?”

She looked at him sharply. “How’d you know?”

“I didn’t,” he said, looking into her eyes. “But I suspected something. This is bad. Really bad.”

“Why? Who could have done something like that?”

“Not just who. The more important question is, why?” he said.

“Do you believe me?” she whispered, putting her hand on his knee.

“Yes,” he said, putting his hand over hers. “Shit.” He grimaced and looked away.

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know. But Fielding and the director himself, Bill Walden, go back a long way.”

“Better to slap me on the wrist. Was that it?”

“But keep you in the game. Saul believes in you, Carrie. With me it was more complicated.”

“Because you’re attracted to me?” she said.

He looked away. For a moment, neither of them spoke. They sat there, the view of the skyline between them.

“There’s something else,” she said.

“What?”

“The girl, Dima. She was Fielding’s originally, but I ran her.”

“What about her?”

“Let’s forget the anomaly about Sunni versus Shiite, al-Qaeda versus Hezbollah, two groups who should never come together. Let’s forget about the Syrians and the Iranians and all that coming after Abbasiyah, because none of that makes any sense. Even putting that aside, I knew her better than Fielding ever did. I’ve been with her when she was so drunk she couldn’t stand up. She was fun and sexy, but like every woman alive, she knew she had a sell-by date. She was desperate, do you understand? But for a man. If she ever got her hands on someone rich enough and at least not physically repulsive enough to make her ill, she told me she’d suck his brains out through his dick. So you tell me. What turns her into a red-hot
jihadi
? It doesn’t compute.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said in agreement. “You want to go back to Beirut?”

“I have to,” she said. “It’s where the answers are.”

“What about us?”

“It’s impossible. We’re impossible. One of us would have to quit the Company. I won’t and”—she took his hand—“you shouldn’t, David.”

“You shouldn’t either,” he said, making a face.

“So here we are. Two orphans in the storm.”

“You didn’t kill my marriage, Carrie. I did. The job did. I did.”

“
Veritas
,
” she said, and drank the vodka.