The Survivor

CHAPTER 58

Where are we going?”

Rapp didn’t look at the man driving and didn’t immediately answer. Bill Drake had been the station chief in Islamabad for years now and he enjoyed Kennedy’s confidence more than Rapp’s own. There was no question that he had a decent head for the constant push-pull between Pakistani factions, but he was an observer by nature. When it came time to act, Drake always had a reason that more data was necessary and more experts needed to be consulted. Paralysis by analysis.

Rapp reached for the rearview mirror and adjusted it so he could see behind them. “Keep going east.”

Coleman was still trying to get into the dark gray suit Drake had brought. Rapp’s fit better but not much. The fact that the pants were an inch too short was less a problem than the obvious bulge his Glock made beneath his right shoulder. Not that it was Drake’s fault. Rapp had waited until the last minute to contact him and the clothes were the result of the man sprinting through the only department store on the way to the airport.

“The traffic’s not too bad right now, but the farther we go, the worse it’s going to get. President Chutani’s dinner for Sunny Wicka is tonight and they’ve got everything around the presidential palace blocked off.”

“You heard me.”

“Is there anything I need to know?”

“No.”

Rapp inserted an earpiece and dialed Kennedy on a secure sat phone. Not surprisingly, she picked up on the first ring.

“Are you on the ground?”

“Yeah.”

“Time’s tight, Mitch. We’re less than an hour from the start of the dinner.”

True to Drake’s word, traffic was getting worse. A flatbed teetering with bales of cotton cut them off, forcing the station chief to slam on the BMW’s brakes. The gap that opened between them and the back of the truck was immediately filled with motor scooters. The cause of the jam was just ahead and hard to miss — a tank parked sideways in the road.

Beyond, Rapp could see the massive, bunkerlike presidential palace illuminated with colored spotlights. A single limousine was gliding toward a set of barricades guarded by a group of soldiers. Other vehicles trailed at intervals designed to limit damage from a potential attack.

“We’re approaching the palace now,” Rapp said. “It doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to get the car close, though.”

Drake gave him an inquisitive look and Rapp pointed left. They diverted onto a narrower street but soon found themselves stopped in a sea of blaring horns.

“Do you have a plan to get in?” Kennedy asked.

The truth was that he still didn’t. He had no intel on Pakistani security, no layout for the building, and no guest list. Even the event schedule he had was just something pulled off a Pakistani news site. Not exactly something he wanted to bet his life on.

“I’m still working on that,” he said, feeling around on the floorboard for the electric razor Drake brought.

“They have tanks,” Coleman said loud enough for her to hear. “Tanks are usually not a good sign.”

Rapp started into his beard with the clippers, debating whether to leave the mustache favored by ISI men. His skin wasn’t quite dark enough to pass, but he might be able to create a second of hesitation on the part of anyone lining up on him. In the end, he decided against it and went with the clean-shaven look of the Secret Service.

“Then I think I have some good news for you,” Kennedy said. “Guess who’s consulting on the security for Sunny’s delegation.”

“I’m not in the mood for games, Irene.”

“Jack Warch.”

Rapp stopped the razor midway through his chin. Warch was a former Secret Service executive who had started a private security firm a few years back. He was a solid man and a good friend. More important, he owed Rapp his life.

“With all the instability in Pakistan, the government decided to bring Jack in to stress-test the Secret Service’s protocols,” Kennedy said.

“No, our luck’s even better than that,” Rapp responded. “If Jack’s here, he’s not doing stress tests. He’s in charge. No one at Secret Service is going to question him and no one will have the guts to do anything but exactly what he tells them.”

“I suspect you’re right. I spoke to him earlier and he seems to have a solid handle on things.”

“Our chances of pulling this off just went from zero to ten percent. Did you tell him what’s happening?”

“I thought you’d prefer to do that yourself. He’s going to meet you outside the pedestrian gate on the palace’s north side. But he’s not happy about it.”

“He’s never happy.”

“Like you.”

Rapp ignored the jab. “Does Sunny know?”

“No. She’s not the target and we can’t afford to have her looking nervous.”

“Understood.”

“You haven’t told me if you were able to get Gadai to talk.”

“He talked.”

“So you know Taj’s plan?”

“Unless he was lying.”

“Do you think he was?”

“Sixty — forty not.”

“Where is he now?”

“Dead.”

“Dead?” The pitch of her voice rose perceptibly. “What do you mean, dead? What happened?”

“It was part of our agreement.”

There was a brief silence over the line. “We’ll discuss that later.”

“Have you talked to President Alexander?”

“I got off the phone with him ten minutes ago.”

“And?”

“He wants to have the banquet canceled and tell Chutani what we know. Let him deal with Taj.”

“That’s going to leave Chutani with the files.”

“In his mind, that’s an acceptable compromise.”

“If Alexander believes the president of Pakistan won’t sell us down the river the second it’s in his best interest, he’s nuts. And even if Chutani were the Boy Scout we know he’s not, are we sure he can keep that data under wraps? What happens when some ISI mole gets his hands on it? Or one of the eight hundred terrorist groups operating here? What happens when there’s another coup?”

“My argument to him exactly.”

“And?”

“He’s given us authorization to assess the situation. But under no circumstances are you to act without his express authorization.”

“What’s that? You’re breaking up.”

“I thought I might be.”

“So I deal with Taj. Tonight.”

“Neither of us is naïve about these kinds of situations, Mitch. If it all goes right, our sins will be forgiven. If it goes wrong…”

She didn’t have to finish the thought. Her expectation was that she would take the political bullet and he would disappear to the far corners of the earth. The world’s governments would try to find him, of course, but he knew most of the people they’d send. Some would put on a show and cash their expense checks, but none would be stupid enough to succeed.

Rapp dropped the razor on the floorboard and brushed the hair off his suit. He’d already made his decision. If he could get this done without exposing his involvement, he would. But if the only option was to beat Taj to death while his security detail emptied their guns into him, that’s the way it would have to be.

One way or another, Ahmed Taj wasn’t going to see the sun rise.