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Taj tried to quell the nervousness growing in the pit of his stomach. His preparations had been painstaking and Allah had smiled on them, he told himself. There was nothing to fear.
On the other hand, perhaps it wasn’t fear of failure that was eating at him. Maybe it was the inevitability of success. Much of his life had been consumed with the creation and implementation of this plan and it was strangely disorienting to know that those machinations would soon be over. In three days, he would begin the violent, but in all likelihood short, battle for control of Pakistan. After that, he would have the power he had craved for so long.
It was the much more difficult task of wielding his newfound power that was beginning to worry him. The Americans were not to be underestimated. They would fight the new order of things with every fiber of their being, doing everything possible to prevent him from asserting dominance over the Middle East. In the end, though, they would fail.
President Saad Chutani entered through the east archway and stopped, taking in the activity around him with a satisfied smile. When his eyes fell on his intelligence director, he motioned. Taj scurried obediently to the politician’s side.
“How are things going?” Chutani asked.
“No problems at all, Mr. President. I think you’ll be happy in the coming weeks with the resolution to your press issues, and security preparations for the banquet are entirely satisfactory.”
“You’re certain? There’s been a rise in terrorist activity in the north recently. Apparently, the loss of Akhtar Durrani is still being felt by your organization.”
In fact, Taj had far greater influence over Pakistan’s radical elements than Durrani ever did. “I’m confident, sir. The men you approved for this detail are some of the finest in Pakistan, and the people the Americans sent are quite impressive as well.”
“We don’t want to test those assertions, Ahmed. Even a thwarted attack would be a disaster. We need to demonstrate that we’re in control and
project Pakistan as a stable, modern country. A worthy ally for our American friends.”
“I completely understand, sir.”
The president waved to someone and Taj glanced back to see the infamously volatile Obaid Marri jabbing one of the waitstaff in the chest. Spittle actually few from his mouth as he berated the man. Most people thought it was the arrogance wrought from his restaurant receiving its third Michelin star, but Taj knew that wasn’t true. Obaid had been this way since he was a child.
“Have you met the chef, Ahmed?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Come, I’ll introduce you.”
Marri spotted them approaching and gave the man a shove toward the kitchen. When Pakistan’s most renowned restaurateur turned toward them, his red face had turned respectful.
“Obaid!” Chutani said, embracing the man. “I’m honored that you’ve come to personally oversee the setup.”
“Everything must be perfect, Mr. President. And I fear your staff is . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Incompetent,” Chutani said with a tolerant grin.
“I was going to say ‘in need of polish.’?”
“I’m certain you were.” The president indicated to Taj. “I don’t think you’ve met Ahmed.”
Marri extended his hand. To his credit, there wasn’t so much as a hint of recognition in his eyes—only a slight nervousness that was hardly uncommon when faced with the head of the vaunted ISI. “It’s a pleasure, Director.”
“The pleasure is mine.”
Marri was from a village not far from where Taj had grown up. Their fathers had regular business dealings and the two boys had known each other since they were toddlers. More important, Marri shared Taj’s thirst for power and vision for Pakistan.
“Have you eaten at Obaid’s restaurant?” Chutani asked.
“I’m afraid I haven’t had the opportunity.”
“You must make the time. It’s truly magnificent.”
“Mr. President, please . . .” Marri protested halfheartedly.
Kabir Gadai appeared on the opposite side of the room and immediately began trying to get Taj’s attention. Excellent timing, as usual. Marri was doing well with their meeting, but it was dangerous to put the man under too much stress. While he had enthusiastically agreed to be part of this plan, in the end he was just a cook.
“Would you excuse me?” Taj said. “My assistant seems desperate to speak to me and I want to make sure it’s nothing urgent.”
