The Chameleon

Aaliyah had had assets threaten to quit in the past. It was part of the process of recruiting and handling foreign assets. Most came back after a sleepless night of chewing over the consequences of walking away, and almost all of those became more cooperative as a result. She would give him a day or two and see how he handled it.

“No. You’re not quitting,” Aaliyah repeated, with a smile that would melt away any man’s resistance, and took another step toward him, their arms now touching. “I want you to do something for me. When those two are on board, invite them to go along with you on a meeting with your new asset. Let me know when and where that will be. We would like to see this secret special operations duo.”

The asset shook his head hard as if to shake himself out of a trance. “No. I’m finished with this and with you,” he said, stepping away from her and storming off.

Aaliyah adjusted her dupatta, bringing the scarf closer to her brow, and watched him leave. What a shame. She had grown to like this one. He had no wife or children to threaten. If he carried through and quit, he would be eliminated by an ISI assassin before he left the country. She might have him eliminated anyway rather than risk him flipping once he was safely home in the US. All she had to do was put in a request, as easy as ordering paper for the office printer.