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“I’ve been told to take you to the side gate,” the man said. Rapp didn’t recognize him but the young agent’s nervousness suggested he knew exactly who he was dealing with. Coleman and Rapp followed along, keeping their heads down and managing not to attract any attention. Just two more Americans in dark suits patrolling the area.
Rapp studied the security in the palace courtyard as they skirted the fence. It was understated in an effort to seem welcoming to Sunny Wicka’s delegation, but still solid. The fence itself was only about six feet tall, with bars eight inches apart. Easily climbable, but with the firepower in the area, it was unlikely that anyone trying would still be recognizable as human when they hit the ground on the other side.
They found Jack Warch standing with his back against the bars, scanning the area in a calculated pattern. The retired Secret Service -assistant director would have to be close to sixty now, Rapp knew. Backlit the way he was, fine details were impossible to pick out, but it was obvious he had a lot less hair and a lot more midsection than he’d had during his days protecting the president.
“The private sector’s made you fat,” Rapp said as they approached. Their escort peeled off and headed for the main gate without a word.
“And the Agency’s made you crazy if you think you’re just waltzing into my operation like this. Bad things happen when you’re around, Mitch.”
No one shook hands. It might seem suspicious to anyone watching. Warch did give a nod to Coleman, though. They’d known each other for years.
“Chutani’s going to be poisoned,” Rapp said simply.
Warch remained silent for a moment, processing what he’d just heard. “How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Who’s making the move?”
“Taj.”
Warch’s expression turned skeptical. “My ass. He can barely get out of his own way. That’s why Chutani put him in as head of the ISI.”
Rapp just stared at him.
“All right. Fine. I only have authority over U.S. security but I’ll talk to my counterpart on the Pakistani side. I’m not sure he trusts me but he’ll listen to a potential threat. Do you know how it’s going to go down?”
“I might.”
“Give me the details then. That should help.”
“We’re not getting him involved, Jack. You and I are going to handle this.”
“Yeah, Irene told me you’d say something like that. Listen, Mitch. Security is wall-to-wall and there’s a lot of tension on both sides. Basically, you’ve got a powder keg ready to go off, and what I don’t need is you going in there throwing matches.”
“I’ve always liked and respected you, Jack, but right now I don’t care what you think. Get me inside. And do it now.”
Warch hesitated for a moment and then reached into his pocket. Rapp assumed the man wouldn’t do anything stupid but crossed his arms in a way that brought his hand closer to his weapon inside his jacket. There was too much at stake to take chances.
When the former Secret Service man’s hand reappeared, it held a laminated badge. “This guy looks as much like you as anyone I have. I’ve pulled him and you’re going to take his place.” He glanced at Coleman. “I’m sorry, Scott. You’d stand out like a sore thumb in there. I don’t have any blond guys.”
“Mitch—” Coleman protested.
“Go back to the car and keep your eye on Drake. Make sure he doesn’t lose his nerve and take off.”
“The car? Shouldn’t I be closer? I can cover—”
“Not up for discussion, Scott. If this goes right, I’m going to walk out the main gate. If it goes wrong there’s nothing you or anyone else is going to be able to do for me.”
Rapp glanced down at the badge, noting the name, and then hung it around his neck. “Let’s go, Jack.”
They walked to a heavily guarded service entrance where Warch cut left and went around the metal detector. He lectured Rapp about some imaginary screwup loud enough that everyone understood they were together and angrily enough that no one dared interrupt. When they were out of earshot of the checkpoint, Warch lowered his voice and looked down at the ground to obscure his lips from anyone watching through a scope.
“We’re in a shoot first, ask questions later environment, Mitch. With the terrorist shit storm going on in this country, Chutani’s made it clear that this dinner is to go off without a hitch. If it doesn’t, his security people and their families are going to end up in a hole somewhere. Every finger on every trigger is shaking as near as I can tell.”
“Where does that leave your guys?”
“We have a fairly free hand. The head of Chutani’s security knows that having us here can’t do anything but help him. Best case he’s got a bunch of extra guns. Worst case he’s got a scapegoat.”
