Covert Exploration

She rolled over in the lumpy, twin-size bed. A splitting headache from the dehydration made it impossible to relax. She sat up, took another big gulp of her water bottle, and looked down at her agency-issued Tudor watch. The illuminated watch hands read 12:15 a.m. Her mind told her it was still 4:15 p.m. back in Washington, D.C. 

She walked over to the window and drew back the blackout curtains, exposing the warm glow of the Arabian metropolis below. Lively banter between shawarma vendors and hungry customers produced a steady backdrop of noise. Groups of Arab men and women strolled across the two-lane road as if they owned the right of way. Apple-scented smoke billowed out of the hookah lounges. Her senses were starting to come alive. And so was her training. 

It was her first overseas assignment. The training exercises were officially over. If she was caught in training, the simulation would restart. Out here, any mistake could spell her end. She felt nervous, but prepared. 

She was due at the embassy just before 9:00 a.m. Orientation would include a thorough security briefing, namely the parts of town to avoid and the big do’s and don'ts of overseas life. Even back home, walking the streets alone at night was not recommended. But how often did bad things happen? Statistically, not often.

In the academy, they emphasized cultural adaptation. The quicker you acclimated, the quicker you could recruit. So you can't recruit unless you acclimate, and you can't acclimate unless you put yourself out there. That was the formula in her head, at least.

She pulled her cargo pants up, threw on her Georgetown sweatshirt, and covered her blond hair with a scarf. She didn’t really attend Georgetown. That was just part of the façade, but she embodied the image well. The passport in her pocket said her name was Jane. But of course that wasn’t her real name either. She stuffed a handful of dinars in her pants pocket and headed for the door.

The street was hectic as she exited the cheap hostel and flowed into the pedestrian traffic. She found herself in the middle of a bustling souq. It was a sensory feast of exotic aromas, persistent haggling, and a vibrant display of various traditional garments, ornate crafts, and textiles. She scanned her surroundings with the casualness of a trained operative. She wasn’t an expert yet, but the tradecraft felt natural. 

She strolled down the sidewalk alongside the cobblestone road, sometimes bumping shoulders with flocks of people traversing the narrow path. She was a sponge absorbing the environment, enthralled by the opportunities that the next three years would bring her. She was young and eager. More importantly, she was ready to make a difference.

Across the street, unfortunately, three rough men were just as motivated. They studied her every move. They had been trailing her since she landed three hours ago. The man in the backseat twirled a set of flex cuffs with his fingers. The man in the front seat sparked a stun gun. They had already cleared out the trunk earlier in the day. This wasn’t their first snatch-and-go kidnapping. The purpose of tonight’s operation was to send a message.

A small food cart caught Jane’s attention. The Arab pop music blaring from the speakers attracted a crowd. She approached the counter and ordered a falafel sandwich. She stood and watched inquisitively as the frying oil bubbled and the falafel balls swirled around. She looked up periodically to assess her environment. Counter-surveillance with this many people was a challenge, even for a seasoned vet. Maybe venturing out alone, sleep-deprived in a foreign land, wasn’t such a great idea after all.

The sweaty man behind the counter wiped his brow with his forearm, and then scooped three round, crispy balls from the oil. Several beads of sweat from his forehead dropped into the cooking oil. The secret ingredient.

The man handed her the sandwich partially wrapped in aluminum foil. She took the first bite and it was an explosion of flavor she had never experienced before. Crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, with a burst of unfamiliar seasonings coming through. She savored every bite. Was that the cumin or coriander? More importantly, how did this only cost two dinars, she thought.

She wiped her greasy fingers on her pants and tossed the crumpled up aluminum foil in a trash bin along the sidewalk. She continued walking down the street in the direction of the bright lights of the ancient Roman amphitheater. It was like a magnet pulling her in close. She had never been to Rome before, but this seemed just as authentic. Heavy foot traffic from the souq started to thin out. The music from the hookah lounges was slowly fading away too, being replaced by the constant honking of cars crawling through the congested city center. 

Eying the opportunity to close in, two of the men from the taxi stepped out on foot.

A gaggle of youth stormed around Jane kicking a soccer ball. She turned and made a play for the ball, but a young boy no older than nine dribbled right through her legs. Crafty ball handling for a kid. In that regard at least, she was way out of her league.

She approached the amphitheater on the left and a small trinkets store on her right. She looked back at the traffic before crossing the road. She noticed two men on the other side of the street. Their eyes were penetrating. They looked out of place. 

In reality, these were the same eyes she recognized as soon as she left the hostel. 

She had just flushed out her first tail.

An old man sitting on a stool outside the trinkets store labored to both feet. He eyed her with suspicion as she quickly walked through the front entrance of the amphitheater, followed by the two men. Prostitution was a problem in these parts, but this was something different.

She descended a series of steps and found a labyrinth of interconnected tunnels beneath the amphitheater. It was pitch quiet and the wall torches flickered. Visibility was unpredictable. She made a series of turns, looking back to see if the two men had followed her. She caught her breath and waited. Satisfied that she had lost the tail, she turned around to retrace her route. She approached the last set of stairs before reaching street level. She ascended the stairs and made the final turn. 

She froze in place. The men reached out and latched onto her arms. She was pressed up against the wall. A filthy hand covered her mouth and stapled her head against the wall. She bit a chunk out of the man's palm. He screamed and she struggled, but she was losing the fight. In the chaotic scuffle, they careened off the walls like a powerball in a pinball machine. She was a tough little woman. 

Miraculously, their grips loosened and she spun free, darting back down the stairs further into the belly of the beast.

They chased in pursuit. 

She raced through the winding passages, desperate to evade the two men. The labyrinth seemed to conspire against her, throwing shadows that danced and played tricks on her perception.

Her lungs burned and her heart pounded furiously. She was losing hope. She became disoriented and backpedaled right into the wall of a t-intersection. 

Her pursuers caught up to her. They stared her down. They patiently walked towards her like a pair of wolves circling their prey. One of the men ignited the stun gun, grinning from ear to ear. They seemed to enjoy the resistance. Their eyes remained fixed on her every move.

In a last ditch effort, she reached up and pulled down the only torch from the wall that illuminated the tunnel. She spiked it into the ground and the entire tunnel descended into complete darkness. 

Panic ensued.

Screams.

Jostling.

Where did she go? The two men grasped at the air with futility.

Fleeting footsteps echoed through the tunnel.

The men steadied themselves with their hands along the tunnel wall. They moved as quickly as possible towards the end of the t-intersection where they last saw their target. One of them picked up the extinguished torch and pulled a lighter from his pocket. He frantically reignited the torch. 

The tunnel came back to life once again.

Their eyes raced from left to right. Up and down. They looked in every possible direction. Then the two men stared at each other. There was nobody there. 

The spy had escaped. 

It was the first of many vanishing acts in her storied career.