“Not you. Despite your bad taste in men.”
“This is not funny.” She looked at him. “Dombroski had no right to impugn my loyalty or to suggest that I might have ties to the CIA, or—”
“He just mentioned it in passing. Cool off.”
“Do you think I’m passing on information to the CIA? Is that why you were questioning me at the pool?”
“I was just showing you what it felt like to be grilled.”
“Bullshit.”
“This is not the way to set out on a mission.”
“Do you trust me?”
“With my life.”
She didn’t respond and seemed to be deep in thought, then said, “His name was Trent.”
“I think every CIA officer’s name is Trent.”
She forced a smile, then continued, “He was a PSYOPs guy. He taught at the Special Warfare School at Bragg. I was in a class he ran for Civil Affairs.” She stared off into the past. “He tried to impress me with war stories from his time as a paramilitary—he was part of the initial assault on Tora Bora to get bin Laden—back in the beginning of the war that everyone thought was going to be over in a year.”
Brodie had no idea why he needed to know any of this, but Taylor seemed to want to reminisce—or explain how she got involved with a spook.
“We dated for almost a year, then I was deployed to Afghanistan. When I came back, he tried to get things going again, but… I was all grown up and not so easily impressed.”
Right. A student-teacher relationship that went cold after the student went out and saw more of the world. And saw dead people, and heard gunfire, and got hit. Nothing remarkable there. Young Maggie Taylor, a few years out of Georgetown, could be forgiven for falling for an older spy guy who regaled her with tales of combat in the wilds of Afghanistan. Conclusion: Just because Maggie Taylor got in bed with a guy in the CIA didn’t mean she was in bed with the CIA.
She said, “I seem to be paying a high price for a shitty relationship.”
“This is the Army, Ms. Taylor. Shit follows you from duty station to duty station.”
“It’s the part I don’t like about the Army. The gossip and the petty and provincial attitudes.”
“The CIA is more sophisticated. I’m sure Trent’s career took off after he dated you.”
She smiled, then said, “Well, I won’t make that mistake again. My next boyfriend will be a moonshiner from Appalachia.”
Brodie couldn’t picture that. On the other hand, it was possible. People return to their roots. He said to her, “I will advise Colonel Dombroski that we had this conversation and that I am confident that your past relationship was personal and not professional.” He added, for fun, “The opposite of ours.”
She smiled again. “Thank you.”
They both stood, and while Brodie was trying to determine whether this conversation increased or decreased his chances of having sex with Maggie Taylor, she said, “I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to do tonight.”
“You’re driving the getaway car. You’ll have your Glock, all the extra mags, and the Taser and ties in case we can take Mercer on the street.”
“How long do I wait for you and Luis to come out of the Hen House?”
“Luis should be out after he gets me in and asks to use the baño.” He added, “I may take a bit longer. Let’s say an hour.”
“And then what? Our cell phones are no good up there.”
“You should use the sat phone to call Worley.”
“What can he do?”
“Nothing. But he’d enjoy telling you that on the phone.”
