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“It’s pretty obvious that you have a habit of killing the people you work with.”
“That is an exaggeration.”
“Not really, so the fact that I took a few precautions is just common sense. It’s not particularly smart.”
Taj reached for his keyboard and shut down the recording, returning it to its encrypted folder. There were hundreds of hours of audio from the listening devices in Durrani’s home, and he’d allowed no one—not even his personal assistant, Kabir Gadai—to listen to them. In the intelligence business, the control of knowledge was all.
While there was a great deal of interesting information on the tapes, this brief passage was by far the most critical. When he’d first heard it, he’d thought Rickman’s threat was entirely credible and immediately began looking into law firms the man could have used. Now he had confirmation that his investigation had been worthwhile. That very morning Taj had received proof that Rickman was telling Durrani the truth about his “insurance policy.”
The ISI’s network had picked up chatter about an email Rickman sent to the FSB exposing a high-level agent stationed in Istanbul. This had been confirmed by a rendition attempt thwarted by Mitch Rapp that left two Russians dead. Most critically, the email had been sent after Rickman’s death.
Taj smiled thinly. It was hard not to appreciate the man’s brilliance. From beyond the grave, he would set fire after fire, running Kennedy and her people ragged. It was a plan that had gotten off to a rousing start. Even if that whore prostrated herself in front of the director of the FSB, the already tense relations between America and Russia would further worsen. There was little doubt that plans for reprisals were in the works at the Kremlin.
It was tempting to just let Rickman’s strategy play out. To sit on the sidelines and watch the CIA blow itself apart. Tempting, but impossible.
Rickman’s plan for revenge against his former employer was akin to an IED—powerful, but indiscriminate. If Taj could possess the -information—particularly if he could do so without Kennedy knowing—it could be tra
nsformed from an explosive to a scalpel. With it, he would not only ferret out every traitor in his own government, but co-opt the Americans’ entire network. Under the threat of exposure, he could quietly turn the CIA’s most sensitive assets and monitor or kill the others. Critical spies they believed to be loyal would in fact be working for the ISI. They would provide him with an endless stream of information about U.S. intelligence efforts while feeding back a carefully formulated mix of truth and lies. He wouldn’t just blind the world’s most powerful spy agency, he would enslave it.
Kabir Gadai was personally leading the team trying to track the law firm Rickman had spoken of but the task had proved difficult. The CIA man hid his activities with incredible care and also created countless false trails, each of which had to be diligently followed. Now that he was dead, though, Rickman’s maze had stopped expanding. The picture began to clear.
There was a knock on the door, and Taj took off his headphones before closing the laptop on his desk.
“Come.”
Kabir Gadai strode in and closed the door behind him. Most people were unaware that they were second cousins, and looking at them would offer no hint of the relationship. Gadai was good-looking, well dressed, and outwardly accomplished. He was truly devoted to his three gifted sons and portrayed the necessary fondness for his daughter. His wife was beautiful and charming but, more important, willing to overlook his extramarital affairs in return for a life of privilege. It was an immoral lifestyle that Taj had learned to tolerate in light of -Gadai’s competence and loyalty.
Of course, like all men, Gadai had weaknesses. While his infidelity was problematic, his egocentric need for those around him to be aware of his accomplishments was far worse. Taj excused it as the exuberance of youth, but until Gadai matured, he would have to be watched with extra care.
“Do you have news about Rickman’s attorney?”
They had traced the Sitting Bull information dump to the general area of Rome, but that left hundreds of individual firms to investigate.
Gadai laid a dossier on Taj’s desk and the ISI director opened it. He immediately recognized the name of the Italian law firm.
“We already looked into them, no? They were helping Rickman create anonymous financial trusts with money he’d siphoned off from the CIA’s Afghanistan operation. To benefit his children, if I recall correctly.”
“You do,” Gadai said. “After we confirmed that his connection with the firm related to personal affairs, we moved on.”
Taj felt his grudging admiration for the CIA man grow further. More of Rickman’s complex web. He hadn’t hidden his personal activity as carefully as he could have, calculating that anyone who found the firm he used would assume that it wouldn’t also be involved in his plot against the Agency.
“Then you have him? You know the identity of the lawyer?” Taj said, trying to keep his voice even despite the excitement he felt.
“I’m afraid it isn’t that easy, Ahmed. It’s a very large firm, and Rickman didn’t use the same lawyer that he used for the trusts.”
“What about the managing partner? Can we interrogate him?”
“He’s a very public and very well-connected man in Italy. Also, I very much doubt he would know anything. While we understand the importance of the files, this arrangement would be unremarkable to the firm. Essentially just a schedule of electronic documents to be sent if certain criteria are met. It’s unlikely the attorney handling the details would even know that his client is dead. And it’s almost certain that he would be in the dark as to the contents of the files.”
This time, Rickman had displayed his cleverness by taking a page out of Taj’s own book. Make everything too commonplace to attract attention. It was infuriating. He was within a hair’s breadth of closing his fist around Irene Kennedy’s delicate throat.
“So, you’re telling me that we have to investigate hundreds of individual lawyers whose careers are predicated on confidentiality in hopes that they left some clue about a client they never met? That’s unacceptable, Kabir.”
The younger man smiled, his eyes shining with an arrogant light that Taj was very familiar with. Gadai knew something but had withheld it for effect.
“Don’t make me wait, Kabir. I’ve indulged your sense of drama in the past, but my patience is at its end.”
“My apologies, Director. Our research suggests that this firm has a dedicated division that handles these kinds of arrangements—-scheduling, payments, requests for information, notifications . . .”
