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compartment at the back of a wardrobe in his home in McLean,
Virginia, just a few miles from CIA headquarters. The documents
were his safety net, in case anything went wrong. And something
had gone terribly wrong. Anyone who had been in as deep cover
as Garrison knew there might come a time when he would need
to get out. And he knew his employer would never find him, until
he wanted to be found.
Garrison had taken a hired car to the little village of Shuroabad
where he settled into a rented room. He had spent two days in
the café waiting for Armin to send the promised information on
his son.
Jonathan. A sensitive boy born of a sensitive woman.
Garrison s wife had almost ruined his career with her trips in
and out of psychiatric wards. But he d loved her with an intensity
he could never fully explain even to himself. She was his one
point of weakness and when she died, finally, by her own hand, he
promised himself never to come under the emotional sway of any
human being again. But his son, so like her, seemed determined
to bring him down. Jon had inherited his mother s instability and
her passion for causes.
The café owner, a small grizzled man of about fifty, indicated
to Garrison that he was closing up for the night. Garrison settled
his tab and stepped into the street. It had rained most of the
day, which had blessedly washed away some of the stench the
neighborhood usually emitted.
Garrison decided to walk for a bit, taking the long way back
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to the boarding house. It was almost time for evening prayers
and all the shops were closing for the night. He had never been
drawn to religion or any form of organized philosophy. Except
the CIA. As a young agent he had swallowed their message lock,
stock and barrel. Time had tempered his enthusiasm. Once,
Mormons had come to the door in their dark suits and name tags
and bright white smiles and Jon seemed to swallow their entire
dogma whole. For a few months he had gone twice a week to
church and spoken of where he might be sent when he went on
his mission. And then, just as fast, he was done with them. Their
conservatism, well hidden under a mask of pseudotolerance,
finally offended his democratic sensibilities. He was a good
boy. Always siding with the underdog. That was the only way
Garrison could explain this new fervor for Islamist causes. That
and the touch of his mother s madness.
Garrison walked more quickly than he intended and found
himself at the back door of his lodging house. Old habits made
him prefer this less direct entrance. One could never be too
careful. He hoped the next day would offer up Armin s men and
the document that might save his son.
Hannah could barely lift her legs after walking all day with
only short breaks. They had picked their way through the fog-
blanketed woods all morning. The sun, emerging for a brief and
blessed moment midday, had quickly given way to rain. The rain
was welcome, washing away days of accumulated grime, but after
the sun set, a chill sank into Hannah s bones. Her clothes were no
longer dripping, but were damp, like a clammy second skin. She
still wore Rennie s shirt, which left Rennie with just her tank top.
Hannah wondered if she was cold too.
It had been nearly twenty-four hours since they had seen
any sign of Armin s men and Hannah began to hope that they
might have gotten away. Living for so long in the little stable,
she d had plenty of time to consider what it meant to be free.
Not the grand idea Americans spoke of, a concept bundled with
rights and protections. Instead it was the simple idea of physical
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autonomy. The freedom to walk out your front door and take
yourself wherever you pleased.
Being detained by force had been a horror. Penned in, she d
shrunk into herself and for the first time realized that before
she was taken, moving freely through the world, her notion of
herself as a physical being extended beyond the boundaries of
her own skin. She was her own familiar network of streets, the
corner grocery, the park. How far did it extend, she wondered.
The feeling that all is you. If you are safe, perhaps it is infinite.
And there is a comfort in that. Once she was taken, bolted in and
confined by four walls that seemed to get closer and closer as the
days wore on, she knew that all she was, in her entirety, was her
own flesh and blood and bone and nothing beyond and she had
never felt more alone. It was like waking up and realizing you
have been buried alive or that you re the last person on the face
of the earth. But with time the horror had passed and with it the
feeling that she had touched madness.
Here in the woods, she felt herself begin to expand once
again, beginning that communion with her surroundings that she
had always taken for granted. Her instinct was to fight against it,
to struggle against her passage back into the world. It made her
feel naked and raw.
Let s stop for a bit. She heard Rennie speak, her voice
seemed to be far away, and Hannah realized that her pace had
slowed to a shuffle, her legs no longer cooperating.
Beef stew tonight, Rennie said, ripping open the package.
Do you mind if we share?
They must be low on food.
They ate together in silence, sitting against a tree, feeling
the dampness of the ground seep into their pants and not caring
because it felt so good just to rest. They sat shoulder to shoulder
against the tree and Hannah thought of the morning, so long ago
it seemed now, when she lay against Rennie, feeling her warmth.
How long had it been since she felt the touch of another person?
It had been divine, like slipping into a warm, enveloping bath.
She had enjoyed it for only the briefest moment before sleep
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had taken her. This was unusual for her, physical closeness with
a stranger. She was never the type of woman others would touch
spontaneously. She always had a barrier she kept in place. She
watched Rennie s hands as she ate. Strong hands with long, thin
fingers. She felt safe with this woman and felt a sudden desire to
slip her arms around her and rest her head on her shoulder. How
strange.
Hannah shifted away slightly, creating a space between them.
Should we go?
Rennie turned to her, surprised. They had finished eating.
Hannah felt restored by the food. It built a warmth in her that
fought against the dampness of her clothes.
They stood, Rennie adjusting the pack and Hannah shifting
the strap on her AK-47 away from her collarbone where it was
beginning to chafe. The pill Rennie had given her was doing the
trick and she was alert. The outlines of the landscape were crisp
and distinct and the sky was clear, finally free of clouds.
Hannah seemed stronger after their meal and the few
moments of rest. Rennie was thankful for it. She worried that
Hannah s strength might just give out. And then what? She
couldn t carry her out of these woods. She would have to leave
her, go and get help. Or call on the sat-phone and be told that she
would have to manage on her own. To have survived in the camp
for so long, Hannah had to have determination and she hoped it
would carry her through to the end.
It was a still night without the slightest breath of movement.
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