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“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.”
Taj smiled warmly as they shook hands. “I’m glad you approve.”
“And I have to say that the security is impressive. They can’t even keep people from climbing over the White House fence in my country.”
He was speaking loudly enough to be overheard by people around them and Taj made sure his response was sufficiently diplomatic. “Your Secret Service is to be given a great deal of credit for what you see, Senator. My men have felt privileged to work with them.”
Ferris frowned and looked around him at the dark-suited men blending in near the walls. Most were American, with much of the Pakistani detail doubling as waitstaff. Jack Warch, the consultant who had been so much trouble, was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Gadai had overestimated the man’s diligence.
“At least you don’t have to deal with the CIA. I’m telling you, it’s one screwup after another. We could use a man like you to straighten it out.”
Implausibly, the idiot’s voice had grown even louder. A man and woman Taj didn’t recognize glanced inquisitively in their direction. Ferris was unquestionably a destructive force, but there was no telling from one moment to another what kind. Taj had hoped to use him as a scalpel to slowly slice at America’s heart. Based on his recent behavior, though, his destiny might be more as an indiscriminate bludgeon. Less effective, but still blessedly ruinous if enough force was applied.
“The world has become a complex and chaotic place, Senator. I’m glad to be heading a much more modest organization. I wouldn’t want to be in Director Kennedy’s position.”
“Too bad,” Ferris said, swilling his drink. “Because if I have anything to do with it, there’ll be a job opening soon.”
Taj put a hand of Ferris’s back and nudged him toward the knot of people surrounding Sunny Wicka and the president. “I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting your secretary of state. Perhaps you would introduce us.”
“Sure. Why not?”
“You go ahead, Senator. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Ferris forced himself into the group and immediately hijacked the conversation while Taj found the head of Pakistan’s security detail. “Rearrange the place cards so Ferris is next to me.”
The man nodded and Taj returned to the senator’s side. He would have to keep a close watch on the man while he was in Pakistan. It would be impossible to deliver this half-wit to the White House if he couldn’t get through a simple state dinner without compromising himself.
CHAPTER 60
THE Secret Service man was waiting in the shadows of a well-manicured stand of trees. Five hundred yards beyond, the presidential palace was lit up in yellow, green, and white. Pakistani special forces were everywhere, clad in dress uniforms but armed with automatic weapons that were in no way ceremonial. In addition to the tank Rapp had seen earlier, there were no fewer than five armored vehicles within view—three of which had mounted guns.
