The Red Cell by André Gallo (the top 100 crime novels of all time TXT) 📕

became anxious. She hoped the money she sent her each month was sufficient. She knew Malik was not sending any.

“Have you been completely truthful in this interview?”

“Yes.” She looked at John, seeking eye contact. But he didn’t look up from his computer screen. She could almost smell the surf now.

John stood up and disconnected the sensors. “I’m going to leave you here for a few minutes, while I review the charts. He picked up his laptop and added, “If you want to visit the ladies’ room, I’ll have someone take you.”

In John’s absence, Um did not dare move, although she tried as subtly as possible to scan the room for the camera she had been told would be recording her every move.

John returned without his computer and sat down. He offered her a bottle of water, which she accepted. “Are you taking any medications?” he asked. “There are some anomalies in your chart, and I’m trying to explain them.”

“No. I’m in good health. No pills. I hate pills, in fact.”

“How about ibuprofen or anything like that? Advil? Tylenol?”

“Oh yes, I did take two Tylenols this morning. I had a headache. I didn’t think of Tylenol as real medication.”

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to do this again. Can you come back tomorrow at nine? We have several issues here unrelated to Tylenol.” He paused, fixing his gaze on her eyes and added, “Unless you want to tell me anything now.”

She shook her head, and John walked her back to the security guard at the front door.

Back in the Mustang, Um sat and took a deep breath. Did she really want to start all over the next day? Why not tell Ahmed she had given it her best shot and move on? Were they asking her to come back in order to arrest her? She sat still for another few minutes and called Ahmed, who reassured her. “This work is important,” he said.” He emphasized that high-level people were depending on her. “By the way,” he added, “Your mother is fine. She is in good health. I wanted you to know.”

The next day, when the guard opened the door to the windowless polygraph room, Um found herself face to face with Bob, who had interviewed her in California. “Salam alaikum. I came by to say hello since I knew you would be here today.” He smiled.

Um was glad that, at Ahmed’s direction, she had worn her skirt, which accented her curves, as she stepped forward to shake Bob’s hand. He was a balding 40-year-old with wide shoulders, a nose that looked broken, and a boyish smile. She was mildly surprised to see him but assumed he was following normal procedures by providing a human dimension to the recruitment process. She tried to watch his eyes, as he guided her to a small, dark-wood roundtable she had not seen the day before, but he was looking elsewhere.

“Let’s get the administrative stuff out of the way.” He opened a file on the small desk and slid a form toward her. “The good news is the CIA is as far removed from the government bureaucracy as possible. The bad news is we still have to account for taxpayer dollars. So when you get home, just fill this in, send it in to the address at the top, and the guys in the green eyeshades will reimburse you for the trip.”

He poured two glasses of water from a silver carafe that had not been there the day before and placed one of the glasses in front of her. “How did your session go yesterday?” He took a sip.

“Alright I guess.” She tried to recall if she had powdered her nose in the car. “Except I had a headache and I took some Tylenol. I guess I wasn’t supposed to.”

“When we met in California,” he said with a slight frown, “you convinced me you would be a good CIA officer. My personal standard in recommending someone is whether I would like to work with that person in the field. I thought you met that standard.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Where was this going? She had a feeling Bob was taking her on a different track. She was losing control.

Bob moved his glass revealing a wet ring on the table. “I recommended you, because I thought you had all of the basic qualities I look for in a team member.” He paused again for a second. “In other words, someone I can trust with my life, because that’s what we do when we work together. Someone who will have the common sense to know the right thing to do, even during a fast-moving, unscripted situation. You also convinced me you are serious about wanting to work with us. Are you?”

Um suddenly felt under pressure. She sat forward in her chair, tense. This was like taking an oral exam. “Wait a minute. I am only applying for a translator position.” It was no longer as easy as Ahmed said it would be. She was beginning to think he was not as smart as he pretended to be. Now she felt far from the beach, in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight and no compass. She gave Bob a tentatively flirtatious smile to try to get back on familiar territory.

“That’s true, but with your foreign background and languages, I want you to consider an operations-officer position. Unfortunately, John, your polygraph operator yesterday, thinks we should turn you down, because you’re not telling us everything. If you want this application to go forward—and I’m on your side on this—you need to open up. I don’t know what you’re hiding. It might only be a trivial thing.”

I am not hiding anything. I have broken no American law.“What do you want to do? You can walk out right now. Or I can ask John to come