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“Only briefly.”
“Do you buy his story?”
Coleman let out a small laugh that said what he thought of the question. “I’m not sure I believe a thing that comes out of that guy’s mouth. What does Mike say?” Nash and another CIA interrogator had been tag-teaming Gould since the night before, trying to sort through his lies.
“He says progress is slow. I’m going over there in a minute. Gould doesn’t know it but I have some leverage on him. He’ll tell us what we need to know and then some.”
“If we can find out who hired him . . . everything might fall into place.”
“It would be nice if it were that easy, but I’m guessing there are some firewalls in place that are going to make that very difficult.”
“Probably, but he might be able to point us in the right direction.”
“I’m counting on it.” Kennedy closed her eyes briefly and then said, “You lost a man?”
Coleman wore the fateful memory on his face. “Yeah . . . one of my best.”
“Mick Reavers.”
“That’s right.”
Kennedy could tell Coleman had some emotions that he hadn’t yet begun to deal with. She looked away and said, “Through back channels I’ve made it very clear that I want his body back by the end of the day.”
“I appreciate that.” Coleman looked across the room for a second and stared at a poster of an A-10 Warthog. “He never had a chance. They shot him before he even got his weapon up.”
It wasn’t often that Kennedy allowed herself to get pissed off, and it was even more rare for her to show it. She supposed she was filling the void left by both Rapp and Hurley. “Scott, I want to make something clear. We are not going to allow this crap to go unchallenged. I’ve got more shooters on the way over and within twenty-four hours I am going to have some targets for you. We’re going to find General Qayem. It might not be this week or the following, but you are going to find him and you are going to kill him. Do you understand me?”
Coleman nodded. “That’s what I was hoping you were going to say.”
“And by the time we’re done, my guess is there’s going to be a few more names added to our list.”
CHAPTER 24
INTER-SERVICES INTELLIGENCE HQ, ISLAMABAD, PAKISTAN
ASHAN had been summoned to the director general’s office, and he thought he knew why. His people had informed him of the developments across the border. Not only was Rickman gone, but another operative in Jalalabad had gone missing and there had been an attempt on Mitch Rapp’s life. As the deputy general of the Foreign Relations Wing, the only thing that surprised Ashan was that he hadn’t heard directly from the Americans. Even so, he had directed his people in both Jalalabad and Kabul to aid their counterparts from the CIA.
The ISI was an extremely controvers
ial yet influential part of the Pakistani government. In recent years there had been pressure to make the intelligence agency more accountable. Parliament had decided that the best way to avoid future scandal would be to make sure the head of the spy agency wasn’t anyone too special. In other words, they wanted someone they could control. They found just the person in Air Force General Ahmed Taj. Taj’s career in the Air Force had been spent almost entirely in supply and logistics. He had both a fondness and an aptitude for moving men and equipment from point A to point B.
Ashan had noticed this some time ago, as it seemed that nearly every time he was called to Taj’s office he was ordered to get on a plane and go somewhere. When he’d been informed of the meeting, he called his wife and asked her to pack a bag for him just in case. The office of the director general was decadent. The space was nearly as big as a tennis court. The walls and ceiling were covered in a deep brown rosewood paneling and there were three granite fireplaces. Most of the walls were covered with bookcases, but there had been updates that included several large flat-screen monitors tastefully concealed behind tapestries.
Ashan was five minutes early and was irritated to find his friend General Durrani seated and sharing tea with their boss. It was just like Durrani to arrive early in an attempt to reform and dictate the agenda. The room was divided into three parts. To the far left was the director general’s mammoth desk, a map table, and four chairs. The middle of the room was dominated by a conference table for sixteen. The most Ashan had ever seen at the table were six people. To the right was a sitting area. A massive leather couch that could seat six was centered on the fireplace. Two more couches framed the area around a large glass coffee table.
Taj greeted Ashan and asked him if he’d like some tea. Ashan graciously accepted and sat by himself on one of the shorter couches. He accepted his tea and saucer with both hands and placed it on the glass tabletop. He would very much like to know what the two men had been discussing, but would never want to seem so desperate. Besides, there was a good chance it would be revealed during the course of their conversation.
“How are things in Foreign Relations?” Taj asked.
Ashan was pleased to see that in a break from his predecessors, Taj was dressed in a light gray suit as opposed to his military uniform. “We’re getting along.”
“Good. So,” said Taj, picking up his cup of tea and taking a sip, “I assume you’ve been following the recent developments in Afghanistan.”
“I have.”
“Any thoughts?” Taj was less than average in height, and sitting by himself in the middle of the massive couch gave him kind of a childlike appearance.
Ashan hated such open-ended questions. Especially when there was likely an agenda or at least a formed opinion behind it. His job was to offer his insights to the director general, so he took in a short breath and pushed ahead. “It appears, at least from a timing standpoint, that someone has decided to launch an operation against our American friends.”
