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Taj leaned forward and stabbed out his cigarette. “The president called me just before you arrived. I’m sorry, there’s no other way to say this. He wants you sacked.”
The words drifted over him as Ashan attempted to process the finality of it all. His jaw hung loose and he asked, “Just like that . . . after more than thirty years of honorable service?”
“This is bigger than you . . . it’s bigger than us . . . it’s bigger than the ISI. It’s my hope that you will be proven guiltless of all charges, but the president wants action now. We need to look strong. We cannot afford to look like America’s puppet.”
“At least let him step down on his own,” Durrani said. “Let him make a statement. We could even spin it in our favor. He could say that for the sake of clarity he is going to step down. And then he can say something about an American plot to interfere with the sovereignty of Pakistan.”
Ashan was having an out-of-body experience. He watched Taj shake his head and say, “The president is adamant. He wants him fired this morning. I’m sorry it has to be this way, Nadeem. For what it’s worth, I think you are a good and honorable man. I’m sorry, but you and the rest of your family will be placed under house arrest until the investigation is over.”
Ashan stood, without saying a word. He suddenly felt as if he was going to be sick. He left Taj’s office to find a half dozen men in uniform waiting. Arguing would be useless. If the president were involved there would be no fighting his dismissal. He did not understand how his life had been so thoroughly upended. As he walked down the hall surrounded by the men, he told himself to remain calm. There would be time to figure out what had happened, and, he hoped, to discover who was behind this.
CHAPTER 51
RAPPAHANNOCK COUNTY, VIRGINIA
RAPP and Hurley reviewed the file. Nash, Schneeman, and Coleman had done the bulk of the interrogations, with Lewis providing a brief psychological evaluation. Gould had been very uncooperative, repeating the same things over and over and insisting that he was done talking to anyone other than Rapp. It was total bullshit. The two veterans could smell it from a mile away. Gould was weaving partial truths with outright lies in an effort to hold on to some negotiating chip. From Rapp’s perspective none of it mattered. The only negotiating chip that would work with Rapp was the truth.
Unlike the transcripts, which were worthless, the surveillance footage of Rapp that had been shot by Gould before the assassination proved rather interesting. It took just two viewings for Rapp and Hurley to see what had spooked Gould. Someone with less field experience would have missed it. Hurley and Rapp were so attuned to the normal rhythms of a street that the two men jumped out at them.
Rapp took the steps to the basement and hit the buzzer on the metal door. They turned their heads skyward for the camera, and then when he heard the buzz of the lock Rapp opened the door. The room was rectangular, with two large viewing windows for each cell. Gould was in the cell on the left and the one on the right was unoccupied. Big Joe Maslick was sitting at the control desk.
“How’s it going, Joe?” Rapp asked.
“Boring as shit. What’s with the Zurich trip . . . did I get bumped?”
“Not my call, Joe. Sorry . . . Irene’s running the show.”
“Is it my shoulder?” Maslick moved his arm around. “It’s fine . . . just a little scratch.”
Rapp knew that wasn’t true. Maslick had been shot at the veterinary clinic in Kabul. Kennedy had told Rapp the doctors were nervous that there might be some nerve damage, but they wouldn’t know until he’d completed at least another month of physical therapy. The bigger concern was that his best friend Mick Reavers had been killed in the same attack. Lewis wanted to make sure Maslick was coping before they sent him back out in the field.
“You’ll have to bring it up with Kennedy.” Rapp took the file in his hand and pointed at Gould’s cell. “What’s he up to?”
“Nothing.” Maslick rocked back in his chair. “He keeps asking to see you. It’d drive me nuts if it wasn’t for the fact that the prick probably saved our lives.”
“How do you mean?”
“For starters, he could have plugged you the second you stepped out of the vehicle, back in Kabul. After that . . . once the shooting started,” Maslick said, shaking his head, “he kept those dogs at bay. If he hadn’t been up on the roof with me . . . we would have been fucked.”
“You
been talking to him?” Rapp asked while he pointed at Gould, who was lying on his bed.
“No . . . not really.”
“Keep it that way. What’s the status on the video and audio?”
“It’s on.”
“Take ’em both off-line.”
Maslick looked uncomfortable. “Sorry, but Irene said she wants everything recorded.”
Rapp was pissed. “Come on!”
“She was adamant, Mitch. She told me you’d want it turned off and that under no circumstances was I to allow that. She also said you need to check your guns.”
Turning to Hurley, Rapp said, “What the hell?”
