“We protect our countries, our homes, and our families,” Rapp said. “We do what we believe is necessary. If you’d been born in America, you’d probably be working for me.”
“I serve only the one true god.”
“I have no problem with that. And if you and Taj take control of Pakistan, I figure I’m better off. Nations aren’t a problem for the United States—we’ve been dealing with those kinds of enemies since we signed the Declaration of Independence. Chaos is a real thorn in our side, though. You and I both know that all this democracy talk from American politicians is bullshit. Muslim countries need a strong hand at the helm.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
As planned, Gadai was confused by how the conversation was playing out. “What do you want from me?”
“We know that Taj is going to kill President Chutani at the state dinner tonight.”
“What? Where did you get this information? It’s absurd.”
He was a good liar, but the pain, fatigue, and unexpected line of questioning were straining that skill past its breaking point.
“You told me as much a few hours ago,” Rapp said in a calculatedly bored tone. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter. We’ve been onto Taj for a long time. He’s great at staying under the radar and playing the bland servant, but come on. Irene Kennedy wrote the book on that trick.”
Rapp tapped the bottle of pain medication again. “Are you sure? You look like you’re really suffering.”
Gadai just stared defiantly at him.
“The way I see it, Kabir, we both have serious problems.”
“You more than me,” Gadai responded. “All you can do is kill me. Send me to paradise.”
“Actually, I can do a lot more than that, but let’s forget about that for the moment. I think you know what I’m worried about.”
“The files,” Gadai said proudly. “The first step in the inevitable destruction of your corrupt and godless country.”
Rapp rolled his eyes. “America’s not going to be destroyed, Kabir. You’re a smart guy. Let go of your ideology for a minute and think. For all the money we’ve poured into it, your military has never managed to win a war. And that’s against the Indians. We’re not the Indians.”
“We’ll destroy your intelligence network. Leave you defenseless and your government in turmoil. We’ll cut off your oil. And unlike you, we’re prepared to use our nuclear arsenal. You profess to have faith in your god but it’s a lie. Christians fear death. They fear everything.”
“I’m sure that was the plan, but what do you think I’m going to do? Just sit back and let Taj make his move?”
“He’s too clever for you. Too dedicated. And too powerful within Pakistan.”
Rapp slammed a hand down on the table between them, causing Gadai to jerk back in surprise.
“You want to sit here with stars in your eyes about Pakistan taking over the world?” Rapp shouted. “Fine. I’ll call President Chutani and tell him what’s going on at the ISI. He’ll spend the next two years cutting little pieces off Taj while I do the same to you.”
Rapp pulled out a switchblade and Gadai tried futilely to twist away, but in the end the knife just cut through his flex cuffs. Once they were severed, he moved his swollen hands to his lap, careful not to bring about another flash of rage in his captor.
“It gets worse for both of us,” Rapp said, folding the blade and moderating his tone again. “I don’t trust Chutani. I don’t want him to have those files any more than I want Taj to.”
He let that statement hang, deciding to force the Pakistani to ask him to say more. Unsatisfying as hell but it was how these standoffs were won. One small victory at a time.
“And how does it get worse for me?” Gadai said after almost a full minute of silence.
“If I keep you, then Chutani’s going to move against your family. He’ll figure there’s a chance they know something that can help him. And he won’t stop trying to get that information until they’re dead.”
Gadai’s eyes began to shift back and forth, focusing on everything in the small plane except the man in front of him. It wasn’t hard to convince him of his wife and children’s bleak future for one simple reason: It was the truth.
“I heard a rumor that Chutani took a page out of Saddam Hussein’s book,” Rapp said, looking out the window into the darkness. “He likes to lower people’s kids into vats of acid while their parents watch. Makes quite a mess, and I understand the smell is horrible.”
It wasn’t an observation that demanded a response but Rapp waited anyway.
“The rumor is true,” Gadai said finally.
“Then let me ask you a question, Kabir. Do you think anything I’ve said to you tonight is a lie?”
“No.”
Rapp was in a virtually impossible situation even if Gadai started talking. They were scheduled to land only an hour before the start of Chutani’s state dinner and he had no idea how he was even going to -access the heavily guarded palace, let alone deal with Taj.
“I’ve spent most of my adult life in the Middle East, Kabir, so I know how people like you think. You sit in your fundamentalist echo chamber and talk about creating a thousand-year dynasty. About how God loves you best and how He’s going to help you turn the world into some half-assed caliphate. But you graduated near the top of your class with a degree in history, right? So you know that Pakistan has a hard time going a week without a coup. If Taj takes over, how long is it going to be before the military figures out a way to get rid of him? Hell, how long is it going to be before he pisses off our president so bad that he sends me over to deal with the situation? It’s a pipe dream, Kabir. The whole world will line up against you like they did against Hitler. And Pakistan’s not Nazi Germany. It’s a mess of kooks and semiliterate fanatics who’d just as soon shoot each other as shoot us.”
“You want me to betray Taj.”
Rapp shrugged. “It’s what he plans to do to you.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve been with him since I was a child. We’re from the same family.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe blood is thicker than water. But from what I heard, his last assistant ended up rotting on a trash heap.”
Kennedy had warned that the intel about Taj’s involvement in that death was little more than hearsay, but the flicker in Gadai’s mask suggested he’d heard the same story.
“Rickman’s files are the key to Taj’s power and you’ve seen them. You have the encryption key.”
“He knows I’m loyal to him. That I would die for him.”
“Correction: He’s pretty sure you’re loyal to him and probably no better than fifty-fifty on whether you’d die for him. Put yourself in his place, Kabir. Would you take that chance?”
Gadai didn’t respond.
“If you just let go of this world domination crap and take a clear-eyed look at your situation, you’ll see that Taj is going to kill you. You don’t owe him anything. He sent you to Russia with my team closing in. What do you want to bet that he would have taken a more cautious approach if it had been his neck on the line instead of yours? You’re sitting here because of him.”
“If I agree to cooperate, what becomes of me?”
Normally, it was the question Rapp would be waiting for—an indication that Gadai was willing to deal. In this case, though, it was a dangerous crossroad. Did he lie and risk that Gadai would pick up on it or tell the truth and risk Gadai not being able to handle it? In the end, he decided the latter path posed the least risk.
“There is no you, Kabir. Chutani’s going to want to get his hands on you something awful and we have no legal authority to keep you.”
“Tell him I’m dead.”
“He’s not stupid. He’s going to want a body.”
“So you’re offering me a bullet to the back of the head?”
“I’ll leave the method to you, but that’s the long and short of it. All I’m selling is the safety of your family.
”
“And I’m to believe that you can guarantee this?”
“If I save Chutani’s life, he’s going to owe me. I’ll call in that marker for your family. He won’t have a problem with that. Your wife isn’t the type to be involved in something like this and your kids are too young. He’s not going to cross me over some vague suspicions and a piece of pointless revenge.”
“Why would I trust you?”
Rapp slid the OxyContin across the table and this time the man accepted. “You’ve read everything the ISI has on me, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know what I’m capable of. But you also know that I’m a man of my word.”
CHAPTER 58
ISLAMABAD
PAKISTAN
WHERE are we going?”
Rapp didn’t look at the man driving and didn’t immediately answer. Bill Drake had been the station chief in Islamabad for years now and he enjoyed Kennedy’s confidence more than Rapp’s own. There was no question that he had a decent head for the constant push-pull between Pakistani factions, but he was an observer by nature. When it came time to act, Drake always had a reason that more data was necessary and more experts needed to be consulted. Paralysis by analysis.
Rapp reached for the rearview mirror and adjusted it so he could see behind them. “Keep going east.”
Coleman was still trying to get into the dark gray suit Drake had brought. Rapp’s fit better but not much. The fact that the pants were an inch too short was less a problem than the obvious bulge his Glock made beneath his right shoulder. Not that it was Drake’s fault. Rapp had waited until the last minute to contact him and the clothes were the result of the man sprinting through the only department store on the way to the airport.
“The traffic’s not too bad right now, but the farther we go, the worse it’s going to get. President Chutani’s dinner for Sunny Wicka is tonight and they’ve got everything around the presidential palace blocked off.”
“You heard me.”
“Is there anything I need to know?”
“No.”
Rapp inserted an earpiece and dialed Kennedy on a secure sat phone. Not surprisingly, she picked up on the first ring.
“Are you on the ground?”
“Yeah.”
“Time’s tight, Mitch. We’re less than an hour from the start of the dinner.”
True to Drake’s word, traffic was getting worse. A flatbed teetering with bales of cotton cut them off, forcing the station chief to slam on the BMW’s brakes. The gap that opened between them and the back of the truck was immediately filled with motor scooters. The cause of the jam was just ahead and hard to miss—a tank parked sideways in the road.
Beyond, Rapp could see the massive, bunkerlike presidential palace illuminated with colored spotlights. A single limousine was gliding toward a set of barricades guarded by a group of soldiers. Other vehicles trailed at intervals designed to limit damage from a potential attack.
“We’re approaching the palace now,” Rapp said. “It doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to get the car close, though.”
Drake gave him an inquisitive look and Rapp pointed left. They diverted onto a narrower street but soon found themselves stopped in a sea of blaring horns.
“Do you have a plan to get in?” Kennedy asked.
The truth was that he still didn’t. He had no intel on Pakistani security, no layout for the building, and no guest list. Even the event schedule he had was just something pulled off a Pakistani news site. Not exactly something he wanted to bet his life on.
“I’m still working on that,” he said, feeling around on the floorboard for the electric razor Drake brought.
“They have tanks,” Coleman said loud enough for her to hear. “Tanks are usually not a good sign.”
Rapp started into his beard with the clippers, debating whether to leave the mustache favored by ISI men. His skin wasn’t quite dark enough to pass, but he might be able to create a second of hesitation on the part of anyone lining up on him. In the end, he decided against it and went with the clean-shaven look of the Secret Service.
“Then I think I have some good news for you,” Kennedy said. “Guess who’s consulting on the security for Sunny’s delegation.”
“I’m not in the mood for games, Irene.”
“Jack Warch.”
Rapp stopped the razor midway through his chin. Warch was a former Secret Service executive who had started a private security firm a few years back. He was a solid man and a good friend. More important, he owed Rapp his life.
“With all the instability in Pakistan, the government decided to bring Jack in to stress-test the Secret Service’s protocols,” Kennedy said.
“No, our luck’s even better than that,” Rapp responded. “If Jack’s here, he’s not doing stress tests. He’s in charge. No one at Secret Service is going to question him and no one will have the guts to do anything but exactly what he tells them.”
“I suspect you’re right. I spoke to him earlier and he seems to have a solid handle on things.”
“Our chances of pulling this off just went from zero to ten percent. Did you tell him what’s happening?”
“I thought you’d prefer to do that yourself. He’s going to meet you outside the pedestrian gate on the palace’s north side. But he’s not happy about it.”
“He’s never happy.”
“Like you.”
Rapp ignored the jab. “Does Sunny know?”
“No. She’s not the target and we can’t afford to have her looking nervous.”
“Understood.”
“You haven’t told me if you were able to get Gadai to talk.”
“He talked.”
“So you know Taj’s plan?”
“Unless he was lying.”
“Do you think he was?”
“Sixty–forty not.”
“Where is he now?”
“Dead.”
“Dead?” The pitch of her voice rose perceptibly. “What do you mean, dead? What happened?”
“It was part of our agreement.”
There was a brief silence over the line. “We’ll discuss that later.”
“Have you talked to President Alexander?”
“I got off the phone with him ten minutes ago.”
“And?”
“He wants to have the banquet canceled and tell Chutani what we know. Let him deal with Taj.”
“That’s going to leave Chutani with the files.”
“In his mind, that’s an acceptable compromise.”
“If Alexander believes the president of Pakistan won’t sell us down the river the second it’s in his best interest, he’s nuts. And even if Chutani were the Boy Scout we know he’s not, are we sure he can keep that data under wraps? What happens when some ISI mole gets his hands on it? Or one of the eight hundred terrorist groups operating here? What happens when there’s another coup?”
“My argument to him exactly.”
“And?”
“He’s given us authorization to assess the situation. But under no circumstances are you to act without his express authorization.”
“What’s that? You’re breaking up.”
“I thought I might be.”
“So I deal with Taj. Tonight.”
“Neither of us is naïve about these kinds of situations, Mitch. If it all goes right, our sins will be forgiven. If it goes wrong . . .”
She didn’t have to finish the thought. Her expectation was that she would take the political bullet and he would disappear to the far corners of the earth. The world’s governments would try to find him, of course, but he knew most of the people they’d send. Some would put on a show and cash their expense checks, but none would be stupid enough to succeed.
Rapp dropped the razor on the floorboard and brushed the hair off his suit. He’d already made his decision. If he could get this done without exposing his involvement, he would. But if the only option was to beat Taj to death whi
le his security detail emptied their guns into him, that’s the way it would have to be.
One way or another, Ahmed Taj wasn’t going to see the sun rise.
CHAPTER 59
AHMED Taj extricated himself from a conversation with two of Pakistan’s members of parliament and walked toward the center of the room. A uniformed waiter offered a tray of Obaid Marri’s tiny creations and Taj took one. He assumed that the other guests would find it exquisite but he had never seen food as anything more than sustenance.
President Saad Chutani was holding court on the south side of the hall, laughing easily with the American secretary of state. His wife stood next to him wearing an immodest Western dress and holding a glass of wine produced locally by another of Pakistan’s anti-Islamic economic initiatives.
It was a display that made Taj wonder even more about the politician. Until that night, he had seen Chutani as the West’s puppet—an ultimately weak man desperate to prove himself to his masters. Now, though, Taj’s eyes were open. Chutani wasn’t playing a role to ingratiate himself with the Americans. He was one of them. It was his identity as a Pakistani and a Muslim that was a lie.
Predictably, Carl Ferris was at the bar. Despite having only recently arrived, his gait was already a bit unsteady. Not surprising. Taj’s people reported that the American senator had consumed a quarter of a bottle of scotch in his hotel suite.
Ferris started in his direction, but Taj scanned past him at the room itself. Soon it would be his. The presidential palace would become the center of modern Islam and a base for spreading sharia law throughout the world. All while the Americans watched helplessly.
Chef Marri appeared in the kitchen doorway and surveyed the growing crowd, looking understandably nervous. He was carrying the poison Taj had given him hidden on his person. It was not the -exotic toxin Taj had originally planned to use in order to further implicate the Americans. Instead he’d chosen a mix of common compounds that would generate a much more sensational and horrifying death for the traitor Chutani. A death that would stir the rage and nationalism of even Pakistan’s growing secular elite.
“Ahmed!” Ferris said as he came within earshot. “Nice party.”