“You’re going to tell him to lie facedown on the road and stay that way until we come out. Tell him that if I see a gun in his hand when we walk out there, or if he isn’t flat on his face, he’s a dead man. Do you understand?”
“Why would I do all of that?” The Afghan’s voice was flat and resigned, despite the obvious pain of his wound. In spite of himself, Kealey could not help but admire the man’s resilience, but it didn’t change how he felt. He would make all the promises he needed to for now, but eventually, he was going to kill everyone who had forced him into this position, including the man he had just shot. “You’re going to kill me, anyway,” Fahim observed.
“You’re wrong,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “I’m not going to kill you. But even if you’re right, you have nothing to lose. If you cooperate, I might let you live, but if you don’t help me, then I no longer have any use for you.” Kealey paused to let the full weight of that statement sink in. “So what’s it going to be? Yes or no?”
It seemed to take a long time, but finally the Afghan nodded, grimacing with the pain in his leg. “Yes. I can get what you need.”
“Good,” Kealey said. “Now, where is Benazir Mengal?”
The Afghan started talking immediately, and less than a minute later, Kealey was punching in Jonathan Harper’s direct line. The deputy DCI answered immediately.
“John, it’s me. Listen, I—”
“Where the hell have you been?” Harper said. His voice was laced with fury he was beyond trying to control. “You were supposed to—”
Kealey cut him off with a few harsh words of his own, then launched into the story. It took a few minutes, but Harper gradually began to understand what he was being told. Once that happened, he stopped trying to interrupt and listened, with escalating disbelief, as Kealey explained what had just taken place. He remained silent until the younger man was done, and by that time, he had forgotten why he was angry to begin with.
CHAPTER 37
WASHINGTON, D.C. • NORTHERN PAKISTAN
It was just after eight in the morning, and Harper was standing in the West Wing, just outside the Oval Office. He’d excused himself to take Kealey’s call, and he was still trying to get over what he’d just heard. If it had come from anyone else, he would not have believed it. It seemed too far-fetched to be possible. But at the same time, part of him was not surprised to hear how far Javier Machado had gone to protect his only living child. He knew something of the Spaniard’s background, and he had been with the Agency—albeit in a lesser position—when Caroline Petain had died in Colombia. It was something that Harper couldn’t fully understand, as he and his wife did not have children. Still, he knew how he would feel if something were to happen to Julie, and he could imagine that losing a child would be ten times worse. Maybe twenty times worse, and the way Caroline had died . . . Well, it didn’t get much worse than that. Clearly, her death had affected Javier Machado more than anyone had ever suspected, including those closest to him, namely, his own family. Lifting the phone, Harper called Diane Neal, the director’s secretary, and had her patch him through to the station chief in Madrid. Without going into specifics, he explained the situation quickly, and the station chief agreed to dispatch two of his people to Machado’s house in Cartagena. Harper thanked him and ended the call. Then he tried to call Machado direct. Unsurprisingly, the man didn’t pick up, and neither did Naomi when Harper tried her sat phone.
Harper tried to think of something else he could do, but he had exhausted his options. He had done his best to reassure Kealey during their brief, tense conversation, but it hadn’t really worked; they both knew Machado’s background in operations, and they both knew he would have planned this out extensively. The embassy personnel would almost certainly find an empty house when they arrived in Cartagena, but they had to be sure. He wondered how he would ever be able to tell Petain what her father had done; part of him hoped that Kealey would take care of it for him. Checking his watch, he turned, opened the door, and stepped into the Oval Office. Brenneman, Andrews, DNI Bale, and Stan Chavis were engaged in quiet discussion around the coffee table, and they all looked up as Harper approached.
“What was that about?” Andrews asked.
“We’ve got a lead on Mengal,” Harper replied. He didn’t bother relaying the rest of it; right now, they didn’t need the whole story. Besides, they wouldn’t have been able to sit through it. Not after what he’d just told them. All four men shot up in their seats, giving him their full attention. “It looks like he might be in northern Pakistan, in a town called Sialkot.”
“What about Brynn?” the president instantly asked, momentarily forgetting how high Fitzgerald ranked in comparison to Harper, Hayden, and even Andrews. Normally, he would never have used her first name in their presence.
“At this point, it appears that Secretary Fitzgerald is probably in the same location,” Harper said, and he watched as all four men breathed a shared sigh of relief.
Brenneman sprang to his feet, and the others followed suit, although they had nowhere to go. “What do you mean, ‘probably’? What makes you say that, and where did you get this information?”
Harper quickly relayed everything Kealey had just told him, limiting his words to what they needed to know. He finished by explaining that a considerable number of guards were stationed outside the house in Sialkot, which elevated the probability that Fitzgerald was being held inside the building.
“But we don’t know for sure,” Andrews clarified, once Harper was done. “We can’t verify that she’s on- site.”
“No,” Harper admitted. “But we can’t know for sure until we’re inside.”
“You’re suggesting we raid the house?” Brenneman asked skeptically.
“No,” Harper replied. “At least, I don’t think we should do that yet. But I do believe we need to have reliable eyes on the target until we’re ready to move decisively. Sir, as I mentioned before, we have four 8X satellites over the region. We can easily shift one away from the area of fighting to cover this part of the Punjab. We have a number of well-trained paramilitary officers in the area, including Ryan Kealey, and with satellite coverage, we have nothing to lose by setting up surveillance on the residence. Even if Mengal moves unexpectedly, we’ll be able to track him. He’ll have nowhere to go.”
“These people you have in the area . . . ,” Chavis began slowly.
“Are they armed?”
Harper hesitated, but only for a second. “No, they aren’t. But that’s a problem we can fix easily enough, once the president clears this course of action.”
“How many men are we talking about?” Brenneman asked. “How many do we have in the area?”
“Five men, including Kealey, and one woman,” Harper replied. “Of those six, two are current or former members of Delta, and one is a former army ranger, a captain with the 82nd Airborne. Another, Aaron Massi, served as a combat controller in the air force.”
“Still, that’s six against a force of eight to twelve, plus another unknown number of guards inside the house,” Andrews remarked. He shook his head uneasily. “It’s a risk. There could be a lot of unknowns in that equation, and if the surveillance is blown . . .”
“Alerting the Pakistani government would be even riskier,” Harper pointed out. “I’ve been thinking this through over the past couple of days, debating how it might play out if we actually got a lead on Fitzgerald’s location. And I have to tell you, I think it would be a mistake to go through official channels. Mengal still has a lot of friends in high places. If we ask Musharraf to move on this and word gets out to the wrong man, which it will, Mengal will kill the secretary of state and leave before we can even get into position.”
“Jesus,” Brenneman said shakily, his face turning pale. He retook his seat, and after a moment, everyone else did the same. Looking over to Harper, he asked, “How long do we have to decide on a course of action?”
Harper wondered why the president had used the word “we.” In the end, it was his decision and his alone; everyone else was just there to advise. Harper wondered if Brenneman was already attempting to spread the blame around, at least subconsciously. Harper knew it didn’t really matter either way; if the president took his advice and the surveillance was blown, Harper would almost certainly be out of a job, as would Andrews and Hayden. Chavis would probably survive the fallout, but not because of his position. He and the president shared a personal