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“It’s what we feared. Rickman is randomizing his methods to keep us off balance. This time he made sure we wouldn’t have time to intervene.”
“That piece of shit Charlie Plimpton’s not going to let us make a move as long as Safavi’s on British soil. The Iranians are going to have to get him back to Tehran, though. It’s possible that we could intercept the plane.”
“I’ve talked to the president and he says no. He’s been working to thaw the relationship between the U.S. and Iran since he took office, and this is a big enough setback as it is. Interfering with their flight would put us on a war footing.”
“So I’m just supposed to do nothing so we can make sure no one’s political career gets bruised?”
“I’m sorry, Mitch. There’s nothing I can do.”
“I don’t want to hear that, Irene. Rick’s just getting warmed up. He’s going to bleed us until there’s nothing left.”
“I might have some good news on that front. Can you get to Rome?”
“Why?”
“Mike’s already on the way. He can brief you.”
“I don’t like it, Irene. Istanbul. London. Now Rome. Rick’s leading us around on a leash. We can’t afford to keep reacting. We need to get ahead of this.”
“You ask me to trust you. Now I’m asking you to trust me.”
He glanced upward as the rain started coming down harder. “Italy.”
“I’ll let Mike know you’re on your way. Oh, and Mitch?”
“What?”
“Let him do the talking, okay?”
CHAPTER 39
ISLAMABAD
PAKISTAN
BUT, sir, I—”
“Shut up and listen!” Saad Chutani shouted.
Taj cradled the phone handset between his ear and shoulder as Pakistan’s president continued his rant. Of course it was necessary to provide the occasional frightened grunt or affirmation to indicate his rapt attention, but in reality he was scrolling through his email.
“I want this journalistic hack silenced, do you understand? I will not have distortions and lies spread by our newspapers.”
Four days ago, the Pakistani Taliban had attacked a girls’ school that Chutani heavily supported. In fact, he had personally attended its opening, hailing it as the foundation of a new Pakistan. There had even been champagne and an absurd Western-style ribbon cutting. Now it was a burned-out husk surrounded by the bullet-riddled bodies of young girls who should have been at home under the supervision of their fathers and brothers.
“Answer me, Ahmed!”
Taj frowned. He’d assumed the question was rhetorical and the fool would continue to shout endlessly while saying nothing of consequence. A gift all politicians had but that this one excelled at in particular.
“Sir, there was simply no question that the press was going to cover this incident. I have the article you’re concerned about in front of me and while it lays out the facts, I don’t find it disrespectful to you or your administration. It—”
“Not disrespectful? Can you read, Ahmed? It makes me look powerless. How could this have even happened? It’s your job and the job of the S Wing to control these events.”
It was an interesting choice of words. Not “prevent” but “control.” And indeed Taj did. He had personally planned and authorized the attack. It was all part of the delicate balance he was attempting to strike. While Chutani’s assassination—ostensibly by the Americans—needed to be an event that stoked Pakistan’s nationalism, the dead president couldn’t be too popular. He needed to be portrayed as a good man who wasn’t equal to the task. The people had to understand that Pakistan needed a stronger leader. Someone who could achieve the order that the democrats had so miserably failed to deliver.
“The death of Akhtar Durrani created a period of blindness, Mr. President. I assure you that his successor has now fully transitioned into his position. Making that transition completely seamless, though, was impossible and the Taliban knew it. They took advantage of the brief period of weakness.”
“Excuses!”
