Deep Cover Read online

  Cover image Five Rockets © Vladru. Courtesy iStockphoto.com.

  Cover design copyright © 2013 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2013 by Traci Hunter Abramson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect

  the position of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  ISBN 978-1-62108-429-7

  For David Woodruff for needing his refrigerator moved,

  for Micah Zappe for being willing to move it,

  and for Scott Fellows and Don C. for turning a simple

  favor into an adventure.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to all of the readers who encourage me to keep putting my stories on paper. So often, your kind words and support help me find the motivation I need to keep going. Thanks to my friends and family who continue to support my writing and constantly provide me with inspiration for the next story.

  My continued appreciation goes to the wonderful people at Covenant for all of your encouragement and support. A special thanks to Samantha Millburn for her willingness to help me turn ideas into novels and for making this journey such an enjoyable one.

  Thank you to my husband, Jonathan, for suffering through all of our many renovation projects, to Marquis Smith for always lending a helping hand, and to Zeda Abramson for sharing her kitchen while mine was demolished. The characters in this book definitely shared in many of our adventures.

  And finally, my heartfelt thanks to Rebecca Cummings for turning me into the writer I am today. I don’t know what I would do without you!

  Chapter 1

  Something was wrong. Very wrong. The shouts from the courtyard were loud enough to penetrate the inner chambers of Salman Nassar’s mansion, the residence where he had chosen to live so he could stay off both his competitors’ and allies’ radars.

  Kelsey could hear Salman’s wives buzzing through the halls of the women’s quarters, gathering their children close. She braced herself by her bedroom door, listening for several long seconds until the activity ceased in the hallway despite the continued noise coming from outside.

  Although women were typically treated as property in this culture, she was given as much respect as any of the women in Salman’s family, though that still didn’t amount to much. She couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to have been treated like the other female servants, women who were considered second-class citizens. But she was an educated woman, and she was the daughter of a respected businessman from Riyadh. Or so everyone thought.

  Little did they know, she was an American citizen planted inside Salman’s home to keep tabs on his business.

  A door slammed, followed by rapid footsteps in the hall.

  Her heartbeat quickened, and panic speared through her. They knew. Someone knew Salman’s client list had been copied, and now they were coming for her.

  More shouts, the rumble of an approaching vehicle outside. Then silence.

  The realization that her involvement hadn’t been discovered took several seconds to sink in. More than a minute passed before she forced herself into action. She was here to uncover information, and she couldn’t do it hiding in her room.

  Her heart pounding, Kelsey adjusted her veil so it hid her face. As the tutor for Salman’s daughters, she was expected to wear the traditional burqa and niqāb. Though she hated the full-length robe and veil, it was useful when she wanted to conceal her identity . . . and her weapon.

  She knew it was risky to leave her room, to go find out what had stirred the activity that was so out of place in this isolated region of Abolstan. But she also knew she didn’t have a choice. If Salman was arming the dissidents again, her superiors needed to know about it.

  For years, Abolstan had remained in a state of unrest, two main rebel groups fighting for control. Kelsey had seen the battles firsthand—too many of them. The country had also become a hotbed for terrorist camps and arms dealings, but here on this southern tip of the country, Salman’s family had remained undisturbed since they had relocated here nine months before to protect themselves from the now-common battles near the city of Bharat, where they had lived after first coming to Abolstan.

  The rumble of a truck and more loud voices disturbed the night.

  Resolved now to find out what was going on, Kelsey patted the inner pocket of her burqa to make sure her weapon was secure and in reach. She hadn’t needed to use it since going undercover, and she prayed she wouldn’t need it tonight. For nearly two years, she had pretended to be someone she wasn’t, losing herself in an identity she wasn’t quite sure she even liked.

  The assignment had started out as a short-term support assignment. Little had anyone known that Salman would take notice of her, that he would see her as an acceptable tutor for his daughters. The CIA had jumped on the opportunity to have an insider within Salman’s home, convincing her that her role was critical to national security. If only she hadn’t had to give up so much to fulfill the role.

  She handled contact with her real family most frequently with encrypted e-mails through her handler. Only rarely, when she went into town, did she get the opportunity for personal phone calls, and even then, she had to be extremely careful about what she said. She pushed aside the memories of her typical middle-class home and her parents’ disappointment in her apparent lack of family involvement and concentrated on the here and now.

  Despite the sacrifices of living deep undercover, she thrived on knowing that by being someone else, she was helping keep her country safe. Her family might not understand or appreciate the value of her service, but her superiors certainly did, even if most of them didn’t even know her real name.

  Cautiously, she pushed open her bedroom door to find the hallway empty. The door beside hers creaked open, and Kelsey saw Aamina poke her head out, her dark eyes filled with trepidation. As the oldest of Salman’s daughters, the seventeen-year-old understood enough about her father’s business to know that the shouts outside were likely just the beginning of tonight’s conflict.

  In four months, Aamina would be given in marriage to one of Salman’s business associates. Kelsey couldn’t think of that now, of the way the girl was being brokered as part of some trade agreement. As long as Aamina was still living here, Kelsey was determined to keep her safe and protected.

  “Go back into your room,” Kelsey whispered in Arabic, her voice filled with both sympathy and trepidation. “And keep your door bolted.”

  “Where are you going?” Terror filled her voice. “Taja, don’t go out there.”

  “I just want to make sure you and your sisters are safe.” She laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry about me. Just try to go to sleep. Everything will be okay.”

  Before Aamina could protest any further, Kelsey waved her inside the room and closed the door firmly between them. Kelsey waited for a moment, listening for other sounds in the women’s corridor. A baby whimpered softly, and Kelsey heard hushed whispers coming from Shada’s family quarters down the hall.

  Satisfied that the family members were securely in their roo
ms, Kelsey moved silently down the now-vacant hallway. She knew her way around this section of the mansion and navigated it without the aid of any light. The darkness was her friend and would hide her from the security cameras in this part of the house.

  At this late hour, the women were expected to remain in the wing designated for them, and she knew she would be viewed as an intruder if seen. She reached the back stairwell and quietly made her way to the main level. Cautiously, she entered the servants’ hallway and headed toward the kitchen, hoping to use the window there to see into the courtyard. She hesitated when she saw the backwash of light coming from the dining room.

  She couldn’t reach the kitchen without passing the dining room, and if they found her outside of her room . . . The sound of Salman’s voice caused her to take a step back and then another. Before she could retreat any farther, Salman emerged into the hallway in front of her, along with his son and several of the men on his security force.

  “What are you doing here?” Salman asked, his tone demanding and accusatory, his eyes narrowing as though trying to identify who she was beneath the robe and veil.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Kelsey bowed her head, fully aware that her voice would identify her. “The noise upset Aamina. I was going to make her some tea to calm her nerves.”

  “For an educated woman, you’re not always very smart.” Salman motioned to Gabir, his nineteen-year-old son. “Bring her.”

  “I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Kelsey said quickly, keeping her eyes safely averted toward the floor. “I was only worried for your daughter.”

  “My daughter must learn to trust that the men in her life will protect her. And you must learn your place.”

  Gabir gripped Kelsey’s arm, and she fought the urge to reach for a weapon. She was outnumbered five to one, and a show of force would likely end her life. Willing herself into submission, she let Gabir lead her toward the front door and outside into the courtyard. She lifted her eyes enough to take in the scene and swallowed hard.

  Another half dozen men ranged before her, two of them on horseback, all of them heavily armed except one. The man with sandy-colored hair was on his knees, one hand pressed against the cobblestone sidewalk that curved toward the front door. Kelsey’s eyes narrowed, adjusting to the darkness as the man lifted his head. And Kelsey felt her world spin out of control.

  Gregory Bealton, her only human contact with the Western world, had been compromised. A CIA operative, he had been posing as a Canadian banker in Abolstan for several years. When Salman moved his family here, Gregory had become one of Salman’s financial advisors, but something had obviously gone terribly wrong.

  Gregory’s left eye was nearly swollen shut, and his lower lip was bleeding. His tailored slacks had rips in both knees, and his shirt was blood-stained. Overcome with helpless desperation, Kelsey looked into his eyes. To her surprise, she didn’t see terror illuminated there but rather acceptance.

  The man behind Gregory hauled him up to stand in front of Salman. Kelsey’s gaze swept up to identify the man holding Gregory. Ruben Medrano, the man she knew as one of Salman’s associates who currently lived in the United States, shifted his attention to Salman.

  “So this is the man who has been selling my secrets.” Salman shook his head, his tone deceptively mild. “And to think that you came so highly recommended.”

  Gregory lifted his eyes and looked at the newcomers. His gaze passed over Kelsey as though it was normal for a woman to be at a business dealing. She wondered briefly if he recognized her, especially since only her eyes were visible beneath her burqa and niqāb. Yet he had seen her often when she had traveled into town for the family and had always demonstrated the ability to pick her out of the crowd.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Salman continued. “Any explanation for your actions?”

  The shake of his head was subtle. “You’ve already made up your mind about me. I’ve made you millions, and still, you don’t trust me. I don’t know if you are capable of trusting anyone.”

  “In my world, only family can be trusted.” Salman held out a hand, and one of his men placed a gun in his open palm. His fingers curled around the gun. “This woman, for example. She teaches my daughters to read and write. She teaches them our history and our culture, yet somehow, she forgets a woman’s place in my home. Some lessons can be taught . . .”

  Salman turned toward Kelsey, the gun aimed at her heart. She froze, completely vulnerable to this man who literally held her life in his hands. He lowered the weapon slightly, not showing his intent before squeezing the trigger.

  The gunshot seared through her left thigh, and Kelsey crumpled to the ground with a cry of agony. Even through the haze of pain, she could see Salman shrug as though she was a minor irritation that had now been dealt with.

  “She won’t make the same mistake again,” he said smugly. “You, however, are beyond hope. Once a spy, always a spy.”

  Salman lowered his weapon, nodding now to Medrano, who lifted his. Another gunshot sounded, and another lesson was taught.

  Chapter 2

  One month later

  Kelsey glanced behind her before pulling into the driveway of the traditional colonial. Nearly a month before, a two-man team from the CIA had responded to her emergency beacon, saving her from Salman and the substandard medical treatment she had been about to receive. A shudder worked through her as she thought of the filthy hospital where Salman had sent her, complete with various livestock and assorted terrorists occupying the waiting room.

  The single bullet from Salman’s gun had torn through her thigh several inches above her knee but had thankfully missed the bone. A lack of proper hospital staff had prevented her from being treated the night she had arrived. Instead, she had been forced to sit in the corner of that waiting room, her only bandage a strip of cloth she had ripped from the inner lining of her burqa.

  Shortly after morning prayers, she had finally been taken back to an examining room. By then, the CIA was prepared to make sure she received the necessary care to make a full recovery. When the local doctors wheeled her into surgery early that afternoon, two local operatives had been waiting.

  A “leak” of a gaseous sedative had rendered everyone unconscious, including Kelsey. By the time she awoke, she was on a helicopter headed for a naval base in Italy. Within an hour of her arrival, medics had wheeled her into surgery and doctors had removed the bullet from her leg, allowing her recovery to begin. For two weeks, she had remained in the hospital, followed by a week in a rehabilitation center before being released. Before being sent back home.

  Home. She hadn’t been back for years, hadn’t dared take the chance that the evil she had been living with might follow her to her childhood neighborhood and the people she loved. She supposed most people would see her life as one adventure after another. At least, they would if she could actually tell anyone what she did for a living.

  She had traveled all over the world for the past several years: London, Prague, Islamabad, Riyadh, Tel Aviv, and, of course, Abolstan. Now that she had spent a few weeks away from that life, she was forced to face the facts. All of the travel and excitement she had experienced had given her nothing but unending loneliness, with only work to fill the void. How many people, she wondered, truly appreciated the lives they already had?

  She noticed a woman walking her dog across the street from her parents’ house, two young girls tagging along behind her. Kelsey’s heart ached, recognizing the image of what she had always wanted for herself. What would it be like, she wondered, to be married, to have children? She would gladly trade her world travels for the chance to live inside that beautifully simple life.

  Since joining the Agency, she hadn’t stayed in one place long enough to even own a pet. Well, there was the goldfish she had bought right after graduating college, but James had taken possession of it when they’d broken up a few weeks later. After all, he insisted, how could she possibly care for a pet when she was traveling overse
as?

  It still stung that James had encouraged her to join the CIA because that was his dream, only to have him break up with her as soon as she was given the overseas assignment he felt he was destined for. He had studied Arabic at BYU with her, never completely understanding that she studied Middle Eastern languages because they fascinated her and she loved to learn. He had studied them in search of a career, the career she had fallen into that had become a part of who she was.

  As much to spite him as to hide, Kelsey had taken the assignment to the Middle East, working in various stations during her first three years before going undercover with Salman’s family. Before she had gone so deep undercover, she had managed to come home on occasion, but for more than two years, all she had been able to offer her family were excuses.

  She looked up at her house, aware that it was currently empty. Her two older brothers and her younger sister all had homes and families of their own now, and her parents had left shortly after her injury for a six-month mission. She knew they were worried that she hadn’t been active in the Church over the past two years. They had no way of knowing how much she ached to be able to enjoy that opportunity again.

  She put her car in park and turned off the engine as a multitude of emotions rushed through her. Even after weeks of living in Western civilization, she still felt odd appearing in public without her face veiled. Any time a man approached, her gaze instinctively lowered, and she had to remind herself that she no longer had to subject herself to the belief that as a woman, she was not equal to the men around her.

  As she stared up at the brick-front colonial, an odd combination of new beginnings and old memories crept through her. The single pear tree in the front yard was in full bloom, a fact she recognized the moment she stepped out of her SUV. Her nose wrinkled when she caught a whiff of the blossoms’ pungent odor, her eyes watering as her body remembered her long-forgotten allergies.

  Why couldn’t her dad have planted a nice dogwood tree in their yard like the Hendersons across the street or a cherry tree like the Martinez family down the road? Those blossoms actually smelled good, and she wasn’t allergic to them. Her lips curved slightly as she realized she could think of something so basic and trivial.