AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Despite that, the ISI director threw the door open and stepped onto the running board, not bothering to acknowledge his man’s concerns.
“May I send a team with you, sir?”
“No.”
The skies were typically clear and a group of men encircling him could draw the attention of American satellites. Accord
ing to his intelligence, the CIA was still ignorant of this and nineteen similar properties scattered across Pakistan. In light of the extreme challenges associated with building and maintaining them, he wasn’t anxious to jeopardize that ignorance.
The army had managed to regain the appearance of normalcy with workmanlike speed. The massive hole in the fence to the east of the gate had been strung with wire in a way that, while not secure, would obscure the fact that a truck full of explosives had struck it just before dawn. A second weaponized vehicle had failed to detonate and was resting on its side barely ten meters from the building’s main entrance. Now covered with camouflage netting, it would be invisible from above.
The bodies of the nine guards and sixteen Taliban fighters who died in the attack had been dragged inside and would be hidden within a shipment of fabrics when the convoy left. Even bloodstains and burn marks had been eradicated—covered with fresh dirt before the sun had fully cleared the horizon.
Taj slipped through a gap in the damaged fence, paying no attention to a soldier hidden in a stack of discarded pipes. The army sniper would have been made aware of his arrival.
Taj passed through a rusted door in the side of the building and found himself in a dilapidated office that stunk of the chemicals used on the factory floor. The man sitting behind the only desk wore the threadbare shirt and tie of a factory manager but was in fact the special forces officer in charge of security. He averted his eyes in well-deserved shame for what had happened and pressed a hidden button near his leg. The lock on the door across the room buzzed and Taj pushed through it.
The shop floor contained little to dispel the illusion of a legitimate factory. Workers manned a variety of industrial machines and massive plastic-wrapped bolts of fabric were stacked around the walls. It would take a well-trained eye to see the irregularities in the concrete floor that hid four of Pakistan’s 117 nuclear warheads.
These in particular were attached to Shaheen 1A ballistic missiles developed with the help of the North Koreans. They were currently Pakistan’s most technologically advanced, with a range of almost two thousand kilometers and the rudimentary ability to evade missile defense systems.
The building’s sloped roof was attached with explosive bolts that, when detonated, would cause the entire assembly to slide away. This would allow the missiles to be raised and launched within minutes of an attack order.
Ironically, much of the money for this structure came from the Americans. They were so fearful that terrorists might gain access to a WMD that they were willing to pump nearly unlimited funds into Pakistan’s nuclear program. All the U.S. politicians asked in return was that the army maintain the illusion of improved security.
The phone in his pocket began to vibrate and he glanced around him before picking up. The workers were taking great pains to ignore his presence.
“Go ahead,” he said, inserting a Bluetooth headset into his ear.
“You requested an update before I got on the plane to Rome,” Kabir Gadai said, his voice barely audible over the noise of the machinery.
He was on his way to convince Isabella Accorso to turn over the computer files her law firm had received from Joseph Rickman.
“Quickly,” Taj said, continuing toward a door on the far side of the expansive building.
“Per your instructions, Obrecht is running ads in all the major newspapers worldwide as well as the agreed-upon websites and magazines. He’s also left encrypted messages in all the predetermined drop sites. So far no response.”
Disappointing, but in no way surprising. It was certain that the CIA had captured Louis Gould, but no information was available on his fate. Based on the assassin’s history with Mitch Rapp, it was very possible that he was dead.
Kennedy was a clever female, though. She would be desperate to capture Obrecht and the most promising strategy would be to offer Gould his life in return for assistance. That presented an opportunity for getting rid of Rapp.
“We’re prepared to deal with an attack on Obrecht’s property, then?” Taj asked.
“Yes. Though he’s lodged endless complaints about being used as bait.”
Taj was forced to step aside to let a front loader pass. Obrecht was less than nothing. A criminal who fed off the excitement of his debauched lifestyle but only if the risks were laid at the feet of others.
“I assume you’ve offered him money to put his mind at ease.”
“Among other things.”
“And the American and British guards have been replaced?”
“Yes, sir. With men who have no history with the CIA or U.S. military, and no love for America in general. All experienced.”
“If anything should go wrong, it will be time to deal with Obrecht. Under no circumstances is he to fall into Mitch Rapp’s hands.”
“It would be a shame to lose him,” Gadai said. “He’s become very useful. But understood.”
