Free Spy for Hire by Dan Mayland

Daria?”
    “We had to pick her up. Kaufman’s orders, but he was just acting on orders himself. Something about a boy from one of her orphanages. Langley wants him here at the embassy for protection. Apparently she’s cooperating.”
    Concealing his relief that it was the Agency who’d come for Daria, Mark said, “Good luck with that.”
    “You know something I don’t?”
    Mark declined to answer the question. He wasn’t about to tell Bamford that John Decker was on his way to pick up Muhammad, but he didn’t want to lie. Bamford wasn’t the enemy.
    “Anyway,” continued Bamford, “I know you’re here to see Rosten, but he won’t get here for at least an hour or so. In the meantime, I thought I’d be social. See if you needed anything.”
    Mark pointed at the coffee and cookies. “I’m good now, thanks.”
    “Or if you wanted to tell me what the hell CAIN was doing running a Near East op in my station without telling me? Or the ambassador, for that matter.”
    Mark stared at Bamford. Her friendly expression hadn’t changed, but her tone of voice had.
    She was pissed.
    Mark didn’t blame her. A chief of station was supposed to be informed of all intelligence operations going on within her station, and for good reason—in addition to private contractors, the army, navy, air force, and the State Department all had the ability to run intelligence ops. If the chief of station didn’t know what everyone was up to, the potential for overlap, or for one operation to unwittingly interfere with another, was high. Though employed by State, the ambassador, as the representative of the president, was also supposed to be kept in the intelligence-op loop.
    “Listen, Serena. I just found out about it this afternoon, so it’s not as though I personally was running some kind of black op in your station without letting you know about it.”
    “But Bruce Holtz was. Wasn’t he?”
    Mark didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Bamford already knew.
    She said, “You want to tell me what that op was?”
    Mark told her. The way he figured it, keeping Central Eurasia happy was more important than not pissing off Near East. Always prioritize existing friends over potential friends. Holtz had broken that rule when he’d taken the job from Near East.
    After Mark had finished, Bamford shook her head, exhaled, and said, “What the hell.”
    “I know.”
    “So what happens to the kid once he gets to the embassy?” she asked. “Should I be looking for babysitters?” She turned up her nose. “Like I don’t have anything better to do. Or is Near East just going to deal with him? This whole thing stinks.”
    “I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that. At least not in the near future.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “It means Daria’s going to do what she thinks is right for the boy, Near East be damned.”
    Sounding both resigned and defiant, Bamford said, “And you’re going to help her.”
    “Hey, I’m trying to work with you on this, Serena. Don’t shoot the messenger. You want my advice—”
    “I don’t.”
    “—just let this play out.”
    “Any chance you could take this fight with Near East elsewhere? Like anywhere other than
my
station?”
    Bamford leaned back in her chair. One of the things Mark liked about her was that she was calculating. If she thought she could win, she’d fight; if she thought she was going to lose, she’d back off. Or in this case, if she saw a bunch of idiots fighting in her station, she’d do what she could to get rid of them.
    “I’m hoping I don’t have to fight at all.”
    “Yeah, I don’t think Rosten got the memo.”

17

    John Decker sped into a curve on the narrow, twisted dirt road that led out of the mountains south of Bishkek.
    “Christ, Deck,” said Jessica. She’d pushed herself back into her seat, and was bracing her legs against the floor, as if preparing for a crash. “Would you slow down?”
    Decker hadn’t realized how