The Monroe Decision Read online

  “If you come with me,” Aaron continued, “this is not going to be the lifestyle you’re used to.”

  Sarah flinched a little. “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “Well, we won’t be staying in five-star hotels and travelling in exotic sports cars. That would make us too visible. We’ll have to be very low-key.”

  “You forget, my love,” answered Sarah, “I grew up in less fortunate circumstances than you did. I can live without bubble baths and spa treatments.”

  Aaron turned to face her and Sarah leaned in to him and they embraced. “Aaron,” she spoke softly, “none of that matters to me. I saw that video and read those documents and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about those children since then. I want them to pay for what they are doing.”

  Aaron put his arms around her and held her tight.

  “It’s settled then?” she asked.

  “It’s settled.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WASHINGTON, DC

  FRIDAY, JUNE 10TH

  10:00 A.M.

  Aaron took a Delta Airlines flight from LaGuardia to Reagan National on Thursday, rented a cab, and stayed at his condominium near DuPont Circle. He didn’t sleep very well as he second-guessed his decision to allow Sarah to come with him on the mission he was planning. But he had told her yes and figured there was no going back now.

  There was a light drizzle and the temperature was cool for a morning in mid-June in Washington. Aaron wore jeans, a gray windbreaker, and an Under Armour ball cap. He stood with his hands in his jacket pockets next to a concrete bench under an American flag at the base of the Washington Monument. There was a big crowd at the monument in spite of the lousy weather.

  A large group of Japanese tourists scurried past. Several of the younger girls had fallen behind the pace while they stopped to take numerous photos with their selfie sticks. Aaron shook his head as he watched one selfie stick girl walk backward into a baby stroller.

  Stafford approached wearing a gray sharkskin raincoat that came down to his mid-thigh and carrying an unopened umbrella. They exchanged handshakes and Stafford said, “Walk with me. Let’s get away from the crowd.”

  They walked on a path toward the National Mall. Stafford started the conversation. “It appears the mission in Trieste was very successful. Our point of contact at NSA told me the cyber activity from known ISIS sites has increased significantly. They’re pulling in a lot of data for analysis.”

  “That’s great to hear, but I think you know that’s not what I want to talk about,” Aaron replied.

  “Yeah, well, I briefed the entire Council about our conversation the other day. I’m sure you understand they are not happy about you bringing a civilian in on this, particularly one with a British passport.”

  “She also has a US passport,” Aaron shot back.

  “That’s not the point, Aaron.”

  “Yeah, well, like I told you the other day, that train has left the station.”

  “There was some talk about asking for your resignation.”

  Aaron stopped walking. Stafford took a few more steps before he turned back and faced Aaron. “And?” asked Aaron.

  “Look, we don’t know anything about her. She hasn’t been vetted. She doesn’t have a security clearance. How do we know she can be trusted?”

  “Because I trust her. Dammit! And if that’s not good enough, then perhaps I do need to resign!”

  They stared each other down for a moment before Stafford apologized. “Look, I’m sorry. This is not the conversation I came here to have with you. We’re both getting a little pissed off and that won’t solve anything. Don’t resign.”

  Aaron started walking again and Stafford walked alongside him. “What about the mission I talked about? Did you brief them about that?” Aaron asked.

  “Yes, I did,” answered Stafford. “Let’s get on the mall; there aren’t as many people there.” They crossed Jefferson Drive and entered the grassy mall. Stafford continued. “Their official answer is that they will not sanction your proposed mission.”

  Aaron glanced sideways as they walked. “Just what the hell does that mean?”

  “The answer I was given was not to tell you that you can’t go back and see what you can uncover, but the Council will not consider this an official mission.”

  “Will they fund it?”

  “Your pay will continue to be deposited, but any expenses will be on you.”

  Aaron stopped walking again and Stafford stopped and turned toward him. “I’m getting a very uncomfortable feeling here, Nigel,” Aaron responded, “I’m used to black and white answers from you, but you’re painting a gray picture here. What’s going on?”

  “Listen, Aaron. I can’t tell you why the Council won’t sanction this, but I get the sense there are some on the Council that support it and some that don’t.”

  “Who does and who doesn’t?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  They stared each other down again. “This is just my take on this Aaron, but I think if you go back to Europe, start in Barcelona like you said you were going to do, in a few weeks the Council may back you up.”

  “Until then I would essentially be a rogue agent.”

  Aaron pulled the flash drive that he had taken from Fadi Asadel out of his pocket and handed it to Stafford. “Here. Take this,” said Aaron angrily. “Get the documents translated and take those translations and the video on this drive and show that to the president and the Council. Then have them tell me this mission shouldn’t be sanctioned!”

  Stafford took the drive and put it in his pocket. “I’m just the messenger, Aaron.”

  “Well, that’s the message I want to send.”

  “What about the notebook?” asked Stafford.

  “I’m going to hang on to that. I’ll need it for this mission,” Aaron replied.

  “I don’t think that answer is going to make anybody on the Council very happy.”

  “Well, I’m not very happy right now either.”

  “So I assume that you’ve decided you’re going to go to Barcelona and that you will take Sarah with you. Shall I add that to your message?”

  “Yes, I have. And yes, you should,” Aaron replied.

  The rain started again and Stafford stood under his umbrella, then started to walk away. He turned and said, “Keep your phone charged. I’ll be in touch.”

  What the hell just happened? Aaron wondered.

  He turned and walked south toward the L’Enfant Plaza Metro station.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BARCELONA, SPAIN

  WEDNESDAY, JUNE 15TH

  11:55 A.M.

  Sarah contracted a NetJet Bombardier Challenger 350 and crew for a one-way, non-stop flight from New York to El Prat International Airport in Barcelona. The plane departed JFK just before ten o’clock on the previous night and arrived in Barcelona just before noon local time.

  They collected their luggage and cleared customs at the corporate terminal, then hailed an airport taxi.

  “Barcelona is awesome at this time of year,” Aaron remarked, looking at the clear, blue sky.

  Aaron slid in the back seat next to Sarah, then leaned forward and told the driver, “Hotel Colon in the Gothic Quarter, please.”

  As the taxi pulled out of the terminal and merged into heavy noon-hour traffic, Aaron turned to Sarah and said, “This is a unique hotel. It’s small and family-operated. It’s authentic Barcelona.”

  Sarah turned her head toward him. She had a genuine smile and the sun reflected golden flecks in her green eyes. She leaned into him and Aaron put his arm around her.

  The driver spoke with pride about Barcelona’s historic Gothic District. “The Gothic Quarter dates back to the time of the Romans,” he informed them. “The Hotel Colon is next to the Cathedral Square. From there you can see some of the Roman wall.” The driver looked over his shoulder to see if his passengers were paying attention. “It is very be
autiful.”

  Sure would feel better if you kept your eyes on the road, Aaron mused.

  In less than half an hour, the taxi driver steered onto a small square in front of the Barcelona Cathedral that was closed to regular traffic but open to service vehicles and taxis. A moment later, the driver stopped in front of the double glass doors of the Hotel Colon.

  Sarah followed Aaron out of the taxi. She stood in front of the white stone building with green shutters on each balcony and looked around. The large pedestrian square filled with a lunch crowd of locals and tourists. Some were shopping while others sat at outdoor cafes.

  “I love this!” Sarah proclaimed as she turned her gaze toward Aaron. She was smiling and her arms were spread wide.

  This ain’t gonna be a vacation, honey, Aaron thought. “Let’s get checked in. Then we can take a walk around and get our bearings. These streets are a labyrinth. I want you to be able to find the hotel quickly, by yourself, if for the sake of safety we ever need to separate during this job.”

  Sarah’s arms dropped by her side and her shoulders drooped slightly as she looked at Aaron.

  “We need to stay focused,” Aaron cautioned. Then he stepped inside the lobby to the front desk and checked into their room.

  They took a small elevator with a sliding metal grate for a door to the third floor. As they stepped out of the elevator onto the red-carpeted floor, Aaron looked up and down the hallway, then pointed out, “Stairways on both ends.”

  “Good to know,” replied Sarah slowly.

  Aaron rolled their bags into the room and placed them at the edge of the bed, then surveyed the room for vulnerabilities. There was a door to an adjoining room locked on both sides. Aaron pulled a table over and placed it in front of the door so that it could not be kicked in.

  There was a sliding glass door to the balcony with thick green curtains pulled back. He walked over and stepped out on the balcony. There were balconies on either side with black, wrought iron rails no more than three feet away. Someone could easily climb between balconies, he thought, but they could also serve as an escape.

  Across the square was the medieval cathedral. Very few windows and none with a target sight line unless we’re standing on the balcony.

  Sarah sat on the heavy, red comforter on the edge of the king-size bed. Her gaze followed him around the room. “Honey,” she asked, “what are you doing?”

  Aaron sat on the soft, goose-down featherbed next to her and placed his hand on her thigh. “Leaving nothing to chance,” he answered. “If things go badly and we become the target, we need to know how someone might be able to get to us, and we need to know how we can get out of here in a hurry.” Aaron walked around the room and demonstrated all of the vulnerabilities and exits as Sarah sat on the bed and listened intently, her nose and forehead scrunched up.

  “Do you always do this?” she asked.

  Aaron turned and faced her. “Yes. Always.”

  During the flight over the Atlantic, they each napped a little but neither could claim they had slept well. “We already know the best approach is to power through until evening, then sleep,” Aaron said. “You’ll wake up refreshed in the morning. If we nap now, we won’t sleep well tonight.”

  “Then let’s go exploring,” replied Sarah. “I’ve never been to Barcelona.”

  They showered and changed into clean shorts and casual shirts good for walking around on a warm, sunny day and headed out for the Gothic Quarter.

  They walked arm in arm together through the narrow streets. Aaron was reconnoitering the area while Sarah admired the architecture. “Why do all the building corners have flat edges?” asked Sarah. “I’ve never seen that before.”

  “Those are called chamfered corners,” Aaron replied. “That’s one of the unique things about Barcelona. Almost every building was built that way. Every crossroad has an open feel and there is room on street corners for terraces. That’s one of the reasons Barcelona has such a social atmosphere. It’s kinda nice, isn’t it?”

  Sarah nodded. “What else can you tell me, professor?” She placed her head on his shoulder.

  Aaron whispered in Sarah’s ear. “Well, if you don’t start paying attention to where you are and how you got here and to the locations of roads with dead ends and to safe passage routes to the hotel, or in a crisis to the train station, I can tell you that you are going to be more of a burden than a help on this mission.” He slapped her gently on her ass.

  Sarah stopped walking and turned into Aaron. They were face-to-face and he put his arms around her waist. She looked a little sad and Aaron thought he had never seen her look so attractive.

  “This may have been a mistake,” Aaron said.

  “No,” replied Sarah. She moved his hands off her waist. “I get it. I want to help you. What do we need to do?”

  “Okay. Then let’s start by finding an Internet café.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BARCELONA, SPAIN

  THURSDAY, JUNE 16TH

  9:55 A.M.

  They ate a traditional Spanish breakfast that consisted of a Magdalena sweet roll and a cup of café con leche. Sarah wiped the frothy milk from her top lip with a napkin and said, “That coffee has some kick to it!”

  “It’s a one-to-one ratio. Strong espresso and scalded milk,” Aaron replied. “Opens your eyes, doesn’t it?”

  They finished breakfast, then walked to an Internet café they had found the day before. It was located at a busy intersection near a tree-lined, sculpture-filled square named the Plaça de Catalunya. Inside on the café wall was a painted mural composed of various fruits. There were ten workstations each with a chrome and Formica desk with Dell PCs on the floor under the desks and large monitors and wireless accessories on top.

  Over a late dinner the previous evening, they discussed a plan to bait the ISIS recruiter in the Barcelona area and to identify him — if there was one. To succeed, Sarah needed to pose as a thirteen-year-old Moroccan immigrant on Facebook and Twitter and send out signals that she was unhappy with her new life in Spain.

  Aaron paid cash for an hour on a computer and they sat at a station in a corner facing the front window of the café under a large, yellow banana painted on the wall to their left. Sarah sat in front of the keyboard and Aaron sat close behind, looking over her shoulder.

  “Why don’t we just do this at our hotel?” asked Sarah as she turned her head toward Aaron. “I have my laptop with me and the hotel has Wi-Fi.”

  “It’s my protocol,” Aaron replied. He placed his hand on her shoulder, his gaze locked on the monitor. “First, I don’t know how sophisticated the recipients of your posts and tweets will be. If there is even a remote chance they could ping the location of the computer, we can’t take it. Never leave a trail for someone to follow.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Second, if these people can trace the location of this computer, it will fit our story because it’s plausible that a frustrated thirteen-year-old would not want to use a computer in the home that she wants to run away from.”

  “Makes sense,” replied Sarah.

  “That’s why we will not use the same café tomorrow. We’ll need to keep moving around,” Aaron continued.

  Sarah changed the language on the computer to Arabic and her fingers tapped across the keyboard faster than the monitor could display the characters. “I’m setting up a new Facebook page using the name Yasmin and friending a few local groups that seem targeted toward Muslim youth. I’m also saying that my parents have not allowed me to use social media on our family computer so I have to get out of the house to do so. I’m saying that I feel a little depressed and I have nothing to do. I need some excitement.”

  “Nice,” Aaron replied. He smiled as he looked over her shoulder. “Any significance to that name?”

  “It’s the name of a girl I knew when I was young.”

  “Better be careful using names of people you know,” Aaron cautioned. “You could unintentionally put them in danger.”<
br />
  “She’s dead. Killed the same time the rest of my family was killed.”

  Aaron placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  Sarah turned toward Aaron and she smiled for a moment, then turned back to the screen and typed. “If my father caught me doing this he would beat my behind with a dozen lashes with a stick.”

  “Good, but don’t overdo it.”

  Sarah grimaced as she turned her head to face Aaron. “Depending on how secular Dad is, that’s not far-fetched.”

  Next Sarah set up a Twitter account with the username @Moroccanteen66 and attached a random photo that she found on the Internet of a young girl wearing a burqa that covered her face. “I can’t believe there are already sixty-five usernames like that,” she grumbled. Then she sent her first tweet. #boredinbarcelona.

  “Good. Now we just have to wait and see if anybody hits on your bait.” Aaron looked around the café for something to drink, then noticed a Starbucks coffee shop across the street. “Starbucks is everywhere.” He pointed it out to Sarah. “I think I’ll grab a cup of phony European coffee,” he quipped. “Would you like anything?”

  “Mocha latte please, but nothing as strong as that drink I had at breakfast.”

  Aaron left the café and returned twenty minutes later with two coffees and handed a mocha latte to Sarah. “Same type of barista we have back at home. Too talkative and too slow.”

  Sarah was tapping the keyboard. She turned her head toward him and pursed her lips in a self-satisfied smirk. “I’ve had about a dozen individuals friend me from the groups I joined on Facebook and my hashtag has started a conversation with five other Twitter followers.”

  Aaron took a seat next to Sarah and placed his coffee on the table. “What are they saying?”

  “So far, it’s just been people saying they have a similar situation. Young and bored.”

  “I think I’ll buy another hour’s worth of computer time.” Aaron walked to the counter and paid the cashier. When he returned, he asked, “Anything else happen?”

  “Nothing specific except that a few posts have mentioned events that take place at the Parc del Clot. Any idea what that is?”