Warlord

THIRTY-THREE

C'S OFFICE ON THE TOP FLOOR of MI6 Headquarters, an odd architectural mix of the new, the newer, and the newest, was located at 85 Albert Embankment in Vauxhall on the banks of the Thames. It was a far cry from the Service's rather grotty old digs near Regent's Park, but then Hawke usually preferred the old rather than the new when it came to architecture.

Sir David Trulove's private sanctuary, however, was pleasantly reminiscent of a captain's cabin dating from Admiral Lord Nelson's era. Varnished wood paneling, electrified oil lamps on gimbals, period mahogany furniture, valuable marine art on the walls, a brass chronometer and barometer standing to either side of the model of Admiral Lord Nelson's Victory atop the carved mantelpiece.

The only things missing in C's lovely office, Hawke observed once to Congreve, were portholes.

It was Monday morning, a few days following the harrowing but profitable visit he and Congreve had paid to Mutton Island. After Hawke had a series of meetings with British Army intelligence officers for Northern Ireland, Ambrose had remained in Ireland, he and Drummond returning to the island with the Yard's Scene of Crime lads for a thorough forensic examination of the entire scene. Lab results from the human gallstone found at the scene had not yet been released.

Hawke, who loathed meetings of any type, now found himself in the middle of yet another one, no matter how congenial he found the surroundings. In addition to Hawke, C had invited his protege Montague Thorne to this command performance. Thorne, the reigning expert on all matters Pakistani, Indian, and Afghani, and an American fellow, CIA, who introduced himself to Hawke as Abdul Dakkon.

Dakkon was tall and lean with black eyes, swarthy good looks, and a neatly trimmed black beard. Hawke put him in his late thirties. He was Moroccan, he said, born in Tangier. Despite his navy suit, white shirt, and red tie, he had the unmistakable look of an agent who'd spent most of his life out in the field. An unremittingly harsh field, Hawke surmised from the looks of him. Somehow, he'd lost his right arm. The empty sleeve of his jacket was sewn across his chest, in the same fashion that Admiral Lord Nelson had dealt with the issue.

Also present, his old friend and new lover, the nuclear physicist and counterterror expert from MI5. Sahira seemed to have dressed knowing Hawke would be present. A short blue skirt and a tight-fitting white silk blouse that left little to the imagination. She was wearing glasses, perusing an impossibly thick binder, presumably filled with schematics of fission-fusion thermonuclear weapons. Fascinating stuff, Hawke imagined, from the intensity with which she studied each page. He could hardly wait to read it himself.

Anything to keep him from staring at Sahira.

Genius, Hawke had read somewhere, was the ability to hold two completely discrete thoughts in your mind at the same time. Miss Karim, in addition to studying her binder, was simultaneously carrying on a very involved conversation with Montague Thorne regarding the resurgence of the Taliban in Helmand Province, Afghanistan.

The only one missing at the moment was Sir David himself, running late apparently, and Hawke contented himself with sipping the horrid company coffee and gazing surreptitiously at Miss Karim while she and Thorne now chatted about the very real possibility of war breaking out between Pakistan and India.

The Allies were tiring of this seemingly unwinnable war even though the consequences of losing it could be apocalyptic.

C burst in suddenly, apologized in his typically perfunctory manner, and eased himself into his leather chair just to the right of the fireplace. He looked frightfully cheerful for this ungodly hour on a Monday morning, and Hawke's guard went up involuntarily.

Sir David got his pipe going, smiled at Hawke, and said, "How was your abbreviated island holiday in Northern Ireland, Alex?"

"Adrenaline fueled, I would say, sir."

"So I gather. You made good progress, however?"

"We did indeed."

"If you could possibly spare a few minutes after this meeting, I'd like to hear about it in some detail. Are you available?"

One was always available.

"Of course, sir," Hawke said.

"Well, then, let's get down to the matters at hand, shall we? In light of the current events in his specific region of interest, Mr. Thorne has agreed to provide a brief overview of the current political situation vis-a-vis Pakistan. Monty?"

Thorne stood and began passing around thin MI6 binders marked "MOST SECRET" on the red covers. Even his physical movements, Hawke noticed, were polished, at once economic and elegant. He glanced at Sahira to see if she was watching him too. She wasn't.

Thorne sat down and said, "Thank you, sir. Inside those binders you'll find a summary of what we in my section have taken to calling the 'Second Nuclear Age.' To say what we've learned is 'disturbing' would be a grave understatement. We estimate that Pakistan has at least one hundred nuclear warhead-tipped missiles hidden inside the country. Some of them are known to be located just beyond the perimeter of the Islamabad airport. The infamous Dr. Khan has reestablished a facility for creating nuclear weapons there as well.

"We have no idea where, of course, and their government refuses to tell us despite our expressed concerns about the security of those weapons. To make matters worse, they are building more all the time in laboratory compounds on the edge of the Islamabad airport. You will find sat recon photos of the referenced area in Section Two.

"What happens or fails to happen at those two compounds is far more likely to save or lose a British or American city than are the billions our two countries spend each year maintaining our nuclear arsenals. Designed for a different age, America and Britain's combined nuclear arsenals are, in my opinion, the new Maginot Line in the age of terror: huge, scary, and, I'm afraid, fundamentally useless.

"Most states have an army. Pakistan's army has a state. The country's leaders operate at the army's pleasure. And their ability to control their own nuclear arsenal is the most frightening nuclear challenge facing the West today.

"Pakistan is the only nuclear state on earth with a powerful military insurgency in its very midst. We know for a fact that the combined forces of the Taliban and al Qaeda, now grown immensely strong under a single command and known as the 'Sword of Allah,' definitely have aims to take over the country by force or intimidation, and the insurgents most assuredly want to acquire the bomb."

Thorne paused a moment and turned his gaze toward each person in the room to ensure he had their undivided attention.

"It is hardly reassuring that the Pakistani government has veered between a dictatorship that has supported both the United States and the Taliban simultaneously, and now has a democratic leadership known chiefly for its corruption and ineptitude.

"An urgent new wave of intelligence has recently been flowing through MI6, MI5, CIA, and the Pentagon. Taliban and al Qaeda forces along the northern Pakistan-Afghanistan border are focusing anew on the Holy Grail of terrorism that eluded them before 9/11. They are unswerving in their determination to acquire either the secrets to the Pakistani bomb…or the bombs themselves."

Hawke held up a hand.

"It's been over a year since Sword of Allah struck Heathrow. Perhaps American Predators have beheaded the leadership, Monty?" Hawke asked.

Thorne paused a moment before replying. "It's true we've succeeded wildly with the drones. Many key leaders have been killed. But I think they're stronger than ever. I think their influence is growing around the world. They have Iranian funds, Russian funds, cells around the world, and now, someone at the very top who has considerably more brainpower than Osama bin Laden. Sheik Abu al-Rashad."

"Nevertheless, Monty, Alex is right," C said. "At least we, I mean Five and Six, seem to have driven this Sword of Allah underground here in the United Kingdom."

"Perhaps that is true," Thorne said, but Hawke got the distinct feeling Monty didn't mean it.

"So. Where are we?" C said.

"I must tell you. Two things keep me awake at night. One, recent intelligence concerning the steadfast efforts to infiltrate the labs and put sleepers inside the nuclear arsenal storage facilities at Islamabad."

"And the second?" C said, patience wearing thin.

"And, two, the rising internal threat levels against our own population and infrastructure. And, finally, this new 'Real IRA' rising up in Northern Ireland and their recent threats to the Prince of Wales and the Royal Family itself."

"Good Lord," Trulove muttered. "A plateful."

"Yes. When the world's biggest threat looks more like loose nukes escaping Pakistan rather than launched nukes out of Russia, all of our old Armageddon avoidance tricks go out the window. The world has suddenly become a far more dangerous place, I'm afraid."

There was no disagreement.