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“Do you have the house secure?”
“Yes. We have touched nothing.”
“Good.” After a long pause, the American said, “Send me those photos and then I will call you back in five minutes with instructions.”
“Yes, but I can promise you it is them.”
“And I can promise you, if you’re lying to me or this is some kind of trap, you’re as good as dead.”
“I would never do such a thing.”
“Really,” the American said in a disbelieving voice. “You know General Qayem?”
Zahir cringed. This was the last man he wanted to be compared with. “Yes.”
“You heard what happened in Kabul the other day with your fellow police officers?”
“Yes. We are all deeply ashamed.”
“Spare me the bullshit, Commander. I was there. They tried to ambush us. We lost one man before we even knew we were in a fight. After that it was just four of us against all of those cops. It didn’t turn out so well for them. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think I understand,” Zahir said, turning away from one of his officers who was trying to get his attention.
“I’m not so sure you do. The point is, thanks to General Qayem we’re a little itchy with our trigger fingers right now, and when we come to see you we’ll be traveling with a lot more than four people.”
“Mr. Harry,” Zahir said with a sigh, “I am many things, but I am not stupid. I know you will hunt down General Qayem like a dog, and he will pay for his treachery. I do not want you as my enemy. I do not want the U.S. as my enemy.”
“You’re saying all the right things, Abdul, which makes me nervous. Don’t fuck with me.”
“I will not fuck with you, Mr. Harry.”
“Send me the photos, and I’ll be in contact.”
The line went dead and Zahir stared down at his phone cursing the modern technology that enabled the Americans to track him. They’d known where he was. He looked skyward again in search of one of their drones. He thought he could hear a faint hum but he couldn’t be sure. That was another effect of the Americans’ air campaign. The psychological stress could be overwhelming. The fear that there was a drone circling above, out of sight, tracking your every move, was incredibly disruptive. Add to that the awareness that there was some man in a trailer thousands of miles away following you with targeting crosshairs, just waiting for the green light to press a button and end your life. Zahir had seen it drive men mad, and as he continued to search the sky for the Predator he understood how easily it could happen.
CHAPTER 38
BAGRAM AIR BASE, AFGHANISTAN
HEADACHES were rare for Kennedy. She’d already had two cups of coffee and popped two Excedrin but it didn’t matter, the nagging buzz in her left temple persisted. Trying to diagnose why it had come on wouldn’t do her any good, but it wasn’t Ashan’s fault. Nadeem was a pleasant man who had been a fair partner in the War on Terror. The same, unfortunately, couldn’t be said of most of his colleagues at Pakistani Inter-Services Intelligence. Maybe that was the reason for this rare headache. Ashan had picked up on it immediately. Kennedy had a reputation as unflappable. In times of calm or crisis she always maintained her composure.
The steady demeanor she was known for made her pained expression all the more obvious.
“Are you sure you are okay?” Ashan asked.
Kennedy removed her hand from her forehead and, although she was wincing in pain, said, “I’ll be fine.” She looked around the table and was not comforted by the concerned expressions on both Nash’s and Schneeman’s faces. The two deputies whom Ashan had brought along seemed unfazed.
Nash leaned over and quietly offered, “Take a break. I’ll handle it until you get back.”
It was a nice offer, but one that Kennedy wasn’t about to take. “See if you can find me a couple of Excedrin or Extra-Strength Tylenol. And a bottle of water, please.” She watched Nash leave and forced herself to put on a smile. She thought Ashan might understand the monumental pressure. The Rickman problem was getting bigger every hour. After the posting of the video, she had been called by the head of every allied intelligence agency. They all wanted to know their level of exposure. It was common to share assets, especially with the British, and although the agreement might be for only one person at the Agency to know the identity of their spy, say in Budapest, it was not irrational to wonder if that person had told other colleagues at the CIA. Kennedy assured all of them that Rickman had not been read in on any of their assets. While technically correct, the statement in a more broad sense was false. God only knew what Rickman had picked up over the years.
The man’s memory was well known. He forgot nothing, which was a great advantage until he ended up in the hands of the enemy. It was very possible that Rickman knew the code names and directorates where many of these spies worked. He also knew what information had been passed along. A skilled interrogation team could take that information and over a month or so reconstruct the damage that had been done and come up with a small list of potential traitors.
Beyond the intelligence heads, Stofer had called to report that their case officers were getting deluged with extraction requests from their assets, men and women from all over Europe, the Middle East, and Southeast Asia, who had seen the coverage of the CIA clandestine officer breaking under the harsh interrogation. They were part of the game in the most real way. The Pakistani foreign minister’s residence was now surrounded by the Pakistani Army and it was reported that he was under house arrest. It was easy enough for these assets to imagine themselves in a similar situation, but for nearly all of them it would be much worse. They would be dragged from their houses, or more likely apartments, and thrown into a dark cell where they would be brutalized by men with gorilla-like forearms who reeked of cigarettes. It might sound a bit melodramatic, but for these lonely souls, who were on their own, the fear was well founded.
“Director Kennedy,” Ashan said, “on behalf of the ISI, I would like to say how sorry we are about Mr. Rickman, and if there is anything we can do to help, please ask.”
“Thank you, Nadeem. I’ve told you before, please call me Irene.”
