“Then they know that he’s here.” “Not here in the cave, there’s too much rock above us. It blocks the signal. But they certainly followed his movements through the mountains.”
Ali was close enough that McGarvey could grab him. But unless the man was very important to bin Laden, the guards might not hesitate to shoot anyway.
“What do we do with him now?” Ali said, keeping his eyes on McGarvey. “A bullet would destroy the device, that’s for sure.”
“Nothing’s changed,” McGarvey said to bin Laden. “We can still make our deal. That’s why I came.”
“Why did you bring such a thing here?” bin Laden demanded.
“To pinpoint your exact location,” Ali answered before McGarvey could speak.
“That’s right,” McGarvey said. “We have ships standing by in the Gulf waiting for word from me. You didn’t think I was going to come here unprotected did you? You have your armed guards, I have my cruise missiles. But think it out. Nothing has changed. You made me an offer, and I’m going to take it back to my government.” Ali walked back and got his pistol. “We need to leave immediately,” he said. He cycled a round into the chamber and pointed the gun at McGarvey. Bin Laden said something to him in Persian, and he looked back, vexed.
“The signal is picked up by satellites. There’s enough of them in orbit so that there’s always at least three above the horizon.”
“Then they know for sure that he’s in this camp,” bin Laden said, switching back to English. “But the signal cannot penetrate this cave, you’re sure about that?”
“Absolutely.”
“If he were to be taken down into the camp, the signal would reappear in their monitors, is this also correct?”
Ali nodded impatiently. “What are you getting at Osama?”
“They know exactly where we are. If they wanted to attack they could do it at any time.”
“That’s right.”
“But Mr. McGarvey is a very important man to them. They wouldn’t attack us while he’s still here. While the device he is carrying in his body is still here.”
Ali looked at McGarvey with renewed interest. “Do you still want to send him home?”
“Yes,” bin Laden said. “Maybe he actually did come to offer us a deal as he claims, and not merely to lead a missile attack.”
“Keep me here, and let me telephone the President—”
Bin Laden dismissed McGarvey’s suggestion with a gesture. “No, you will return to Washington.”
“As soon as he leaves the camp, they’ll attack,” Ali warned.
“No,” bin Laden said, supremely confident.
“But they’ll track the GPS chip.”
“That’s correct,” bin Laden said. “Mr. McGarvey will leave tonight, but the device will stay here with us. So long as it’s here, the CIA will think Mr. McGarvey is also here, and they will not attack. Simple. It gives us maneuvering room.”
CHAPTER TEN
McGarvey looked for a way out on the way down the hill into the camp. The two mujahedeen escorting him were wide awake, ready for trouble. The camp seemed deserted, yet he could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on him; watching, waiting for him to make a move. He looked over his shoulder, back up at the cave opening. If anyone was standing there they were lost in the deeper darkness. The stars were very bright and large; somewhere up there a series of satellites had picked up his signal as soon as he’d emerged from the cave. Back home they knew that he was on the move again. His exact position was pinpointed to within a couple of meters. There was no telling what they made of the fact his signal had cut out during the hour he’d been under cover, but somebody had probably figured it out. At least he hoped so, because if they thought he was dead, the GPS chip destroyed, they would order the missile attack. That would be the worst possible thing they could do right now. There was no doubt, not even a lingering suspicion, that bin Laden had the nuclear weapon and would use it if they couldn’t come to some kind of an agreement. A missile attack now would not kill bin Laden so long as he remained in his cave. And if they missed there would be no going back. If for no other reason than that, he couldn’t leave now. He felt cornered.
At the bottom they passed through the silent camp. Just beyond the helicopter a mujahed was hunched in front of a low, mud-brick structure of the type very common in Afghanistan, used for everything from sheltering humans and animals to storing equipment and supplies. When they got closer McGarvey saw that it was Mohammed, and he was grinning maniacally. He said something to the guards escorting McGarvey. One of them grunted something in reply, and then they pushed a heavy wool curtain covering the doorway back, and prodded McGarvey inside.
The single, low-ceilinged room, lit by a couple of kerosene lanterns, was equipped as a crude emergency hospital. One of the lanterns hung over a narrow table that was draped with a none-too-clean sheet A tray with a few surgical instruments, gauze pads and tape was laid out on a small cart beside the table. A man in a long white gown, a bandana tied on his head, was pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. He gave McGarvey an interested look and said something to one of the guards.
McGarvey stepped back a pace and calmed down. He considered his options and his chances.
“The doctor says that if you promise not to make trouble for him, he will allow us to wait outside.”
Overpowering the two mujahedeen was possible, but then what? He had two choices: He could try to get back to bin Laden and kill him. Or, he could do as he was told. Let them take the chip out of his body, and then somehow find his satellite phone to call off the attack. Even if the operation wasn’t botched, the chip would go off the air within twenty-four hours after the delicate battery bit the open air.
The clock was about to start running, and he didn’t have many choices left The doctor said something.
“You are not to worry. The procedure will be sterile if we wait outside,” the mujahed said. “It is for your safety.”
McGarvey nodded.
Mohammed was at the doorway, the blanket pushed back, and he was practically licking his chops.
“Tell the doctor that I won’t make trouble. But I want to be awake during the operation.”
The mujahed said something to the doctor, who shrugged indifferently, and nodded.
“And keep Mohammed away from me,” McGarvey said sternly. “If he comes in here I’ll kill him.”
One of the guards glanced at Mohammed and then looked back, grinning. He was enjoying himself. “No one will bother you in here. Tonight.”
“Okay,” McGarvey said. He unbuttoned his bush jacket and laid it on a chair. Next he took off his sweater, laid it on top of his jacket and spread his hands to show the guards he was offering no resistance. The doctor said something, and the guards left the room, letting the wool blanket cover the opening.
The doctor had taken a needle out of his bag, and filled it with something from a small bottle. “Loosen your trousers, and lay facedown on the table. I’ll give you the injection. It’s just lidocaine.”
“You speak English,” McGarvey said, surprised.
“I was educated in London,” the doctor said indifferently. “You might become lightheaded, but you won’t feel any pain.”
McGarvey undid his belt and the top button of his trousers and climbed up on the table. It smelled strongly of disinfectant, which was a good sign.
The doctor swabbed alcohol on a spot on McGarvey’s left side and gave him the shot. “It’ll take a couple of minutes for the drug to begin to work.” He palpated the area on and around the kidney scar. “You’ve had this kidney removed, and the implant is in the cavity, is that correct?” Before McGarvey could answer, he probed deeper with his fingers. “Ah, yes, here it is, just a few centimeters under the skin.”
McGarvey looked over his shoulder as the doctor swabbed an orange disinfectant around the area of the scar tissue. He tossed the swab into the bucket and took a scalpel from the table. McGarvey tensed up.
“Turn your head, you’re tightening your muscles,” the doctor said. He probed the area with his fingers, but
