Page 8 of Eight Years (The Trident Trilogy 1)

Chapter Five

Millie

Washington, D.C.

2019

“My god, Millie, it’s just Monday. Can’t you give me a few days to get into the week before you dump shit like this on me?” George has been my boss since my first day in the agency, and despite his perpetual irritability, he is one of the kindest people I know.

“He’s alive, George. I know he is. I’ve been tracking him since the day I started here.” I watch him shift uncomfortably in his office chair.

“On your own. Not at my direction.”

I can tell he’s feeling emasculated, and I know I have to tread lightly.

“I should have told you about it sooner, but I wanted to make sure I had something,” I say.

George stops shifting. It’s never taken that much contrition from me to win him over to my side.

“Millie, I want to help you, but everyone’s going to think I’m crazy if I try to push this through. The agency has been chasing Sayid Custovic for decades. Everyone has all but given up. He hasn’t been seen in almost twenty years. He’s dead. He has to be.”

“Then how do you explain his organization still surviving? Even thriving?”

“Those organizations are like weeds. You know that. You kill one leader, and another one pops up in his place. You know as well as I do that Yusef Hadzic runs that network now,” he says.

“Well, then let me go after Hadzic.”

“Millie, you’ve barely been here for three years. And, I know you’ve had a meteoric rise, but you’re still too green to say ‘I’m the one to get Yusef Hadzic.’ We’ve been trying to get him for years. Agents with a lot more experience have tried and failed.”

“I found a new lead,” I say.

George starts shifting again. “What new lead?”

“I found Amar Petrovic, Custovic’s best friend growing up.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“No one has. His family moved to Spain after the war. He’s just recently moved back to Sarajevo.”

“How do you know he even knew Custovic?” George shifts again.

“They lived right next door to each other from the time they were born until the war basically wiped out their neighborhood. I have real estate records, school records. Their fathers were both leaders at the same mosque. They were friends. I know they were.”

“So, they were childhood friends—it doesn’t mean they kept in touch. Custovic radicalized after the war. This Amar guy moved to Spain. They probably lost touch.”

“I thought that, too, but since I located Petrovic back in Sarajevo, I’ve had our agents there tracking him,” I say.

“You’ve done what? Millie, you can’t make field assignments. Who approved this?” He already knows no one did, so I ignore the question.

“It wasn’t anything formal. I worked on an interrogation with one of the agents over there last year. We’ve kept in touch. She’s just doing me a favor.”

“God, Millie, you can’t just do this shit. You have to work through the proper channels.”

“Do you want to hear what she’s found or not?”

George sighs deeply. “I know you’re going to tell me, regardless of what I want, so go ahead.”

“She’s been trailing Petrovic for four months.”

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