Stone - 25 - Collateral Damage

guilty.”
    “Well, your average shrink would probably tell you that a lot of people irrationally feel guilt when they lose somebody.”
    “Your average shrink? Have you ever talked to one of those?”
    “Oh, I’ve talked to somebody like that once or twice a year since I’ve been with the Agency. The brass is always on the lookout for somebody who is about to bring an assault weapon to work. I mean, it’s a lot more pressure than working at the post office, isn’t it?”
    “I can only guess.”
    “You know who I think never has a moment’s guilt or a second thought about anything?”
    “Who? Kate Lee?”
    “Oh, no, Kate has a very active conscience—she’s a Democrat, after all. No, I was talking about Felicity Devonshire.”
    “Well, Felicity is a pretty cool customer.”
    “When we were all in L.A. I had a chance to talk to her for the first time, and she was very warm and helpful. We were working out scenarios together.”
    “That’s good, I guess.”
    “Yes, it is, and yet the whole time, I was wondering if she had her own agenda, which did not resemble mine in any way.”
    “Felicity is, in her way, impenetrable,” Stone said.
    “I hope that was unintentional humor,” Holly said, laughing.
    Stone laughed, too. “Well, all right, not entirely impenetrable.”
    “We talked on the phone today, and what she said was exactly what I wanted to hear, and yet, immediately after I hung up, I had the awful feeling that she had just lied to me.”
    Stone nodded. “I think Felicity would prefer to tell you the truth. I also think that if it were in her interests, or those of her service or government, she would not hesitate to lie to you or anyone else.”
    “Maybe that’s part and parcel of what we both do,” Holly said. “I suppose I’ve got to learn to do that.”

Jasmine Shazaz sat on a bagged life raft in the rear of an old, unmarked American Huey helicopter and gazed out the open door at the terrain, lit by a rising sun. Her ears popped as the machine kept up with the elevation. They had been flying for a little over two hours. She turned to the Pakistani ISI agent on the bench next to her, leaned closer, and shouted, “Why would you have a life raft aboard a helicopter in a region with no water?”
    The man shouted back, “Because if we have to ditch up here somewhere, we inflate the life raft, and it becomes a ready-made tent, complete with emergency food and water—also flares and a radio.”
    “Oh.”
    “Yes, ‘oh,’” he shouted back.
    The chopper was suddenly closer to the ground, but it had not slowed. She looked more closely at the life raft and located the lanyard that inflated it, then she felt marginally better. The pitch of the rotors changed and the machine slowed. Moments later, the nose lifted, and the Huey settled to earth.
    “Out!” the agent shouted.
    Jasmine jumped to the ground, and she was immediately struck in the back by something soft. She turned and found a small duffel on the ground, along with her backpack.
    The ISI agent was getting into a robe and turban. He bent, unzipped the duffel, removed a bundle of black cloth, and tossed it to her. “From here on, you wear the burka,” he said.
    “I’m not wearing that fucking thing!” she shouted at him.
    The helicopter suddenly lifted off, revealing a couple of other men in native dress and a dozen mules, most of them heavily laden, on the other side of where the chopper had landed.
    Jasmine looked at the mules incredulously. “And if you think I’m going to ride one of those things, you’re completely crazy!”
    The man’s face changed, and he backhanded her, dumping her on her ass. “Now you listen to me, you stupid bitch: you will do whatever I tell you to do. If I tell you to strip, you’ll strip, and if I tell you to fuck us all, you’ll fuck us all. And if you don’t do exactly what I tell you to do, I’ll shoot you in the head and leave you here for the vultures. Do you understand?”
    She stared at him blankly, unbelieving. “Do you know who I am?” she demanded, and regretted it immediately.
    The ISI man unholstered his Beretta, racked the slide, and pointed it at her head.
    “All right, all right,” she muttered, getting to her feet. She held up the garment and tried to figure it out.
    He snatched it away and threw it over her head, like a sack, and she managed to get her arms in the sleeves and settle it on her body. He grabbed the hood and pulled it over her head, until only