AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m sorry,” Taj said, conjuring a hint of fearfulness. “I’m doing the best—”
“We have to deal with the reporter, Ahmed. Now. There’s nothing we can do about your incompetence in letting the attack succeed, but we can certainly shape the aftermath.”
“The article has already been published, sir. There’s no way to—”
“It’s emboldening the other media outlets!” Chutani shouted. “In the last two days, there have been two articles critical of my involvement with the American drone attacks, and a newscaster has come out publicly against secular education. Without consequences, there is no way to know what they’ll say next.”
Chutani wanted to impress the West with a free press just so long as it was entirely supportive of his administration. And when it wasn’t, he called the man he’d hired for his weakness, expecting him to suddenly transform into an assassin.
“What kind of consequences are you talking about, sir?”
“We don’t need a press like the Americans have, Ahmed. One that spews lies and distortions twenty-four hours a day in search of profits. Pakistan needs fair and patriotic media outlets dedicated to moving the country forward. This recent activity sets a dangerous precedent.”
Taj smiled. Of course, the politician wouldn’t give a specific order. He had to have deniability. Should the coercion of Pakistan’s newspeople become public, he would need Taj and the ISI as a scapegoat.
“Private media is dependent on advertising dollars, Mr. President. I’ll have my people speak to the companies that support these outlets and ask them whether it’s in their best interest to encourage this kind of journalism.”
There was a long, disappointed silence. Chutani undoubtedly wanted the man dead and Taj completely understood. After he had closed his fist around Pakistan, a man like this would watch his entire family die before being exterminated like the animal he was. However, now wasn’t the time to be pulled into something this controversial. He would need the Americans’ unwitting support during his rise to power, and the assassination of a journalist could jeopardize that support.
“I assure you, this will be quite effective,” Taj continued. “No media company can afford to be painted as unpatriotic, and a large number of their advertisers have significant ownership by the army and ISI. They’ll publish no more articles critical of you, and if we proceed carefully, I think we can coerce a retraction. Or at least a clarification that highlights the difficulties of stamping out terrorism and provides examples of how effective your administration has been thus far.”
“If this is your recommendation, I will accept it,” Chutani said, still unwilling to make demands that could be traced back to him. “But I expect results, Ahmed.”
There was a knock on his office door and a moment later Kabir Gadai entered.
“I think you’ll be quite satisfied,” Taj said, watching his assistant approach. “We should be able to resolve the situation without undue risk to you or your government.”
“Tomorrow morning, Ahmed. I want a briefing on your plan’s specifics tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll have my people schedule a meeting.”
The line went dead and Taj hung up the phone. “Our president can be quite the hysterical woman.”
Gadai smiled and took a seat.
“What news do you have for me, Kabir? Have you determined what was in the Rickman file that we released?”
“I believe I have, sir.” He held out a manila envelope containing a number of eight-by-ten photographs, and Taj began flipping through them. He recognized the city as London and two of the men behind the police barricade as being from MI6 and the CIA, but other than that, the images meant little to him.
“Those are stills from security cameras installed near the Iranian ambassador’s residence. Our resources say that he and his family were taken by Iranian security in the middle of the night. They’re being recalled
to Tehran.”
“Was a threat made against him? This might have been done for his own protection.”
“That’s what we thought at first, too.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Do you see the man in the black coat? The one whose face is always turned away from the camera? We believe that’s Mitch Rapp.”
Taj spread out the photos in front of him and studied the man in question. It was difficult to determine detail but, in a strange way, that’s what made the images stand out. In the middle of London, during a well-lit police operation, there wasn’t a single definitive photo.
Taj leaned back in his chair and met his assistant’s gaze. “So, you’re saying that Kamal Safavi was on the CIA’s payroll?”
“It seems likely. Since this occurred, there’s been a huge increase in diplomatic traffic between Iran and the United States, including a reported personal conversation between the ayatollah and President Alexander. It’s the first direct communication between the two men that we’re aware of.”
Taj felt the perspiration break across his forehead. If he’d had an asset this highly placed, only one or two of his most trusted people would have known. Kennedy operated no differently. If Rickman had access to this level of intelligence, what else could be hidden in his files? What did he know about the Israelis? About America’s politicians and allies? Indeed, what did he know about Pakistan?
