The Invisible

friendship that dated back to their college years at Georgetown, and that, more than anything else, would insulate the chief of staff if the worst were to happen.

“Sir, there is no time to waste,” the deputy DCI cautioned. “Mengal won’t want to stay in one place for long. He’ll be moving around as much as he can, but it would be pointless to launch a rescue operation until we have reliable surveillance in place. Once we have eyes on the building, we can strike in a matter of hours, if that is what you decide to do.”

“But with satellite coverage, we don’t need to—”

“Sir, forgive me for interrupting, but IMINT isn’t enough. We need men on the ground.”

Brenneman let out a weary sigh, then lowered his head in thought. After a minute, he looked up and said, “What happens next? I mean, what do you need to do right now, assuming I agree with your proposal?”

“With your permission, I’d like to head over to the NRO. We need to get an 8X over Sialkot as soon as possible. A call from you to the director would help greatly in that regard, sir. Once that’s done, we can establish things here. By that, I mean we can set up downstairs in the Situation Room.”

“I’ll call him before you get there,” Brenneman said. He seemed to think for a few seconds more. “John, I want you to draw up a plan to recover Secretary Fitzgerald. As of now, we’re proceeding with the understanding that the Pakistani government will not be alerted in advance. That may change before I authorize anything, but for now, that’s the plan. Start getting your people in place.”

“Yes, sir,” Harper said. The president looked at Andrews, just to make sure they were all on the same page, and the DCI acknowledged the order.

“Sir,” Bale cautioned, “if you do this, the diplomatic fallout—”

“Will be worth it,” Brenneman said, finishing Bale’s sentence. He fixed the director of National Intelligence with a stern glare. “If Musharraf had control over the subversive elements in his country, Ken, we wouldn’t be in this position to begin with. We might only have one chance to get her back, and I’m not going to let it slip through our fingers.”

Bale nodded, and the president shifted his gaze to include them all. “We’re going to find her and bring her home, gentlemen, by any means necessary. Is that clear?”

Everyone murmured their agreement. The president stood, and everyone followed suit.

“Good. Let’s go to work,” said Brenneman.

Kealey had been staring out the window for the last half hour, but the passing scenery meant nothing to him. He was entirely fixed on the images running through his mind. All he could see was Naomi, and it was killing him. He still couldn’t believe he had misjudged Javier Machado that badly, and he wondered if the man was actually capable of doing what he had threatened to do. His background said that he wasn’t. People with that kind of temperament didn’t last long in the Operations Directorate, and that was assuming they even managed to get through the doors in the first place. Machado had spent thirty years in the DO, and his career had been marked by a long string of accomplishments. Simply stated, he was one of the best operatives the Agency had ever seen, and by extension, that made him a consummate professional. If that had been the only factor involved, Kealey would have felt sure that he was bluffing—that he had no intention of really hurting Naomi.

But it wasn’t that simple. Machado’s actions were clearly based on an emotional element that Kealey couldn’t fully appreciate. When Petain had told him about her sister’s gruesome death in Colombia, Kealey had been shocked by the sick nature of the crime, as well as what had come after. But he hadn’t really considered how much that must have affected the people Caroline had left behind, namely, her immediate family. The pain of that event would have been bad in the beginning—Kealey knew that much, because he had once suffered a similar loss—but over time, the initial impact of that tragedy had clearly evolved in Petain and Machado. In the former, it had fostered a desire for revenge; in the latter, it had fostered something else. Something far more dangerous. A willingness to go to great lengths—any lengths, perhaps, if he was serious about the threat he had made—to protect his only surviving child. Kealey had been turning it over in his mind since they’d left the substation three hours earlier. He had used the time to brief Owen over the phone and move his people into position, but he’d still had hours—hard, painful, prolonged hours—to think about what had happened. He was no closer to an answer now than he had been then. He still didn’t know how he could have seen the truth in time. He wasn’t even certain what truth he was supposed to have seen. Was Machado simply acting out of a twisted desire to shield his daughter from harm? Or was he just trying to control her life by any means necessary? Kealey tried to push the distinction aside, as it didn’t really matter either way. What did matter was how he had reacted when it all came unglued, and he still didn’t know if he’d done the right thing. Other than following Machado’s instructions, what else could he have he done? Was there anything else he could have done? Any real alternative? He didn’t think so, but there was no way of knowing, and the uncertainty was slowly but steadily wearing him down.

“Here,” Fahim said from the front seat. Kealey shifted his attention to the front. He silently rebuked himself for letting his mind wander, but he didn’t really have to worry about their prisoner. Kealey had used the man’s own handcuffs to secure him to the passengerside door. Petain was driving, and Kealey was seated behind the Afghan. He had the only gun in the car, and the flimsy seats in the Subaru would not stop a bullet. Kealey had made their prisoner abundantly aware of both these facts, and apart from the occasional groan of pain, he had remained silent throughout the journey. “This is the road you need to take.”

Petain looked over her shoulder at Kealey, and he nodded his approval. He suddenly realized that she hadn’t said a word since they’d left the substation, and he wondered what might be going through her mind. Could she have overheard either of his conversations with Machado and Harper? If she had, it would certainly explain her silence. She took the exit, and Kealey said, “Slow down.” To Fahim, he said, “Where is it?”

“Just a few kilometers.” The car went over a bump, and the Afghan let out a guttural moan. Clearly, the pain from his gunshot wound was starting to intensify. “The car should be over this next hill. A white Toyota. It will be parked on the shoulder.”

“Okay. Pull over here, Marissa.”

She pulled over without a word. Kealey got out, went to the driver’sside window, and asked her to get in the back. He gave her the gun, then slid behind the wheel. She climbed in back a moment later. Next, he called Owen, who picked up after a couple of rings.

“Where are you?” Kealey asked. He already had a good idea; he just wanted the specifics. Shortly after Fahim had arranged for his people to drop off the equipment, Kealey had directed Owen and his people to an overwatch position, from which point they could monitor any unwanted activity around the site. They had moved into position two hours earlier, and the last time they had checked in, everything had looked good.

“In the tree line south of the car. Two guys dropped it off an hour ago.”

“How does it look?”

“As clean as can be expected.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you need to reconsider, Ryan. We don’t know anything about these people, and we have no way to cover you. That car could be loaded with explosives. It could blow the minute you—”

“They didn’t have time to do that,” Kealey pointed out, knowing full well that the other man was right. Fahim’s people had had plenty of time to set up any kind of ambush they wanted. “And you know as well as I do that we need what’s in that trunk. They want their guy back . . . I don’t think they’re going to try anything.”

“Ryan . . .” Owen was clearly frustrated. “What’s it going to take to convince you that this is a bad idea? There’s got to be better ways of—”

“We don’t have time, Paul. You know I’m right. Just do it my way, okay?”

“Fine. It’s your neck. We’ll be watching.”

“Good. Stay where you are. I’m three minutes out.”

Kealey ended the call, then looked at the man in the passenger seat. “For your sake, I hope you’re playing this straight.”

“It will be there,” the Afghan assured him. Kealey looked into his eyes for a moment, searching for some sign of a hidden agenda, but after a second, he gave up and looked away. The man was completely unreadable. Besides, Kealey thought, with a deep sense of bitter regret,it’s not like I know how to read people. Even if he is lying, I’d never be able to see it. Just look at Machado. I sure as hell got that one wrong, didn’t I?

He started the car and continued down the road. He drove slowly, noting that there was hardly any vehicular