The Chemist

Chapter 3

April 17th, 1:45 p.m. Langley, Virginia

This chapter is dedicated to thriller author E. J. Rand, whose guidance and a heavy dose of humility helped me shape this, as well as some other chapters.

"Mommy, when are you coming back?"

Even on the phone, Joanne Dawson's seven year old daughter's plaintive cry tugged at her heart, but she had to focus on her work.

A wall of six high resolution life-sized television screens illuminated the subterranean surveillance room. A satellite feed showed Sabir standing on a Beirut street. A console flickered before her. Joanne was transfixed on her laptop, reviewing dossiers of all key players involved in her latest assignment.

Her two surveillance men on this assignment, Phil Farrat and Jeff Parneau, were hunched over their consoles beside her, headsets on, listening intently. Phil, a competent surveillance expert with short blond hair and bulbous cheeks on a face only a mother could love barely fit under the console, his lank legs folded under his too-close-to-the-floor chair. Jeff was a matchstick. Wire framed eyeglasses and smooth brown hair parted down the center exuded 'geek'.

"Mommy!" Latisha repeated to seemingly deaf ears.

Mesmerized by the current dossier, Joanne perused a surveillance photo of a slight young woman exiting a New York City taxi. The blonde wore thick black rimmed glasses. The description read:

Age: 23

IQ: 163

College: Massachusetts Institute of Technology

Major: PhD Bio-Chemistry

Honors: Phi Beta Kappa

Class Rank: 1

Annual Salary: $180,000

"Mommy!" Latisha pleaded once again.

Her trance broken, Joanne brushed away a few strands of wavy dark hair and leaned back in her swivel chair. She spoke in a sotto voce whisper, "Mommy has to work, and sometimes her work is somewhere faraway." Joanne thought that maybe it was time she stop speaking in the third person to a second grader, but the habit was hard to break. "Daddy will be there while I'm away."

"When are you coming back?" Latisha repeated, as if Joanne had said nothing at all.

"I don't know when, baby. I'll call you as soon as I learn."

"Mommy, why do you have to leave us?"

Another nervous breath followed before Joanne resorted to an impromptu speech, not unlike one would give on an elementary school career day. "Mommy's job keeps everyone safe, especially you and your brothers." She inhaled deeply. "And keeping everyone safe is hard!" The corners of her lips pinched, making an exaggerated smile, as if Latisha could somehow see her through the phone.

Gary Dawson came on the line. "How long before you come home, you think?"

"Between you and me, three weeks. I hope less."

"Please be careful. The kids want their mother back in one piece."

"You know how to keep things together. Tell them I love them."

"You bet. I love you."

Latisha and her brothers were screaming at each other in the background. "Gotta go," she heard. "Talk to you later." The line disconnected.

I love you, too.

Joanne refocused her attention on the last dossier. The photo showed a smartly dressed woman in her 50s in the foreground, a man with a familiar face following behind. She shuddered.