Page 202 of The Fourth Option
“Not this one.”
Stanton lifted the lid to reveal what looked like an antique 1911 pistol pressed into the soft green satin lining. He looked at Walker, puzzled.
“Mine was lost in the van when it went in the drink. That one you have there was probably made before World War One.”
“Thank you, I guess?”
“I got it to replace the one I lost recently, but as I’ve been reading and reflecting, I realized I don’t need it anymore.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Just accept it. It’s more for me than for you. Represents a new lease on life.”
“Did you have an epiphany or something?”
“Of sorts.”
“Saint Paul on the road to Damascus–type thing?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, thank you. How about I hold on to it for you?”
“Good enough. Did you find anything else out about the Afghan?”
“Just that his name was Zarak Fazli and that he came here alone, no accompanying family members, in 2021 after the Afghanistan withdrawal. Like so many others, he was still waiting on his special immigrant visa.”
“Just like he said.”
“I reached out to Fisk at CIA. He didn’t give up much, just that he was not free to discuss what the Agency did or did not do to help Afghans settle in the United States who worked for them directly or indirectly during the war. He did not acknowledge the existence of Zero Units.”
“Typical. Fazli said we were in Afghanistan with the Zero Units at the same time, but I didn’t know him. It’s possible we crossed paths.”
“Are there more like him?” Stanton asked.
“Like Fisk?”
“The Afghan.”
“There must be. The betrayal, intentional or not, is real. He died with all the secrets.”
“You know,” Stanton said, taking another sip of iced tea. “Fisk never told me why you left the Agency.”
“He wouldn’t,” Walker responded. “They slapped it with a SAP classification.” He paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. “It has to do with a man and his family, a man who helped us, who was being left behind. John Staub and I arranged to get him into Pakistan, to the U.S. Embassy in Islamabad where he could claim political asylum. Agency wanted him to remain in Afghanistan as a stay behind asset to keep feeding them information.”
“By ‘Agency’ you mean Fisk.”
“Yes, but the problem is bigger than just him. He’s more of a symptom.”
“What happened?”
“We got them into Pakistan, well, really into the FATA, the Federally Administered Tribal Areas. Before we could meet up with the element that had guaranteed their safe passage to Islamabad, we were ambushed. Staub and our asset were killed, as was our asset’s wife and daughter.”
Walker paused and looked out onto the street. The smell of rain was in the air.
“His other daughter was wounded. We escaped and I carried her farther into Pakistan. Held her for sixteen days.”
“Dear God.”
