In the Likely Event(83)
He shut his laptop, and the projection turned to a blank blue screen. “Is there anything I should know about why your charge would request to stay in a country that is obviously disintegrating?”
“Her sister is a photojournalist on assignment in Mazar-i-Sharif.” I scratched the four-day growth of beard I had going. “Ms. Astor is loath to leave until her sister, also Ms. Astor, has, and stubbornness seems to be a genetic trait in that family, and Serena’s interpreter’s visa isn’t approved yet.”
“Hmm.” His eyes narrowed slightly, which I knew from experience meant he was taking in the information and calculating how it affected the mission. “I’m not in the mood to deal with a pissed-off senator or hand the Taliban a new source of YouTube material.”
“Me either.” That wasn’t going to happen to her.
He nodded. “Keep your usual team with you. It would be nice to get both sisters out, especially given their high profile, but our priority is the younger.”
“Noted.” My chest tightened. I cared about Serena and didn’t want to leave her behind, but I wouldn’t sacrifice Izzy for her. The problem was that Izzy wouldn’t agree.
I left Webb behind and headed out, finding Torres leaned up against the wall outside the door, waiting for me.
“How you doing?” he asked, keeping step with me down the dimly lit hallway.
“Fine. Can’t you tell?”
“I’ve seen air traffic controllers with less anxiety wafting off them, but if you want to go with fine . . .” He shrugged.
“I do,” I grumbled, climbing the stairs into the crowded lobby, then continuing up to Izzy’s suite. Her conference room had been taken over by embassy staff, all doing their best to process as many interviews as they could to complete visas.
Graham stood guard outside her door, and his dark brows shot up when he caught sight of me walking his way.
“You might want to check with Webb, but I think you get twice the imminent danger pay for walking in there,” Graham said, glancing sideways at Izzy’s door.
“And I’m telling you to look again!” she shouted, her voice carrying through the door.
“See? Pretty sure she’s firing live rounds.”
“She doesn’t scare me,” I lied, a corner of my mouth lifting. “Get the others up here. We’re still on Astor duty,” I ordered.
“On it.” He took off.
I took a deep breath and walked into the suite. Izzy had dragged the landline telephone over to where she sat on the couch, files spread out on the table in front of her.
“And I’m telling you that form was submitted, so look again,” Izzy snapped, not even bothering to look up at me. “Taj. T-A-J Barech. He submitted his application in April.”
Serena’s interpreter.
I sat back on the windowsill to her left, where I could see both her and anyone coming for her through the door.
“Yes, I know you have eighteen thousand applicants in the pipeline.” Izzy white-knuckled the receiver with a still-ringless hand and yanked on her hair, dragging it over one shoulder to get it out of the way.
That little strip of skin she’d just revealed on her neck had my instant attention.
She’d loved it when I’d kissed her neck.
What the hell had happened between her and Dickface that he’d flown off without his fiancée? Or did that term no longer apply to them? I’d promised myself I wouldn’t ask, wouldn’t pry into shit that wasn’t my business, but this was Izzy.
“And I understand that,” she continued, drumming the fingers of her right hand on the edge of the couch. “But as difficult as it is for you to process these as quickly as possible, I can promise you it’s infinitely more difficult to be an interpreter who publicly worked with US forces sitting in Afghanistan right now, praying your visa gets processed in time to evacuate.”
Damn, she was beautiful when she was angry. I was just glad the anger wasn’t directed at me. Yet.
“No, I will not relax, and I’m not calling you from my cushy office in DC. I’m in the embassy in Kabul.” She yanked the receiver away from her ear and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply.
“Need me to take over?” I offered. “I’m the trained killer in the room, remember? Not that you’re not doing an admirable job of slaughtering the State Department.”
She shot me a glare and put the phone back to her head. “Oh, you found it. Good. Can you tell me what the holdup is? Because I’m holding his completed file.” Her eyes flew wide. “You’re missing what?” She thumbed through the file on the table. “His record of military service is here. Twelve years translating for various units—” Her shoulders fell.
I pushed off the windowsill and moved to her side, reading the file over her shoulder.
“His letter of recommendation.” She sighed, searching the papers again. “It’s not here either. How hard can it be to get one of those?”
My stomach twisted. Hard enough.
“You’re going to want to put that call on speakerphone,” I said softly.
“Because you think you can—”
“You need a general or a flag officer,” I replied. “Know any of those?”
Her mouth snapped shut, and she poked the speakerphone button, setting the receiver down.