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“My gut is telling me that isn’t a good idea, but it’s also telling me I’m hungry.”
“Takeout would be faster.”
“I’m glad you said that first too.”
We settled on Chinese since there was a place Sloane liked just down the street. Rather than using plates, we passed the containers back and forth, digging in with chopsticks.
“Don’t bogart the shrimp, Tackle,” she said, grabbing the container from my hand.
“Bogart? You’re as bad as Halo.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished I hadn’t said her brother’s name. The smile left her face, and she set the container on the table.
“Don’t,” I muttered, knowing that no matter what I said, she was about to go down the “we shouldn’t be doing this” road again.
She drummed her chopsticks on the table. “So what’s the deal with Ghafor?” she asked instead.
“Whoa. That was out of left field.”
“I know, right? I’ve been wondering about him, though. He seems to have fallen off the radar.”
“The good news is, the agency has him under their thumb. The bad news is, guys like him don’t stay there long.”
In mid-December, the mission that took Halo and me to Columbia had culminated with the assassination of the Russian-backed then-president of the country, Petro Santos, and the reinstatement of the US-backed former president, Francisco Marquez.
Abdul Ghafor, leader of the Islamic State, had played an integral role in making that happen by way of the CIA. Even though the Middle East was my area of expertise, knowing what he got in exchange was above my pay grade.
As I’d said, a man as evil and ruthless as Ghafor certainly wouldn’t remain loyal to the United States any longer than it served his organization’s—or his—purposes.
“Where is he? Do you know?” Sloane asked.
“If I had to guess, I’d say Pakistan. Is he on your watch list?”
“I monitor cells in the northeast region. His name comes up every now and then.”
“I haven’t been briefed on the details of how everything played out, but I’m sure you watched it unfold the same as I did.”
She nodded. “Columbia may be stable for now, but I wouldn’t predict it will last long.” Sloane picked up the shrimp and took a few bites. “Gotta tell you, I’m happy I work for DHS.”
“Me too.”
She studied me. “Why?”
“You think you worry about Halo and me? I can’t imagine how bad we’d be if you’d gone into international intelligence.”
“It isn’t like my assignments are danger-free, Tackle. I am a criminal investigator.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” I ran my hand over my hair, which was due for a buzz cut.
“Don’t be a hypocrite.”
I reached over and put my other hand on hers. “I can’t help it, Sloane, any more than you can flip a switch on worrying about me, your brother, or even your dad.”
As if on cue, my cell phone vibrated. While sometimes I could turn it off, I didn’t like to do so very often in case it was someone from K19, my parents, or now, Halo, since he was on assignment. Instead, I blocked Nick’s number, knowing I’d done as much as I could for her given the circumstances.
“Answer it or leave,” said Sloane, getting up from the table.
“That’s kind of harsh.”
