The woman was intolerable.
He hadn't contacted Sci. Not yet. This link with the CIA was too fresh, too hot, to be anything but extremely careful with. Deciding he needed time to plan, he'd excused himself from Wells' presence and returned to the streets of the Old City.
Donna, the flame-haired, incredibly frustrating CIA agent, had not even allowed for the possibility that he would want to come back later to collect her. Oh no. As soon as he'd walked out the door he found himself the not-very-amused owner of one loud, attention-drawing, overly-playful girlfriend.
As acts go, it was pretty crass.
He struggled at first, but realised he'd better at least feign tolerance when in public. He got the impression that she was Academy fresh, just using Flirt 101 as a cover for wandering the streets of the Old City at night.
Or maybe the people around him weren't the ones she was trying to fool.
Intelligence types. Can't trust them.
Obviously, he couldn't reveal the whole deck of cards to her. But she still represented a valuable asset, and shouldn't be kept too in the dark. He quickly resolved to use a cell system - she would only encounter members of the team as it became absolutely necessary, and vice versa.
Not willing to hook back up with the team just yet, he found his way to a decent hotel and checked in. Donna made that an ordeal.
He had recently seen gun-camera footage of his love being blasted apart. He was in no mood to act horny.
He was trying to open the door to the hotel suite when she stopped sucking on his ear - and bit down on it, instead. Brad yelped involuntarily, and pulled back. A man walking along the passageway smiled knowingly as he passed them, and Brad flushed crimson. Donna winked at the man.
As he struggled into the room, Donna's arms around his waist, trying to keep him close, he twisted around and slammed the door shut behind them.
"Get-" he managed before she grabbed his face and pulled it close, locking him into a fierce, passionate kiss.
Okay, maybe this wasn't so bad.
She released his face, and with her left hand she waggled her fingers, imitating a scurrying insect.
Bugs.
His eyes widened. This was a new level of paranoia. They'd had no intention of ending up here. They could have been staying in any room of any hotel. Why would it be bugged? Could this place have been a hotbed of scheming for intifada or something?
He pulled away from Donna, fishing in his pants for his 'cellphone'. Scrolling down a menu, he set it sweeping for bugs.
The place was clean.
"Okay, we can talk now," he said. He looked around for a seat and settled on the couch. He turned on the local cable news on the TV opposite, for background noise.
"When are you taking me to your team?" she asked, sitting down beside him.
"I'm not."
"That's not the deal."
"The deal is, you help us with the CIA information, we get you the shield. I never agreed to drag you into Baghdad on operational detail."
"What makes you think our contacts will trust you?"
"What makes you think your contacts will trust a woman?"
Mistake. He could practically see her puffing up.
"You have a blinkered view of the world, don't you? Iraq, even under a dictator like Saddam, is a haven of gender equality when compared with places like Taliban Afghanistan or Iran. I think you'll find those Iraqis working with us for freedom aren't as chauvinist as you'd like to think."
"That's nice. You're still not meeting my team. Now, tell me about Baghdad."
"How far back do you want me to go?" she smiled, condescendingly.
"Keep it relevant."
"Okay, the simplistic version is that the city is ruled by Saddam's Baathist party, mostly Sunni, and the Shia majority have been slaughtered in the thousands by the Baathists to keep them under control. Not surprisingly, a lot of Iraqis - who, you know, have television, know what freedom is, and want it - are on our side. We have a pretty strong presence there, mainly hindered by a lack of Arabic speakers."
She then surprised him by quoting the Qoran.
"You're from around here?"
"No," she replied. "South America, actually. They called us freshwater Turks."
"What did you say?"
"'As for those from whom ye fear rebellion, admonish them and banish them to beds apart, and scourge them.' It's about women, but it applies here."
"That's the thing that always got me about religion. Have you read your Old Testament? There's a reason Jesus spends most of the New contradicting it. I judge people by deeds, not words. Ultimately, you have to ask yourself - have you done more good than harm?"
"Yes. You?"
"I hope so. I bloody well hope so."
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at that. "You hope?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Is this about Paris?"
He stood, feeling suddenly cold. "How do you know about Paris?"
"You're asking a CIA operative how we'd know about a terrorist who murdered an officeful of French police officers in cold blood? Men with families and children? We know all about the infamous Brad Corletti, aka 'Drake Defel'."
"Stop right now," he warned.
"What can you do that could possibly console a child who has been told his father will never come home?"
"Shut UP!" he snarled.
Mistake.
He felt his right arm lash out, and Donna screamed, briefly. The force of the blow lifted her up out of the couch, and over it, onto the wooden floorboards of the hotel suite's entertaining area. Moonlight flooding through the bay window illuminated the scene - her sprawled form, limbs tangled, red hair appearing dark in the faded light.
He stared, in shock at what he had done. Superimposed in memory, he saw Dorset struggling to rise on a moonlit street, blood pouring from her wounds.
Donna moaned, and raised her head, staring accusingly at him. Her strength faded, and she slumped back to the floor.
"Oh my God-" Brad rushed to her, grabbing her by her armpits, raising her up.
He looked into her eyes, and saw pain, confusion, and surrender.
It was too much for him. He broke. He bit back tears as he held her, tried hopelessly to comfort her, to apologise, to make amends. She clung to him tightly, as if afraid he would leave her alone in this state.
After a few minutes of fiercely whispered apologies on his part and heartbreaking sobs on hers, she started to respond, though not in any way that made sense.
His mind clouded by guilt and fear, he let her lead him to the bed.
"He hit you yet?"
Donna winced again at the memory. "Uhh, yes, sir. How did you know?"
"I can spot his type a mile away." Well's voice was smug, even coming through her mobile. "Corletti's a bona fide sociopath. I didn't get this job just because I'm gorgeous. I know just how far you can push a man before he snaps. Sometimes it takes years. Sometimes... all you have to do is get a pretty girl to give him crap."
She glanced sidelong at the man asleep beside her. "You didn't tell me that," she said, upset.
"If I'd warned you it wouldn't have been genuine. Shut up and do your job. Wells out."
"Yes... sir." The signal was dead. Wells had not bothered to wait for a response. Exasperated and despondent, she turned her phone off, put her arms around a man she despised, and tried to get some sleep.