Page 117 of Protecting You

“Ghazi. We need to focus on him.”

Anything besides the fact that she’d relinquished her heart. Callan had held it for approximately five seconds before crushing it to pieces.

That was her reward for letting it go.

She lifted her lips in what she hoped passed for a smile. “Don’t you want to know what I’ve learned? We’re running out of time.”

“Alyssa.”

She ignored the emotion in his voice. “Ghazi wants the zero-day exploit on a thumb drive by Sunday at noon, and he expects?—”

“Please, let’s… Wait. You talked to him?”

“He called to check on my progress. He moved up the timeline. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just told him I’d do my best.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Your father had a heart attack. You were a little busy. The point is, he wants it Sunday, and he expects me to deliver it in person so he can make sure that it works. He told me he’d drive up here but didn’t say exactly where he wanted to meet. I’ve worked out a plan, in case it comes to that. I’m going to build something that looks like it works but doesn’t, just in case we need it.”

Callan slid into the chair beside her. “It’s not going to come to that. We can’t let it. What did you learn about the woman in the photograph?”

“Michael figured out her name, which was good because I’d hit a dead-end. It’s one thing to search for a person, but without a picture or a name, I was afraid we’d be relegated to searching through old yearbook photos. That didn’t sound fun to me.” Alyssa was babbling. She needed to pull herself together. “Michael has a contact with Ghazi’s family, a half sister. He learned that Ghazi had a girlfriend when he was at university in Kirkuk. Her name was Fatemeh. There were only a couple of people with that name who were at university when he was. I found one who sort of resembled the woman you’d described.”

“You sent me her photo.”

Right. She’d forgotten that. “Anyway, her name was Fatemeh Ebrahimi. She was a medical student at the University of Kirkuk. According to Michael’s source, they dated for a couple of years and were talking about getting married.”

Callan nodded for her to continue.

“Ebrahimi was killed in the bombing of a military outpost near her apartment.”

“Collateral damage.” Callan laced his fingers together on the table. “Anything else?”

“After her death, Ghazi quit school and disappeared. Nobody knows for sure where he went or what he did during that time. What we know is that when he was in school, he was a devout Muslim, or at least he did the things a devout Muslim would do. He was faithful to attend mosque and take part in the prayers, that sort of thing.”

“And after her death?”

“It gets fuzzy. We have nothing on him for years. Then his face started popping up in photographs of other people being surveilled by the Agency. Once he was on the Agency’s radar, they kept their eyes on him. He did go to the mosque and take part in the prayers. But Michael believes—and he’s had interactions with him—that Ghazi lost his faith after college, though he’d never known why until now.”

“We don’t know for sure that the girlfriend’s death changed anything. Maybe he was always exactly the man he is now and just used her death as an excuse to become a killer.”

“Maybe.” Born a psychopath? Wasn’t that a pleasant thought. “The point is, whatever the catalyst, he lost his faith—if he ever had any—and became a chameleon. There are photos of him attending synagogue, kippah and all. In Germany last fall, he insinuated himself at a Christian mission.”

“That tracks with the Agency’s dossier.”

“Until today, Michael said he’d thought Ghazi’s only goal was money, a mercenary willing to betray anyone or anything to increase his own net worth. Michael never believed Ghazi cared about anybody. Not his family. Not friends. Not faith. That his only motivation has been amassing wealth.”

Callan leaned toward her, eyebrows hiking. “Until today?”

“The photograph you saw paints a different picture, don’t you think? Ghazi carries it with him, maybe looks at it every day. Because he loved her so much?”

“Or to remind himself of his motivation. Vengeance.” Callan stood and disappeared into the other room, returning a moment later with his laptop.

He opened it and started typing. “If it’s vengeance, then against whom? Who was responsible for that bombing?”

“I assumed us. The US.”

“In the Iraq War, we were just one of the nations in the coalition of forces.”

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