survivor, but he did not report back to his base and was listed as missing in action. He made his way over the mountains into Pakistan and eventually to Karachi.”
Rafik leaned across the table. “He is very bitter, Imran. He rails against the United States. He feels he is a victim and he talks of revenge.”
Afridi studied the picture again. The man in it was blond-haired and blue-eyed. He had the looks and build of a stereotypical fraternity jock; the antithesis of the features Homeland Security profilers looked for. There was no place he could not go unsuspected. He was a terrorist’s dream and the CIA’s worst nightmare.
“Are you thinking about America?” Afridi asked.
“He would be perfect,” Rafik answered excitedly.
“It would be asking a lot. He grew up an American. He might talk jihad but he might not have the heart to go through with it when the time came.”
“New converts are often the most fanatic believers,” Rafik countered.
Afridi leaned back and looked at the sea. Nasrallah did not speak. Afridi was the deeper thinker of the two, while his friend was the man of action. The friends often passed the time playing chess. On the rare occasion when Rafik won, it was through a daring combination that had worked even though he had not thought it through completely. Imran usually won by grinding down his friend.
“I am nervous about letting this man in on the operation,” Afridi said. “Until now, we have taken all of the right steps. The slightest error could destroy everything we want to accomplish.”
“There’s no risk, Imran. I will have Mustapha sound him out so there won’t be any connection to us. We still have a lot of time before we begin the operation.”
Afridi thought some more. Then he nodded. “All right, have Mustapha talk to him.”
“You’re wise to be cautious, Imran, but if he is suitable…”
“Yes.”
“And if he is not,” Nasrallah said, shrugging, “Karachi is a very big city. He can always disappear.”
Part I
Chapter One
As soon as Dana Cutler and Jake Teeny walked into the China Clipper, Dana took off her motorcycle helmet and shook out her shoulder-length hair. Brad Miller had been watching for them, and he waved from the booth in the back of the restaurant where he and Ginny Striker were waiting. The private detective and her photojournalist boyfriend were a striking couple. They had driven over on Jake’s Harley and they were both clad in black leather jackets and jeans. At five ten, Dana was an inch taller than Jake, but they were both lean and athletic. Jake had wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and dark skin that had been blasted by the desert winds and baked by the scorching suns of the war zones and exotic places his assignments had taken him to. Dana’s green eyes and auburn hair attracted attention from men but something hard and dangerous about her made these same men think twice before approaching her.
When the couple arrived at the booth, Brad shook hands with Jake, but he knew better than to hug Dana. Physical contact made the private detective uncomfortable, and Brad knew why. The fact that Dana was sleeping with Jake said a lot about the strength of their relationship.
Brad was five ten with a straight nose, clear blue eyes, and curly black hair, which was showing a few gray strands, the result of two straight years of heart-stopping adventures that included bringing down an American president and saving the life of a United States Supreme Court justice. Ginny was a few years older than Brad; a tall, slender blonde with large blue eyes, she’d grown up in the Midwest and spent several years as a nurse before applying to law school. The couple had met a little over two years ago when they were new associates at a big law firm in Portland, Oregon.
“How are the newlyweds?” Jake asked with a wide smile. Brad and Ginny blushed and Jake laughed. He had seen the couple a few weeks ago at their wedding. They’d had pale complexions and a case of nerves. Today they were deeply tanned and looked relaxed and happy.
“Tell us about the honeymoon,” Dana said.
Ginny grinned. “Is what we tell you going to be a headline in your sleazy rag?”
Dana occasionally did investigative reporting for Exposed, a supermarket tabloid whose bread and butter was UFO, Bigfoot, and Elvis sightings, but which had won a Pulitzer for a series that had been a major factor in Christopher Farrington’s loss in the presidential election to Maureen Gaylord.
Dana laughed. “None of what you say will find its way to Patrick Gorman’s desk. Now, where did you go? You were very mysterious about your plans.”
Just then the waiter came for their order.
“Justice Moss gave us an amazing wedding present,” Ginny said as soon as the waiter left.
“Better than the Ashanti fertility doll we gave you?” Jake asked.
Dana elbowed Jake. “Let them talk.”
“Ever since Brad saved Justice Moss’s life, we’ve had the press all over us,” Ginny said. “So she asked Tyrell Truman to let us stay at his estate in Hawaii so we wouldn’t be hounded by reporters.”
“The movie star?” Jake asked.
Brad nodded. “Justice Moss met him when she was with Martin Luther King. He wasn’t a movie star then, just a struggling actor. They’ve been close friends ever since.”
“Truman’s on location somewhere in Asia, but he had his pilot fly us to the estate in his jet,” Ginny said. “It had leather seats and wood trim. And they gave us Champagne and caviar.”
“Yeah, but compared to Truman’s estate, the plane was nothing special,” Brad said.
“He’s not kidding,” Ginny cut in. “The place is amazing. It has its own private beach and servants, and Truman asked his personal chef to cook for us.”
“You would not believe the food,” Brad said. “It was French one night, Italian the next.”
“I’m a burger and fries girl myself,” Dana said.
“Even a peasant like you would have been impressed,” Brad assured her. “I actually asked for a cheeseburger for lunch one day and it was the best cheeseburger I’ve ever eaten.”
“With sweet potato fries and an amazing coffee milk shake,” Ginny added.
The waiter returned with a big bowl of corn-and-crabmeat soup.
“So, what are you guys up to?” Brad asked as Ginny dished out the soup.
“I’m off to Afghanistan,” Jake answered.
“For how long?” Brad asked.
Jake shrugged. “It’s open-ended. We’re going into a mountainous tribal region to interview warlords.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Ginny said.
“Danger is my middle name,” Jake joked, but Brad could tell that Dana didn’t see any humor in the assignment.
“How’s the private eye business?” Brad asked.
“Okay,” Dana answered. “So, what are you two going to do to feed yourselves?”
Brad noticed how quickly Dana had changed the subject, and he wondered if Dana’s business was in trouble. She’d gotten a lot of publicity out of her role in the Farrington and Moss affairs and Brad assumed she’d be flooded with clients. He really liked Dana and he hoped she was doing well.
“You know I quit working at my firm?” Ginny said. Jake and Dana nodded. “Well, I’m going to start at the Department of Justice in a week.”
