“Did you visit Guldaar in Pakistan?” Afridi wondered how much of what she said was true, or whether these were lines she’d rehearsed, a scripted version of her life.
“Several times. Before Naseem’s accident. I used to fly from Bombay to the Gulf, then catch another flight to Islamabad, switching passports along the way. But I didn’t like it there. Boring. I couldn’t go outside on my own. He had a beautiful home in the mountains that the CIA built for him, like some kind of suburban American dream house set down in the Hindu Kush. It was a bizarre place, surrounded by fortified walls, razor wire, and landmines, but inside it was very peaceful, a quiet, comfortable home.”
Afridi listened to her talk with a detached sense of curiosity. He already knew most of what she was telling him, and it confirmed what Daruwalla had said. When she paused for a moment, he watched her for any sign of nervousness or discomfort, but she seemed to be telling the truth, clouded by sadness.
“When we spoke on the telephone the first time,” Afridi said, “you told me that you could positively identify Guldaar.”
Daphne seemed to study him for a moment.
“Is this when my interrogation begins?” she asked, with a disarming smile.
“Perhaps.” Afridi folded his hands together. “But I didn’t mean to make it sound that way. Forgive me.”
“Please don’t misunderstand,” said Daphne. “I’m grateful to be here, and I appreciate your help and hospitality, but I want to be completely clear about what happens next, before I begin to answer questions.”
“What happens next?” Afridi said, with a quizzical glance.
“I mean, am I going to live here in Mussoorie for the rest of my life, guarded by armed men in monkey caps and combat gear, or do you have some clever plan to give me a new identity so I can disappear into the anonymous void of India’s great middle class?”
“Which option do you prefer?” Afridi asked.
“Neither,” she said, holding up one hand and counting with her fingers … one, two, three. “I want to be safe. I want to be free. I want to be myself. For most of my life I’ve lived according to somebody else’s plan. I’m tired of that, and I’m tired of being watched and followed all the time. Colonel Afridi, I’m sixty-one years old, and I’ve gone through a lot of uncertainty and sadness in my life. Now I just want to be happy from here on in.”
“That sounds like the script for a Bollywood movie,” Afridi said.
“Maybe it is,” she answered him with sincerity in her eyes. “But I’m ready to buy a ticket to watch that movie and you better make sure it has a happy ending.”
“I offered you safe asylum. That’s all. What happens next depends on whether Guldaar is killed or captured. You’ll never be safe or happy until he’s out of the way.”
“And you’re ready to hunt him down?” Daphne said. “I have to believe that you won’t let him get away, because I know how easily he can manipulate a situation or buy his way out of trouble. If I am going to betray him any further, I need to be convinced that you will eliminate him once and for all.”
This time, it was Afridi’s turn to glance aside, his eyes studying a photograph from 1961, when he stood on the summit of Chaukhamba. After a moment, he looked back to meet her gaze.
“I can promise you that I will do everything I can to destroy Guldaar. Nothing will stop me from achieving that end, unless he kills me first. He may have money and influence, but I stand firmly behind my convictions.” Afridi’s voice was level. “That’s all I can say.”
Daphne nodded. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
Without hesitation, Afridi continued, “Then I’ll ask you to start looking at some photographs and see if you can identify him for us.”
Fifty
Anna realized that Afridi would want to meet Daphne alone. She decided to stay in her room until she was called, glad to have an excuse to sleep in. Her left shoulder hurt, and she stretched it gingerly to ease the pain. The night before, she had briefed Afridi for half an hour, after which she called Manav Shinde and explained the circumstances of their departure from the United States. He was not happy to learn that she had taken an active role in Daphne’s escape, nor was he pleased to hear that an American agent had accompanied them to India. Anna could sense his disapproval over the phone, his humor muted and noticeable silences between his words. But she also knew he understood why she hadn’t contacted him. It allowed Shinde a margin for denial and room to maneuver if things got out of hand.
Right now, the only awkward element was Tracy Holman, who had been admitted to a hospital in Dehradun. Anna had helped her check in. She could see that Holman was in a lot of pain, with cracked ribs and a fractured leg. The doctor put her on painkillers and said she would be fine but required bed rest for at least a week. Manav indicated that as soon as she was fit to travel, he would coordinate with the US embassy to have her medevac’d out of the country. Of course, it would require a creative explanation and some delicate diplomacy to make the Americans understand how she entered the country without a visa and why she was on a helicopter with a fugitive, who was now under the protection of the Himalayan Research Institute in Mussoorie.
“I hope Colonel Afridi is finally satisfied,” said Manav, with curt impatience. “He got what he wanted, but whether it will lead him to Guldaar remains to be seen. If you learn anything more, please keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, with conscious formality, as they ended the call.
Now, as she lay in bed staring out the window at the sunlit slopes of the mountains, Anna wondered why a woman like Daphne would get involved with someone like Guldaar. He was obviously abusive, though she had described him as generous and charming when he wanted to be, even calling him a “gentleman” more than once. Anna herself had known men like that, and she understood the dangerous attraction, though she had never allowed herself to get into a relationship she couldn’t control. Daphne seemed strong-willed, but at times there was a hint of vulnerability about her. Anna wondered how the conversation with Afridi was going and whether Daphne would describe things differently to a man.
It was almost twelve o’clock when the phone finally rang and Afridi asked if she could come across to his office. Anna hurried to get dressed. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d stayed in bed until noon.
Afridi greeted her with a stern nod, and for once he came right to the point.
“Yesterday, when the Sikorsky lost all communication and avionics,” he said, “that wasn’t an accident, or human error, or some flaw in the manufacturing or design. It was a deliberate act. Someone compromised the computer systems on that helicopter. Thirty minutes after you took off from Delhi, this person keyed in an access code that is changed once a week. Using that code, along with a separate password, a specialist in Eggleston, Ohio, deployed a digital kill switch that caused a software failure.” Afridi paused for a moment, focusing on Anna’s face. “It’s fortunate the engines didn’t turn off as well and the pilot had the presence of mind to get you onto the ground as quickly as he did.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Peregrine designs and programs the kill switch used in the Sikorsky. It’s part of a highly classified project funded by the CIA. Virtually every major weapons system or aircraft that the United States sells to other countries incorporates this embedded technology. It’s completely invisible and seldom activated but ensures that those armaments won’t be used against the United States. Most buyers don’t even know it’s there. America’s closest allies accept it as part of the price. The Israelis have spent millions of dollars trying to decipher the codes and override the kill switch, but they haven’t succeeded.”
“So you’re telling me the Americans can shut down any weapon or military vehicle they sell abroad?”
“Exactly,” said Afridi. “Think about it. It’s the perfect strategy for controlling conflict around the world. If Egypt suddenly orders its tanks to enter the Sinai, you switch them off and
they won’t even start. Their guidance systems go blank, and their artillery won’t fire. It neutralizes any threat to peace. If the South Koreans decide to launch missiles across the demilitarized zone, you can stop the strike before it happens. Why do you think the Americans had such an easy time entering Iraq? All those vehicles disabled on the highway from Kuwait to Baghdad didn’t just run out of fuel.”
“And Pakistan?” Anna said.
“Exactly,” Afridi said. “A squadron of F-16s, stationed outside Lahore, can be disabled before their pilots have scrambled into the cockpits. They won’t get off the ground, like pigeons whose wings have been clipped.”
“And Guldaar has access to this through Peregrine?”
“With the complicity of certain people in the CIA. Day after tomorrow, Guldaar himself is coming to Delhi, offering to sell our generals this capability. It’s a tempting proposition. Half of Pakistan’s hardware immobilized. A perfect opportunity to take back disputed areas of Kashmir. The heavy guns on one side of Siachen Glacier would suddenly go silent, and India could capture Skardu within twelve hours.”
“Nobody in Delhi would seriously consider an offer like that.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Afridi. “He’ll be meeting with the defense secretary at noon, and there’s a special briefing for the army chief right after that.”
“But it’s absurd to think that India would go to war simply because we have an overwhelming strategic advantage. The truth is, we already have the capability to wipe out Pakistan, if we wanted.”
Afridi shook his head.
“It doesn’t really matter if India entertains his offer. He’s more interested in blackmailing Pakistan. Their generals and the ISI would be equally interested in controlling those codes, to keep their weapons functioning. First he speaks to Delhi, then he uses it to leverage his options in Islamabad.”
“Why can’t the Americans just change the codes or disable the kill switch?”
“Well, for one thing, it’s not that easy. Activating the kill switch is relatively simple, but dismantling the system involves a much more elaborate process. The other problem, of course, is that the United States doesn’t want to acknowledge this technology.”
“Naturally,” said Anna. “Because there would be far fewer customers for their products. Am I correct in assuming that Guldaar is blackmailing the CIA as well as Pakistan?”
Afridi looked at her and shrugged.
“I can’t speculate…. Either way, it’s a dangerous situation. If the Pakistanis feel they are cornered, they might panic and launch a preemptive nuclear strike. It’s the worst-case scenario but totally within the realm of possibility.”
After a pause, Anna asked, “Has Daphne been able to identify him in any of the photographs?”
“No, nothing,” said Afridi.
“What are we going to do?” Anna asked.
“I need you to go to Delhi immediately,” he said. “Can you be ready in half an hour? The chopper will take you.”
“Of course,” said Anna.
“We have an extremely tight window of opportunity.”
“Yes, sir,” said Anna.
“I’ve spoken with Shinde, and he’s approved your involvement, unofficially, of course. Anna, I want to make it clear that you are absolutely free to refuse this assignment. It’s an extremely dangerous mission with a number of unpredictable risks. You’ll be operating entirely outside standard procedures. Complete autonomy. Total exposure.”
“I’ll have to speak with Manav first,” she said. “He wasn’t happy with what happened in America. I’m sure he thinks I overstepped my brief.”
“Unfortunately, Shinde isn’t going to take your calls right now,” said Afridi. “The situation is too sensitive.”
“Last evening, he specifically told me to keep him informed.”
“Everything changed this morning,” said Afridi. “The day after tomorrow, there’s a bilateral conference on reducing hostilities in Siachen. The minister of state for defense is meeting with his Pakistani counterpart, who flies into Delhi this evening. Guldaar will use this opportunity to broker a deal between Peregrine and our government as well as the Pakistanis. He’s selling drones, but the kill switch option is also on the table, probably as a bargaining chip. We don’t know how long he’s going to be in Delhi, though he’s likely to stay for only a few hours. Within that time frame, we need to isolate him and take him captive. Or, as a second option, eliminate him altogether.”
“Dead or alive,” said Anna with a reluctant smile.
“Exactly.”
“But if he’s meeting the secretary and the generals,” said Anna, “you aren’t suggesting they’re involved.”
“Not that we know of,” said Afridi. “But, frankly, at this point we don’t trust anyone.”
“Which is why you’re circumventing any chain of command.”
“Yes. That’s why Manav has stepped out of the picture, though I can assure you he has given his consent. He will do whatever he can in Delhi to protect us. Nevertheless, if we fail, or if things go wrong, then you and I could be accused of treason or at the very least subverting national interests. Which is why you must decide if you want to accept the risks.”
“So, you’re asking me to either kidnap Guldaar or assassinate him, whichever is expedient?” Anna asked.
“No,” said Afridi. “We have someone else to do that job. Your assignment will be to contact him and provide support.”
Anna let out her breath slowly, studying Afridi with a cautious eye. Until now, she had believed he was acting in the best interests of the nation, and she trusted his judgment. But by circumventing the intelligence community and the military’s chain of command, even if Manav gave an ambivalent nod, Afridi seemed to be taking his obsession with Guldaar to the level of a personal vendetta.
“And who’s this person I’m supposed to contact in Delhi?” she asked.
“His alias is Harsh Advani, but his real name is Major Yaqub Hussein, an ISI officer operating undercover,” said Afridi. “For once, we’re going to use the Pakistanis to do our dirty work.”
Fifty-One
“These birds must be carefully trained. Houbara bustards are three times their size, but when a falcon plummets from the air, it’s like a rocket. Remember the formula they taught in school? Momentum equals mass times velocity.” Guldaar turned his gaze away from the plate glass window as he spoke.
“I’m afraid I never paid attention in physics,” Luke said.
“Whatever it may be, the falcon kills swiftly and efficiently. All you see is a puff of feathers and the houbara is knocked to the ground, and then it struggles for a moment before the falcon tears out its throat.”
The training facility was at a wadi forty kilometers outside Dubai, in the desert. An air-conditioned complex of rooms, including an aviary for the birds, stood on a low escarpment above the dry wash, which funneled out of a shallow canyon. Though it appeared as if there were nothing on all sides, Luke had seen fences stretching to the horizon when they drove through the gates. Outdoors the temperature was 110 degrees Fahrenheit, but inside the viewing gallery the air was pleasantly cool. Two sheikhs sat together on one side of the room, smoking and drinking coffee, while the trainers prepared for a demonstration.
Guldaar explained to Luke that the sheikhs had come from Qatar to purchase falcons. Two of the trainers appeared to be European. The other was Mongolian. Lighting a cigarette himself, Guldaar spoke about the traditions of falconry.
“The Mongolians understand the wind and raptors like nobody else. It’s in their blood,” he said. “They have a mystical relationship with these birds.”
Standing off to one side, in the shade of the buildings, was a man with two dogs on leashes. They were white Salukis with tasseled ears and feathery tails.
“What are the dogs for?” Luke asked.
“They’ll chase down a wounded bird, if necessary,” said Guldaar. “Salukis are the only dogs that Arabs consider clean
enough to fetch an animal. The saliva of any other breed is haram. They’re beautiful to watch when they run, like greyhounds. With the breeze in their coats, they look as if they’re flying over the desert.”
A waiter entered carrying glasses of karkade and limon, along with a tray of canapés. He offered these to the sheikhs, then brought them across to Luke and Guldaar.
“Try one of these,” said Guldaar. “Houbara pâté.”
Luke hesitated, then took a cracker smeared with something that looked like foie gras. It had a strong, gamey flavor.
“Have another, it’s supposed to enhance your manhood.”
Luke declined but took a glass of lemonade. Outside, the falconer had emerged with a bird on his arm. The sheikhs picked up their binoculars and focused intently on the demonstration. Both Luke and Guldaar fell silent as the fatal drama began. The falconer removed the hood, and Luke could see the young bird swiveling its head, keen eyes alert to any sign of prey, its beak like the barb on a fish hook. A few seconds later, one of the cages was opened and a bustard emerged, running awkwardly for a few steps before taking flight. It looked like a small stork. Through the binoculars, Luke could see where it landed, perfectly camouflaged among the rocks and sand.
The falconer undid the leather jesses and released the raptor from his wrist. It was a shaheen falcon, and Luke could see its wings slicing through the air as it gained height. The wadi shimmered in the midmorning sun, mirages creating pools of warped light, turning sand into liquid shapes.
“He’s spotted it!” said Guldaar.
Luke watched the falcon hover, as its wings quivered against the sky. The bird seemed suspended on an invisible thread that was suddenly cut, and it plunged to the ground. All of this happened in silence—the only sound was the soft exhalation of air-conditioning. One of the sheikhs spoke, and the other laughed. Luke had lost sight of the houbara, but as he scanned the dry contours of the wadi with his binoculars, he finally spotted a wing flapping helplessly, feathers rustling in the throes of death. The falconer had gone forward now, and seconds later, the bird of prey returned to his arm and was rewarded with a morsel of flesh. By this time, the dogs had been released, and Luke watched them bounding across the sand, racing each other.
The Dalliance of Leopards Page 25