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Ashan was not in such a playful mood. He knew his friend too well. Knew his capabilities and his weaknesses, and if he had been stupid enough to lend any of his people or expertise to facilitate the lunacy in Jalalabad, then they were all in a great deal of trouble. “Let us just pray for a moment that no one in the External Wing had anything to do with what happened across the border last night.”
“Which border are you referring to?”
Ashan ran a hand across his clean-shaven face and tried to gauge whether his old friend’s ignorance was real or feigned. The man had become so adept at playing this game that Ashan could no longer tell the difference. He decided to play it straight. “The border to our north.”
“Ah . . . Mr. Rickman. Very unfortunate. I’m surprised you have heard.”
Ashan was used to the constant shots at the capabilities of his department. “Foreign relations is our specialty.”
“How did you learn of it?”
“The embassy. They sent a cable this morning.” Ashan told only half the truth. He’d also spoken with the CIA directly. “The Americans are very upset.”
“I would imagine they are. Mr. Rickman is not someone I would want to lose.”
Ashan turned and glanced out the window. He sensed his friend was playing some kind of game, but he could no longer be sure. They had met thirty-five years ago while he was studying at Oxford and Durrani was at the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst. Back then Durrani was an open book—transparent about his passions and plans. Ashan had always appreciated his honesty and forthright manner. The ISI had slowly turned him into a duplicitous spymaster, however, and Ashan feared there was an ever-deepening divide between them. “Akhtar, I have to ask you something.”
Durrani gave a welcoming smile, signaling for his friend to proceed.
“You will not like this question.”
“People ask me questions every day that I do not like. It is part of my job.”
Ashan watched him light another cigarette and then casually asked, “Do you or any of your people have any information about the kidnapping of Rickman?”
Durrani didn’t answer right away, as he was taking in a deep breath of smoke to make sure the cigarette stayed lit. Only fools had to relight a cigarette. He shook his head and exhaled, saying, “That is a pretty broad question. Could you be more specific?”
“Did you have any knowledge that he was a target?”
“Personally, I had no knowledge.”
“And your people?”
Durrani scoffed. “Why would my people be involved in something so reckless?”
Ashan could come up with a half dozen reasons that would make his point. He was going to let it go, and then something pushed him further than he had gone with his friend in some time. “Maybe you should tell me, since we both know some of your people decided it was a good idea to hide bin Laden from the world. In our own backyard, I should add.”
Durrani’s easy expression hardened. “It has been decided that we are not to discuss that matter.”
Yes, it had been decided. In the embarrassing aftermath of the SEAL team raid, the president and the director general had asked Ashan to investigate any potential involvement by the ISI in aiding bin Laden. A two-star Army general had been ordered to investigate the potential involvement of the armed forces as well. The general had come back with a pathetic report that cleared the military of all involvement. Ashan’s investigation was an entirely different matter. Six intelligence officers were implicated as well as five Army officers and a handful of subordinates, and there were more. Before Ashan could finish his investigation, the director general stepped in and seized all evidence and had it destroyed.
Ashan had been furious, but he was told it was for the good of Pakistan. The director general told him the Americans had penetrated his investigation and were now in possession of information that they could use to blackmail Pakistan into doing their bidding. Ashan knew the answer was a complete fabrication. His investigation was taking him to the doorsteps of some very influential people. He was on the brink of exposing to the world that senior Pakistani officials had harbored the world’s most notorious terrorist. Rather than clean house and admit their mistakes, the president and his senior cabinet members decided to bury the entire matter. Not a single person was punished, and since firing those involved might bring about more speculation, they were allowed to stay in their positions. Ashan found the entire thing infuriating but was left with no recourse except one. He very quietly and carefully passed what he knew on to the Americans.
“Yes, it has been decided that we are not to discuss the matter, but we have always prided ourselves on being realists, and since we are in your office, which we both know to be secure, I see no harm in pointing out that we know for a fact that some of your people are indeed reckless.”
“Don’t be so smug. Your department was implicated as well.”
“Yes.” Ashan nodded. “One reckless moron, and I have done my best to make his life miserable. I have him stuffed down in one of the sublevels digitizing old files. And the five men in your department, how are they faring?”
“How I run my department is my business.”
Ashan took the defensive answer for what it was—an admission that the duplicitous scum still held their old positions. “So now that we’ve established that we have people in our fine organization who would indeed participate in a plan as reckless as kidnapping someone like Joe Rickman, how do you suggest we make sure that none of our people had anything to do with this?”
“I would suggest doing nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Even investigating such a thing will draw the attention of the Americans. I see no reason to open my wing up to more of their accusations when I am confident that my people had nothing to do with this. Afghanistan is a rough place, as the Americans have found out. They should have gone home a long time ago.”
