Islamabad Marriott.
Lauren adjusted a sheer black scarf to cover her head in respect for the Muslim tradition, although it did little to conceal her beauty. They entered through tall glass doors and were into the spacious ground-floor lobby, a quiet hive of activity. Diplomats, businessmen, political figures, and hangers-on of various stripes were gathered in clumps around the chairs and sofas on the rich carpets. The faces were all friendly. A plump banker was in a large chair, speaking with a general from some African nation, who was in full gilt dress regalia. On another sofa, a British journalist interviewed a Japanese builder of computers. There was just enough noise in the lobby, with enough occasional laughter coming from the nearby restaurant, to cover the appearance of the three Americans. They were sized up as just another business team in from the States, and although the woman was gorgeous, the men were forgettable. With aimless chatter, they worked their way through the islands of conversation.
Their shoes made no sound as they moved across the thick carpets and knotted rugs, reached the bank of elevators, and went up to a floor of private suites. The hotel staff had made certain that for this one hour, all other rooms along this hallway would be empty of other guests. Hall stopped before the door of Suite One, opened it, and stepped inside.
“MY GOOD FRIEND!” SELIM stepped forward and extended his hand. “It is good to see you again, Jim Hall. My father sends his best wishes and regrets that he cannot be here today.”
Hall shook the hand and gave the younger man a pat on the shoulder. “Selim. You are the very image of your honorable father when he was a young firebrand. It is good to see you, too.” He introduced Lauren and Kyle in turn, and the dark-haired Selim was as stylish as a European in acknowledging them.
Swanson broke the mood, sensing trouble. “This is your contact, Jim?”
Hall grinned sheepishly. “Not quite. He represents his father, whom I have known and worked with for years. We cannot be seen together in public, so Selim is our go-between. Good at the job, too.”
“Who is the real contact?” Swanson asked.
“You don’t need to know that yet,” Hall snapped.
“Oh, stow the bullshit, Jim. You specifically brought me in for this job, and I want to know who I am working with. You think I’ll put his name on Twitter or blog it or something?”
“Of course not. It’s just that his father is a top-level asset, one of my own recruits that I have groomed over the years.”
“The name?” asked Kyle. “No use continuing this conversation if you won’t tell me.”
Selim arched an eyebrow and looked from him to Lauren and then to Jim. “That is not a real problem.” He was sure of himself, confident of his work and his ability. “My father is Muhammed Waleed.”
“The top dog of the Taliban? We’re working with the Taliban?”
“The very one,” said Hall. “He will trust only me, and he is a real rainmaker.”
Kyle forced himself to keep a neutral look. Friend or not, he would not risk his life just because Jim Hall was engineering a deal with people that Swanson considered the enemy. “I’m more used to killing the Taliban than being nice to them.”
“We are quite aware of your reputation, Gunnery Sergeant Swanson. You may return to the battlefield again someday against our fighters and perhaps not be so lucky. But the world is changing, and in Pakistan, the Taliban is a legitimate political party, and my father runs it. Unfortunately, he does not speak for all of the renegade tribal chiefs. Yet.”
Hall laughed softly. “It’s a new world, Kyle, but it is still the old world in many ways. We are going to kill us a couple of Taliban terrorists while we are in Islamabad, and Selim is going to help us do it. If you don’t have the stomach for it, leave now.”
“Why don’t they just kill these guys themselves and be done with it?” Swanson asked, still irritated.
“Washington wants the word to spread that whoever messes with us is going to get squashed. This is a good target, Kyle; these boys are not a couple of suicide bombers but a highly trained team, and we need to take them out.”
Selim was standing with his hands folded in front of him. “We already have them in the city, Gunny Swanson. They will be ready when you are.”
Lauren finally spoke. “How will it happen, Selim? You will pick out a spot for our two snipers?”
He laughed, and a smile creased his firm jawline. “No. I pick out the spot for the targets. Jim Hall and the reluctant Gunny Swanson will find their own positions, although I have some recommendations.”
“You can guarantee that?”
“Of course. You can depend on good Muslims to always be on time to pray. The people are in a private apartment with a balcony. They have been given beautiful prayer rugs and will come out and prostrate themselves to offer their
Lauren said, “That’s pretty cold-blooded.”
“Please do not be shocked, Ms. Carson. In this part of the world, we have been doing this sort of thing for a thousand years. Even a prince at prayer in a mosque is not truly safe. You must remember from your studies that we coined the word
“Works for me,” said Swanson.
“I know,” said Selim with coldness, then broke into his relaxed smile. “Now, Jim Hall, you mentioned a price in our last conversation.”
Hall pointed to Lauren’s bag, and she pulled out the laptop, took it to a round table, opened the top, and went online through a secure satellite frequency. “A million dollars for each of them.”
“Hell of a campaign contribution.”
“Shut up and sit down, Kyle. Say the word, Selim, and Lauren will move the money.”
Swanson plopped hard into an overstuffed chair, looking sullen, and exhaled loudly. The others quickly ignored him. He was not involved in the talks. Kyle made a show of crossing his legs and adjusting his coat, carefully pulling the.45 ACP out of his belt and placing it beneath his thigh, with the butt facing out. Then he put an arm on each side of the chair, looking like he was resting. The fingers of his right hand were less than eleven inches from the pistol.
Selim leaned against the back of a long sofa. “My father appreciates that, but I believe these people are of more value. It has not been easy to separate them from their friends.”
Hall grunted a laugh. “The other part of the payment was getting those missiles to hit that village when he needed them. Took some doing on our part. Missiles cost money, too.”
“Still.”
“Oh, fine. Okay. Courtesy of the American taxpayer. A million and a half each, for three million dollars total. Will that make the old man happy?”
“Oh yes,” Selim said. “Excellent. Exchanging favors of equality leaves neither party indebted to the other.”
“An old Arab saying?” asked Lauren.
“No. I just made it up.”
“Fine.” She looked over at Jim Hall. “That’s it, then? Want me to punch the buttons on a three-million dollar transfer of funds to the assigned account?”
“Do it,” said Jim Hall. “Let’s wrap this baby up.”
Lauren’s fingers deftly worked the keyboard for about thirty seconds; then she stood back. “Transfer under way. Confirmation of receipt… right… now. Done.”
Selim coughed in his fist. “Excellent. Now, Jim Hall, before we part for the day, my father wishes for me to present you with a very special gift. Please wait for one moment.” He went to a door and said something.
They could hear some stirring on the other side; then the portal swung open and a pair of lean, hard-looking men in civilian clothes brought in Sergeant Javon Anthony and Corporal Jake Henderson. As the blindfolds were stripped away and the handcuffs removed, Selim said, “Please take these young men safely back to America.”
Kyle was already on his feet and locked in a two-fisted combat stance.
