The Survivor

CHAPTER 45

He’s there. Next to the kitchen entrance.”

Ahmed Taj looked past his assistant toward a heavyset American man in a dark suit. Having arrived in the country only that morning, he’d already taken command of the Secret Service team tasked with providing security for the American secretary of state. Even the Pakistani detail seemed to be deferring to him — a shameful display of weakness that Taj would deal with later.

“Who is he?”

“Jack Warch,” Kabir Gadai said quietly. “He’s retired now but he was the head of President Hayes’s security when the White House was attacked years ago. Officially, he’s here only as an advisor, but there’s no question that he’s in charge.”

They moved from their position beneath the ballroom’s windows in order to let a banquet table be deposited there. Chairs were being brought in on wheeled pallets, and decorations were going up on the walls. Freshly polished silverware was arranged in velvet-lined boxes and crystal glasses were being held to the light by kitchen staff in search of spots.

President Chutani had spared no expense. This state dinner was to commemorate a new beginning in Pakistan’s long relationship with the United States. And to demonstrate to Chutani’s enemies the strength of his friendship with the most powerful country in the world.

The real outcome would be quite different. Dramatic pictures of Chutani choking on his own blood while American security men drew their weapons would whip the country into a frenzy that Taj would ride to power.

“Will Warch be a problem?”

“I don’t anticipate it. He’s inundated us with questions and requests, but I’ve been handling his demands personally. Obviously, his primary focus is on the safety of the American delegation.”

“What have we given him on Chef Marri?”

“Everything,” Gadai responded, lowering his voice further. “There’s no information connecting the two of you, so there was no reason to make any alterations that could raise suspicion. The entire staff, including Obaid Marri, has already been cleared by the Americans.”

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.”

“Of course,” Chutani said. “Thank you, Ahmed.”

He started toward Gadai, who was disconnecting a call and slipping his phone into his pocket.

“We released another Rickman file this morning,” he said, leaning into Taj’s ear. “It was all we needed. Our people have tracked it to an Internet service provider in Russia.”

Taj nodded solemnly. It was another in a long line of miracles bestowed on him by God. There was no other explanation. He would soon control not only a nuclear arsenal but America’s entire intelligence network.

“I want you to go personally.”

“But—”

“No arguments, Kabir. I trust no one else in this matter.”

“Of course,” Gadai said, clearly reluctant but wise enough not to press the issue. “My team is assembling as we speak.”