by Vince Flynn
Rapp handed it to her and said, “Look at this on the flight. It’s information that you can use to make Durrani nervous, but I don’t want you letting him know that we know he’s behind this.”
Kennedy took the file. “Are you sure he’s behind it?”
“Yes. This Kassar is cooperating, and there is no way he could be making this stuff up.”
“And he says Rick is still alive?” Kennedy asked.
“Alive and resting at Durrani’s private compound. He’s slated for plastic surgery on Monday.”
Kennedy grabbed her forehead. “I can’t believe this.” Looking at Hurley, she asked, “Stan, do you trust this man?”
“I don’t trust anyone except maybe you two, but he seems sincere.”
“I heard he executed two of his own men in Switzerland.”
“He did,” Rapp said, “but they weren’t his men. They were Durrani’s, and he claims they were idiots.”
“So he just kills them and I’m supposed to think that makes everything fine?”
Hurley and Rapp shared an awkward glance. “It’s hard to explain, Irene, but I believe this guy,” Rapp said.
Kennedy thought of what Rapp had said to her a few days earlier. “Do you believe him because you want to believe him?”
“That’s not it,” Hurley jumped in. “This Kassar tells a pretty convincing story.”
“Irene,” Rapp said, leaning forward, “he’s the guy in the tape. The one who walks in and shoots the two guys.”
“He told you that?” Kennedy asked in near total shock.
“Yes . . . he told us how he gave Rick a shot right before the final beating that would make it look like he was dead. They staged the whole thing. Including leaving the camera behind for us to find.”
“And the beating was real?”
“Yep . . . It was Rick’s idea. Kassar said he tried to stop it repeatedly, but Rick would not listen. He said the only way it would work was if they made it look real.”
As Kennedy thought of the remorse and recrimination she’d felt over Rickman’s beating and death she was dumbstruck. What kind of sick man would go to such lengths?
“And Hubbard was supposed to disappear as well,” Hurley added. “It was part of the deal Rick set up. He had arranged for Hubbard to stay behind and feed Mitch the information about the dog and then they would sneak him out of the country, but Durrani thought bringing Hubbard along was too big a risk, so he had him killed and told Rick Mitch did it.”
“And Gould?”
“Rick hired him,” Hurley said. “Kassar said Rick was obsessed with Mitch. Said he kept telling Durrani that the only way this would work was if Mitch was killed.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Apparently,” Rapp said with no joy, “he thinks I’m the only man who ever really got him. Who understood how he thought.”
“And,” Hurley said, “he was scared shitless of Mitch. Kept telling Durrani that Mitch was the last man at the Agency. That if he had even the slightest inkling that something was wrong he wouldn’t stop until he’d tracked both of them down and killed them.”
“Which is exactly what I’m going to do.”
Kennedy took in a deep breath and leaned back. She could tell by the look on both Rapp’s and Hurley’s faces that it would be impossible to dissuade them from killing Rickman and Durrani. At the moment she had no objection, but this could be a very complicated operation, one they might not survive. “Why do I get the feeling that the two of you already have a plan?”
“We’re still working on it,” Rapp said.
“I don’t want to rush into this,” Kennedy declared. “We should get JSOC involved and do this the right way.”
“Irene, you know I love JSOC. No one is better than those guys, but that could take weeks to pull together. Rick can give away a lot of secrets in two weeks. Shit, he can give away a lot of secrets in two days.”
“I don’t like the idea of sending you two in to handle something like this. If anything goes wrong I won’t be able to help you. Durrani is a dangerous man.”
“Irene, look at the fallout after the bin Laden raid, and that was Abbottabad, sixty minutes north of the capital, and bin Laden was a fucking Saudi and the most notorious terrorist in the world. Durrani is a decorated Army officer and for all intents and purposes the second-most-powerful man in the ISI, and his compound is on the outskirts of the capital. You can’t send the SEALs or Delta Force in there. We’ll have a fucking war on our hands.”
As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. “How are you going to do it?”
There was another sheepish look between Rapp and Hurley, and then Rapp finally said, “Like I said, we’re still working on it.”
“That’s fine, but I want to hear the broad brushstrokes.”
“When’s your meeting with Taj, and can you get Durrani to attend?”
“Tomorrow afternoon at three, and I have requested that all three deputies attend, including Nadeem Ashan, who was fired yesterday.”
“Good. It would really help if you made sure Durrani was in attendance. He knows three of his men are dead. We were listening when Kassar told him. He freaked out.”
“Considering the importance of the meeting, I think I can make that happen.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to fly into Jalalabad and then cross into Pakistan via car. The checkpoints are way more lax than the airports. This way we can bring our equipment, and if Kassar makes one wrong move he’s dead. I can’t hold that threat over him if we fly into Islamabad International or Bhutto.”
“How long is the drive?” Kennedy asked.
“Four hours, tops,” Hurley answered, “I’ve done it many times. I also have a few guys in Peshawar who can facilitate the border crossing so things go smoothly. It’s the Wild West. With enough guns and money, you can get anything you want.”
“That doesn’t comfort me.”
“Irene,” Rapp said, “this shit’s never easy—you know that—but if there’s ever a time where we need to act quickly, this is it. Durrani still thinks he’s safe. We had Kassar check in and tell him that everything is fine.”
Kennedy asked him to explain what they were going to do after they got to Jalalabad, and when Rapp was done telling her, Kennedy said, “I need to meet this Kassar before I sign off on it.”
Rapp had expected as much. Kennedy followed him from one plane to the other while Hurley decided to stay outside and smoke a cigarette. Kassar was in the last seat on the starboard side of the plane with his wrists and ankles flexcuffed. He had a bruise on his forehead and some cuts on his arms and hands.
Knowing what his boss was thinking, Rapp said, “Those are from the car accident. We haven’t laid a hand on him.” One of Coleman’s shooters, Bruno McGraw, was watching the prisoner. Rapp tapped him on the shoulder and told him to take a break.
Kennedy sat down across from Kassar and said, “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-six.”
“And you’ve worked for General Durrani for how long?”
“Five years.”
“Why the sudden change of heart?”
Kassar took a moment to consider his answer. “The general has become a very reckless man. And he does not treat his people very well.” Kassar looked up at Rapp.
“Go ahead,” Rapp said. “Tell her.”
“When he gets what he wants out of them, he has a habit of killing them.” Kassar stopped for a second and then added, “And lately I’ve been the one doing the killing for him. I get the feeling he’s running out of uses for me now that he has Mr. Rickman. I know too much . . . so he is going to get rid of me.”
“Black Storks?” Kennedy asked, referring to the Pakistani Special Forces’ nickname.
“Yes . . . seven years.”
“And you were recruited to the ISI?”
“Yes.”
Kennedy looked a
t his haircut and his clothes. His suit was torn and bloody but it was a nice cut. “Where did you grow up?”
“Karachi.”
“Slums?”
“Yes.”
“And the Army gave you a new life?”
“Correct.”
“Religion?”
“Islam,” Kassar said, without any passion.
“Not very serious?”
“No.”
She wasn’t sure if she could believe him even though he sounded sincere. “So what do you want out of this?”
Kassar looked nervously at Rapp and said, “My life.”
“That’s a good start, but you surely have other hopes and aspirations?”
“I don’t think Pakistan is really an option for me anymore.”
She understood. “What about America?”
Kassar got a faraway look in his eye. “America would be nice.”
“And what do you think of Mitch’s plan to go in and get Mr. Rickman and General Durrani?”
“Get them . . . you mean we are taking them with us?”
Rapp intervened. “She means kill.” Rapp didn’t want this any more complicated than it already was.
“I think it’s a good plan.”
“All right.” Kennedy stared at him for a long time and finally said, “Vazir, I don’t treat my people like General Durrani. If you do a good job on this, and everyone makes it out alive, I will make sure you are taken care of. I might even have a job for you, but only if you want it. If you don’t, we’ll set you up with a new identity and some money and you can start your life over. Does that sound good?”
“Yes.” Kassar nodded. “It sounds very good.”
“Okay.” Kennedy pointed at the flexcuffs and nodded to Rapp. “No more need for these.”
After Rapp had cut the plastic cuffs with his knife, Kennedy shook Kassar’s hand and said, “Good luck, Vazir, I look forward to getting to know you better when you return.”
Rapp followed Kennedy off the plane and walked her across the tarmac. They stopped midway between the two planes, where Rapp asked, “What’d you think?”
“It’s impossible to know someone’s heart after talking to him for a few minutes.”
“Yeah, I know, but what’s your impression?”
“I think he’s worth the risk.” Kennedy looked back at Rapp’s plane and then added, “But if he makes one wrong move, if you get even the slightest whiff, I want you to put him down. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Good.” Kennedy kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck and don’t do anything stupid.”
CHAPTER 56
INTER-SERVICES INTELLIGENCE HQ, ISLAMABAD, PAKISTAN
KENNEDY entered Air Force General Ahmed Taj’s office with Mike Nash, who had flown in from Bagram. She had briefed him on Kassar back in the embassy’s secure conference room. Taj, Durrani, and Nassir were all decked out in their military uniforms, while Ashan was in a suit. Kennedy was pleased to see that Ashan was there, but noted that he did not look well.
The office was a grandiose affair, left over from the Brits, no doubt. It was easily four times bigger than Kennedy’s. The walls and ceiling were paneled in a dark wood and there were three large stone fireplaces. Bookcases dominated every wall and there were two flat-screen monitors, one by the large conference table and the other one by Taj’s desk. Taj and his three deputies were standing near the fireplace to their right. Kennedy walked over and said hello to each man.
When she got to Ashan she said, “Nadeem, I am sorry to hear of your difficulties. One of the things I would like to clear up today is your situation.”
“It’s a travesty,” Durrani announced passionately.
Kennedy looked at the Judas to her left. She had had ample time on the plane to review the entire Rickman affair and analyze the various motives of Rickman and Durrani. As for Rickman, she had a few guesses about why he’d decided to become a traitor, but Durrani was clear-cut. He wanted Taj’s job and he wanted Ashan and every other moderate out of his way. He would use Rickman’s information to bolster his status, and within a year or two he would be running the ISI and all of its clandestine operations.
Taj stepped forward with a pained expression on his face. “Director Kennedy, I must caution you. Nadeem is only here as a favor from our president to yours. He no longer works at the ISI and has no official capacity here today.”
“Yes, I find it all rather interesting. I think your intelligence agency may have been played the same way mine was, but we will discuss that later.”
“Yes,” Taj said, not having a clue what Kennedy meant. “Please sit.” Taj directed her to a massive leather couch that could seat six adults. It was centered on the fireplace, with couches that ran perpendicular off each end. Durrani and Ashan sat on the couch to the right and Nassir and Nash sat on the other couch.
Taj asked Kennedy if she’d like some tea. She declined and withdrew a briefing folder, signaling to everyone that this was all about business.
“This problem with your embassy,” Taj winced, “is very bad for our relations.”
“I agree,” Kennedy offered quickly.
“Then you should hand those four men over,” Durrani said, as if it was the only option.
Kennedy ignored Durrani and directed her remarks at General Taj. “I don’t like this strife between our two countries, but something is afoot here, and until we figure out what is going on, those four men will be afforded the safety of the sovereign territory of the United States of America.”
Durrani laughed at the preposterous claim.
“General,” Kennedy said, turning to Durrani, “surely you don’t dispute the fact that the American Embassy is sovereign U.S. territory?”
“No, but I don’t think the clerics will acknowledge the fact.”
“Then why don’t you explain it to them rather than use your political affairs officers to whip them into a frenzy?”
Durrani kept his cool. “I’m sorry, Director Kennedy, but you are misinformed.”
“I don’t think so, General, but you and I will agree to disagree, as we usually do.” Kennedy opened her file and pulled out a series of photos. Like a card dealer, she tossed three sets on the table, one in front of Durrani and Ashan, the second in front of Taj, and the third in front of Nash and Nassir.
“You are all familiar with the abduction, interrogation, and murder of one of my men last week in Afghanistan?” They all nodded and Kennedy said, “A second attempt was made on the life of another one of my people. This was the episode in which twenty-one police officers were killed. It turned out they had been ordered to attack my men by General Qayem, who has since disappeared.” Kennedy pointed at the photos. “These two men, one of them was killed in the attack and the other we are unable to locate. Do any of you recognize either of them?”
No one answered, so Kennedy said, “According to Afghan intelligence, these two men are ISI assets.”
“What are you trying to imply?” Durrani asked angrily.
“I’m not trying to imply anything. I’m just trying to get some answers. Please, by all means show these photos around and see if any of your assets have gone rogue on you.”
“This is preposterous,” Durrani said. “You are merely trying to distract us from the fact that despite being our supposed ally, you hold four Pakistani citizens whom you have recruited to spy against us in your embassy.”
“I’m not arguing that point, General, I’m just trying to find out who launched a coordinated attack against my Clandestine Service last week.”
Durrani threw his hands up in frustration while Taj said, “I’m sorry, Director Kennedy, but we have no knowledge of what you are talking about.”
“Maybe . . . maybe not. I have another interesting piece of information for you.” Kennedy retrieved the copies of Special Agent Wilson’s affidavits with Herr Obrecht. She doled out three sets of copies and said, “Have any of you heard of the Swiss bank Sparkasse Schaffhausen?”
Ashan’s face lit up. “That’s the bank where I supposedly have a million dollars deposited courtesy of your government.”
“I thought I’d heard that. Well, apparently this same bank has accounts for the now deceased Mr. Rickman, and another one of my key people, even though I know for a fact that my people never opened any accounts at this bank, or I should say I know Mr. Rapp never opened an account at this bank, but I can’t say the same for Mr. Rickman.”
“Why is that?” Durrani asked.
“Because he’s dead. I have no way to prove that he didn’t.” Kennedy turned her attention back to Taj, saying, “The point is, we think this bank has been used to make certain people at the CIA look corrupt when in fact they are not. This disinformation was passed on to the FBI in an effort to jump-start a criminal investigation against the CIA. Fortunately, other elements within the FBI believe this is part of the same plot that involved kidnapping Mr. Rickman and the attempted murder of Mr. Rapp. I find it more than a little strange that this is the same bank that Deputy General Ashan was supposedly storing his ill-gotten gains in.”
“I’ve never heard of this bank.” Taj said. “Have any of you?” The three deputies all shook their heads. “It is a rather strange coincidence. Why would someone want to frame Mr. Rickman, Mr. Rapp, and Ashan?”
“That’s a very good question, General.”
“Have you been able to talk to the bank?”
“No, we have not. I sent some people to Zurich late Friday, and they have had a very difficult time tracking down Herr Obrecht, the man whose name is listed on all three accounts.” Kennedy paused and then added, “There was one strange development, however.” She opened her file for the third time and pulled out more photos. “My people were parked in front of Herr Obrecht’s country villa when a car with four men pulled up. The details are a little sketchy, but a chase ensued and then a gunfight.” Kennedy tossed the photos of three dead men on the table. “A fourth man escaped and we were unable to track him down, but we have a good description of him. He had black hair, was dark-skinned, with dark eyes, and he, well—” Kennedy pointed at the photos, “he looked like these three men.” Kennedy cocked her head to the side and asked, “What nationality would you say these men are, General Taj?”