The Survivor (16 page)

Shirani’s surprise at the boldness of the statement was obvious and anticipated. He’d undoubtedly expected to be recruited for some subtle plan to undermine the civilian government’s authority. Not an admission that an ISI coup was in the works.

The general laughed uncomfortably, undoubtedly concerned that this was a trap constructed by Saad Chutani. “You’re talking treason,
Ahmed. I have disagreements with the president’s relationship with America, but it’s my job to tell him my opinion and then obey his orders.”

“I admire your sense of duty, Umar, but how much longer will you be able to hold on to that job? You’re experienced enough to know that Chutani is maneuvering to remove you as head of the army.”

“I know no such thing.”

It was Taj’s turn to laugh. “I assume you remember what happened to my predecessor.”

It was impossible to forget. He had been marginalized with fabricated scandals publicized in media outlets beholden to Chutani. The unrest in North Waziristan had been laid at his feet, and he was vilified every time there was a terrorist attack within Pakistan’s borders. Finally, he’d been forced out over accepting bribes that were no different than ones taken by every government executive in the country. He was now facing a lifetime of prosecutions that would leave him penniless and his family disgraced.

“We’re at a turning point, Umar. The Middle East is disintegrating. The world is ready—in fact desperate—for a Muslim superpower to fill the vacuum created by the Americans. The Saudis are children obsessed with toys, and the Iranians are backstabbing women with no nuclear capability. Pakistan is the only country capable of becoming that superpower. We have a unique opportunity, Umar. We can neutralize America, take control of the region, and close our fist around the oil they rely so heavily on. We can bring their economy to its knees and stop the drone attacks on our soil. The humiliations can be brought to an end. All we need is our own strength and Allah’s blessing.”

Taj fell silent and leaned back in his chair. It was Shirani’s turn to speak.

“What is my position in all this?”

Predictably, his thoughts immediately turned to himself.

“Under my leadership, you will retain your rank as well as the authority to do what needs to be done with our nuclear arsenal.”

“And what is that?”

“The
expansion and modernization of our missile technology. Like you, I understand the importance of having weapons capable of reaching the United States. . . .” He paused and allowed himself a smile. “I’m sure America’s Congress will be willing to finance the effort.”

For the first time, there was a flicker of interest in Shirani’s eyes. Self-interest, no doubt, but Taj wasn’t naïve. No matter what the general promised by way of support, his army would in fact stay as neutral as possible. The general would wait to see who won and then determine whether the power struggle had been bloody enough to make the victor vulnerable.

And that was all Taj needed—for the army to remain docile until he could do away with President Chutani and consolidate his leadership. Then, and only then, would he move to deal with Umar Shirani.

N
EAR
L
AKE
C
ONSTANCE

S
WITZERLAND

M
ITCH
Rapp made a show of activating his throat mike, though in fact he was constantly transmitting on the frequency Gould had been excluded from. “Joe. Have you acquired us?”

“Not yet.”

That was probably a good thing. Maslick was in an elevated position specifically looking for them and hadn’t yet picked them up. If that was the case, it was almost certain that Obrecht’s men were still completely ignorant of what was going on outside their wall.

The trip from the knoll had taken longer than Wicker’s estimate but Rapp had anticipated that. Gould was good—making no mistakes that Rapp could see from his position five feet behind. He wasn’t fast, though. The assassin had been operating primarily in urban environments since he’d left the French Foreign Legion. It was no surprise that he couldn’t hold the pace expected by an elfin former SEAL who had been creeping around the woods since he was in diapers.

Gould wriggled between two trees and Rapp followed, thoughts of Anna intruding on his mind. Her courage during the White House op. The depth of her green eyes. How different his life would be if she had lived.

He cleared the trees and the bottom of Gould’s boot came into view again. What Rapp saw, though, was the whitewashed front of the man’s house in New Zealand and the sun reflecting off the ocean below.

It was a stark contrast to the dilapidated apartment Rapp called home. He’d been building a new house on a couple of acres just outside the Beltway when Anna died. Or more precisely, when the man in front of him had murdered her in a botched attempt to get to him. Construction had immediately stopped, along with everything else in his life.

The burned-out bones of his old house were still there. Kennedy and Mike Nash had tried to convince him to have the lot cleared so it could be sold, but so far he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it.

In light of all that, why did he still feel conflicted about Louis Gould? Why had he passed up every opportunity to take the man out?

Tom Lewis, the CIA’s shrink, had gently suggested an answer: When Rapp looked into the Frenchman’s eyes, he saw a reflection of himself. Of course, he’d dismissed it as psychobabble, but there was no denying that Lewis was right more than he was wrong.

A small rock outcropping appeared ahead and Rapp took cover behind it. The entrance to the tunnel was just a few yards away, but they were the most exposed of the journey.

“Joe,” Rapp said into his radio. “I’m at the feature we designated echo three. Look six feet behind it.”

He put a boot against a sapling and gave it a gentle nudge.

“I’ve got you,” Maslick came back immediately.

“Any activity nearby?”

“A nice six-point buck about one twenty-five to the west. That’s it.”

Rapp started out again, using his elbows to drag himself forward at a pace that would allow him to close the gap to Gould. The light breeze was traveling from west to east, making it unlikely that the deer would be spooked by their scent.

It took an excruciatingly long time to cover the distance, but finally both men were lying in front of the cave’s entrance. Gould slid
through the tight opening and Rapp put his head partially inside to let his eyes adjust to the lower light.

The Frenchman pried a piece of stone from the dirt wall, revealing the promised keypad. He glanced back before punching in the code. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

Rapp counted, confirming that the string of numbers was the twelve Gould had reported back at the farm. Not that he thought a pathological liar like him would make such an obvious mistake, but it made sense to keep close tabs on the man.

There was a quiet click and Gould pressed a hand against the rusted steel at the back of the cavern. It swung inward, revealing dim red emergency lighting beyond.

Rapp adjusted Hurley’s Kimber .45 holstered in the small of his back and activated his radio again. “We’re about to enter. Figure ten minutes to get to the mansion.”

“Roger that,” Coleman responded.

“Stan?” Rapp said.

The muttered response was barely intelligible. “Waiting, waiting, and more waiting.”

It wasn’t what Rapp wanted to hear. They needed Hurley to pinpoint Obrecht’s location in the building. A room-by-room search was not part of their quick-in, quick-out plan.

“Roger that. Do what you can, Stan. We’re moving.”

R
OME

I
TALY

O
NCE
again, Allah had blessed their enterprise. Despite a forecast for rain, the sun was in full force, with only a few distant clouds to obscure it.

Kabir Gadai strolled casually along the gravel walkway, led by a leashed Labrador retriever puppy. He’d purchased it only a few hours ago and was already looking forward to putting its dead body in a dumpster as soon as this was over. Westerners’ affinity for these filthy creatures was inexplicable, but not acknowledging that affinity would be stupid. Nearly everyone who passed looked down at the animal and smiled. More important, Isabella Accorso had two Labradors of her own—the latest in an unbroken series of similar dogs going back to her childhood.

The park was long and narrow, bordered on the left by a busy Roman road and on the right by the ongoing excavation of an ancient square. Gadai examined the columns and crumbing walls that recalled a time when the Italians ruled the known world. Later Catholicism would take hold and the people of this region would embark on the Crusades, a genocidal rampage against the followers of Mohammed.
The same people who were now so critical of violence had burned his people at the stake, imprisoned them in unimaginably cruel conditions, and forced them to endure tortures unparalleled in their creativity and savageness.

Now the Americans were sending their Christian soldiers marching across the Middle East in an effort to remake it in the name of a false faith that they themselves seemed largely uninterested in. They would never understand what it was to have God in one’s heart—for Him to be part of their very being. For the Americans, the Creator was nothing more than an occasional convenience. A being to be called on in difficult times and to be briefly acknowledged on public holidays.

“ETA one minute,” the voice said over his Bluetooth headset. “Her preferred position is fully open.”

Gadai acknowledged the message with a barely perceptible nod.

Conveniently, Accorso ate lunch at the same time as her daughter. On clear days like this one, she left her office at noon and came to this park to eat a sandwich brought from home. There were multiple benches to choose from, but she was biased toward the one closest to her building. If it wasn’t available, she would select the next in line.

Her daughter, Bianca, was even more predictable. She sat on the same low concrete wall at the front of her school every day. In the time they had been watching her, even the order of the people she ate with hadn’t varied. An example of the inviolable social hierarchy that all adolescents adhered to.

He spotted the blond hair and dark coat of his target just as the puppy found something of interest at the base of a garbage can. His first instinct was to jerk the animal away, but instead he paused until it was ready to move on. The bench Accorso had selected was visible to him now, and it was still completely empty. Again, Allah had blessed him.

He started toward her, setting his pace so that they would reach the bench at the same time.

“Oh, I’m sorry,”
Gadai said, stopping in front of it. “Were you going to sit here?”

Fortunately Accorso spoke fluent English—a prerequisite for her job administering contracts and trusts for her law firm.

Like the others, she barely noticed him, instead beaming at the dog. “What’s his name?”

“Her, actually. And I don’t know yet. She’s just Puppy for now.”

“I was going to eat lunch,” she said, pointing at the bench. “Feel free to join me. There’s plenty of room.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

They both sat and she leaned forward, rubbing the excited dog’s head. It nipped at her leg, and instead of pulling back, she laughed. “I have two just like her at home. Older now, though. You forget how cute they are at this age. Like children.”

It was all going exactly as planned. While he’d always been quite successful with women, striking up a conversation with one on a park bench was an unpredictable enterprise. If the attention was unwelcome, their interaction could cause her to move on. Or worse, it could attract the notice of people walking past. The animal solved all those issues.

“Here,” Gadai said, pulling out his phone. “Let me show you something.”

The woman assumed he was going to show her a photo of the puppy and frowned when the screen came to life. “I’m sorry, what is that?”

He leaned into her so he could speak quietly. “It’s a video of your daughter Bianca taken through a rifle scope.”

She froze, her expression turning from confusion to recognition and then to terror.

“Smile,” Gadai said, slipping the phone back in his jacket.

She began to stammer like some half-wit and he leaned into her ear again. “I said
smile
.”

She forced the corners of her mouth upward, still trying to get intelligible words out. “I . . . What . . .”

“Be
silent and listen to me very carefully. I have no desire to see your daughter harmed. It can only attract attention to me and my people. Whether she lives her life never knowing this happened or dies today is entirely up to you.”

“But what do you want? I don’t have—”

“Silence!” he said in a sharp whisper. Still, the people passing by paid little attention. To the degree anyone looked in their direction, it was to admire the dog playfully attacking Accorso’s shoe.

“Your firm administers a set of files I’m interested in.”

“We administer many files. How—”

“This particular client would have made an unusual request. He would have asked you to send files out over the Internet in the event you didn’t hear from him on a particular schedule.”

She didn’t respond, but the subtle shift in her expression told him everything he needed to know.

“You’re familiar with this arrangement?”

“Yes.”

“Then return to your office. Load the files and any instructions you were given onto a thumb drive.”

“Thumb drive,” she repeated numbly.

“That’s right, Isabella. You’re doing well. This will all be over soon.” He pointed to a hotel across the street. “Bring the files to me there. Room two hundred. It’s an easy number to remember. Repeat it back to me.”

“Two hundred.”

“Very good. Do it quickly, Isabella. Your daughter’s break from class won’t last much longer, and my man has orders not to let her out of his sight. If I don’t call him off by the time she gets up to go back to class, he will kill her. Do you understand?”