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“And who sent us these?”
“They’re a peace offering from Ahmed Taj.”
Rapp threw the eight-by-tens back onto her desk in disgust. “Amazing how quickly he was able to track Qayem down when it was suddenly in his best interest.”
“I don’t think we should jump—”
“Where were they?”
“He says his people caught up with them in a small village in Afghanistan.”
“And the ISI went in personally instead of calling in a drone?”
“He said they wanted to take Qayem alive so he could be questioned.”
“That worked out well,” Rapp said sarcastically. “Ten bucks says Qayem knew too much. Maybe it wasn’t just Durrani who ordered that hit on me. Maybe it went higher and people at the ISI didn’t want me to catch up with him.”
“It’s something I’ve considered.”
“Well, then I’ve got another ten bucks that says he was inside Pakistan. Probably Lahore. The S Wing is moving more and more terrorists into the cities to give them cover from our air strikes. About all that’s left in the countryside are the groups that they can’t get a handle on. We kill the people who are a danger to them and then they publish pictures of the aftermath to whip up anti-American sentiment.”
“Ahmed and President Chutani are trying to get control of the ISI.”
“And I’m supposed to feel good about that?”
She held up a hand. “Right now the only thing that matters is that, for better or for worse, Qayem is dead. That leaves Leo Obrecht as our only window into the Rickman situation.”
“So?”
He knew that Kennedy could have just emailed those images to the Farm. But she hadn’t. That meant she had something on her mind other than Qayem. Something that demanded a face-to-face meeting. It wasn’t hard to guess what it was.
She reached for a mug at the edge of her desk and took a sip from it. Twinings Earl Grey, he knew from the dossier he’d created on her when he was just starting out. When she was under a lot of stress, she went with the decaf version.
“Where do you stand with Louis Gould, Mitch?”
“I haven’t killed him yet, if that’s what you mean.”
“Do you think he can help you get to Obrecht?”
“I don’t know.”
“But he’s good. Even by your standards, yes?”
Rapp didn’t answer.
She held the cup in both hands as though she was trying to warm them. “I’m sorry, Mitch. I don’t want to have this conversation any more than you. But if we don’t do something, the situation is going to get worse. Good people are going to die.”
“He’s a sociopath, Irene. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone but himself.”
“Sometimes sociopaths aren’t that difficult to control. You just give them what they want.”
“Yeah. But what exactly is that?”
“His life? To be returned to his family?”
Rapp wasn’t so sure, but he’d already decided he had no alternative to bringing Gould in on this. What he was in no mood for, though, was sitting around the seventh floor talking about it. He stood and started for the door.
“I’m going down to see Marcus. If you get anything else from Rickman, you know how to reach me.”
