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Kennedy brushed her dark hair behind her ear and leaned back into the sofa. Taj’s story explained his forthrightness. The operation against Durrani was highly professional and he had been unable to identify Kassar’s accomplice. He would have no choice but to consider the possibility that the CIA had been involved and that she already knew about Durrani’s plot. Better to confess and place the blame on a dead man than be caught in a lie that could implicate the entire ISI.
“Can I also assume that the men who were killed in Switzerland were ISI assets?”
“Yes,” Taj said, looking increasingly miserable. “Durrani’s men. They were interested in the banker Leo Obrecht, who, as you know, seems to have been deeply involved in what was happening. The one who escaped was Kassar. We are trying to find him but so far have had no luck.”
It was an unlucky streak that would continue. She had Kassar. He’d declined her job offer, opting instead for a new identity, a U.S. passport, and enough money to start a new life.
“What information did Rickman provide Durrani before their deaths? Was there anything beyond what we saw in the video?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea. All the computers were missing from Durrani’s house. I assume taken by Kassar and his man. An exhaustive search of his home turned up nothing of interest. Currently we’re working on his Internet usage, bank accounts, and known associates. Rest assured that we’re doing everything possible to dissect Durrani’s plan and determine whether he passed sensitive information to any of his people. I’m not aware of any additional revelations since their deaths and my assumption is that Rickman’s knowledge was limited to your network in Afghanistan. My hope is that this incident is behind us.”
Kennedy sat quietly on the sofa. Unfortunately his hopes and her own would be dashed. Rickman’s genius and years in the clandestine services had left him with knowledge far beyond his theater of operation. And the situation with Sitting Bull suggested that at least some of that knowledge had made its way into the wrong hands.
“I appreciate your forthrightness, Ahmed.”
“We understand the seriousness of this situation and acknowledge the friendship you’ve showed our country. We are entirely to blame for this incident and can only hope you understand that both I and President Chutani are doing everything we can to mitigate the damage.”
She decided to ignore what was undoubtedly meant as an apology, instead changing the subject.
“And Qayem?”
Lieutenant General Abdul Rauf Qayem had ordered an attack on Mitch Rapp that had led to the death of one of Rapp’s men as well as twenty-one Afghan police officers.
“We’re trying to locate him, but it will be difficult. My understanding is that he believes your Mr. Rapp is hunting him and because of that, he has fled to the mountains.”
Taj’s information paralleled her own. Rapp had Commander Abdul Siraj Zahir of the Afghan police looking for the man, but Zahir reported that the general had disappeared into the hinterland and abandoned all electronic communication. Of course, Zahir was a sadistic psychopath who had changed sides in the Afghan conflict more times than anyone could count, so who could say for certain?
“My problem, Ahmed, is that the Afghan police are blaming Mitch for attacking their men without provocation. Can I assume you’ll use your network to set the record straight? The rumors and animosity are making it difficult for my people to do their jobs.”
“Of course. We’ll begin spreading that message immediately.”
She doubted that was true but, at a minimum, his failure to grant her request would be something she could use against the ISI in their future dealings.
“I’d like to make something very clear—” Kennedy started but then fell silent when the door to Taj’s office opened. When she caught a glimpse of the man in the threshold, she immediately rose to her feet.
Taj did the same, but didn’t seem to share her surprise.
“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure,” President Saad Chutani said, shaking Kennedy’s hand and then indicating toward the sofa. “Please accept my apologies for intruding.”
She lowered herself back into the cushions. “No apologies necessary, Mr. President. I’m honored.”
Chutani was a head taller than his intelligence chief and seemed to dominate the man in every way.
“I don’t have much time, but I wanted to personally reaffirm my confidence in Ahmed.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
Chutani slapped him on the back, seemingly unaware that he’d spoken. “Could you excuse us for a moment? I’d like to speak privately with Director Kennedy.”
“Of course, sir.”
They both watched Taj retreat across his own office and close the door. When he was gone, Chutani took a seat across from Kennedy and appraised her. The intensity of his stare was both impressive and unsurprising. He’d been one of the country’s top generals for years before entering politics. Somewhat unusual for Pakistan, he had become president through an election and not a coup. Since then, he’d managed to marginalize the country’s prime minister and Parliament, gathering
more and more authority for his office. In many ways, he had become little more than a dictator, but as pro-American a dictator as could be reasonably hoped for in this part of the world.
Kennedy just sat quietly. Some of the most powerful people in the world had tried to stare her down, and she found it was best not to react. Politicians were creatures controlled by passion and it was most effective to quietly absorb that energy without actually giving ground.
“I’d like to extend my personal apologies to you and to ask you to relate that to President Alexander.”
