twenty thousand, and he let it ride for another spin, when he won again and the money became forty thousand dollars.
That was enough showing off. He stacked the beautiful chips into small towers of colorful plastic and settled down to play for only a thousand per spin for a while. Win some, lose some, and the brunette had taken the seat next to him and placed warm fingertips along his thigh.
Jim Hall knew it was going to go on being this way. He would enjoy his new life in Europe, travel the high roads in Asia and South America, and never have to return to those sandy and hot wastes in the Middle East. A final favor had to be repaid, but that would not happen in Pakistan. Then, out.
PAKISTAN
THE FATHER AND THE son were sharing a small meal, eating quietly until they were done, and the women left them alone. It was not very hot outside, and there was already fresh snow on the highest ridges. For mountain dwellers, it was time to be certain they had acquired everything they needed before the passes were clogged by snow and ice so thick that even a mule could not traverse a path.
Muhammed Waleed, the strongest warlord in the Taliban badlands, was proud of Selim. The attack in Islamabad had brought a horrendous toll of death and destruction, and it was all being blamed on an American Marine assassin, who had now escaped from custody.
“You have accomplished an important task, my son, and you did so brilliantly.”
“Thank you, Father. I felt the hand of the Prophet upon me during the entire operation. All praise be unto him.”
The older man adjusted his robes. The weather had been hot only a few days before, but now there was a faint chill in the early afternoon air. “How do you read the government’s situation at this point?”
Selim gave his father a frank look. “I admit that I was surprised that they did not crumble after the Islamabad incident. The president did not impose martial law, which I had anticipated.”
“Perhaps he held back because of all of the foreign presence in the city. The diplomats would have reported back to their capitals that he had panicked. He would not want that.”
“Yes,” agreed Selim. “Well, no matter. Confidence in his administration was already being shaken by the riots elsewhere, and now, as I read it, the president is hanging on by no more than a slender thread. The generals may not follow his call for any harsh crackdown on the people, and the secret police continue to play their own game.”
The Taliban leader laughed. “Ah, our old friend General Nawaz Zaman. That fox even keeps secrets from himself. He will not intervene in our plans if the price is correct and he is left in power when we take over.”
“He has been useful,” Selim replied. “When the bribe offer was made by the British billionaire for the escape of the Marine, Zaman arranged everything and kept me informed. As a prisoner, the Marine represented nothing but diplomatic and media problems in the future. It is best that he is gone. We have all washed our hands of him. Let Kyle Swanson be a problem elsewhere. Here, he was a distraction that we did not need at this important time.”
“And the condition of our political arm, the Bright Path Party?”
Selim’s dark eyes almost glowed. “Strong and ready. That is why I have come. It is almost time, Father. You must leave this place very soon and prepare to step into public view.”
“I think it is still too early, my son.” There was a hint of warning in the statement.
“Please allow me to explain my thinking, Father. I would never presume to know as much as you, nor to instruct you in the proper thing to do.”
“Speak.”
“The leaders of the Western countries are showing great concern about the situation in Pakistan. I have learned that the president of Pakistan will be invited to meet the leaders of major European countries and reassure them.”
“Where?”
“That has not yet been decided. The United Nations, The Hague, Washington, London, Paris. All are possible, and it makes little difference for our next steps. He will not return from the trip, and his government will collapse.”
Waleed got to his feet and walked to the main window. People in the village below were content and working. Soon he would be ruling the entire nation, out in the open. The other Taliban warlords would fall in line or face his wrath. The West would be forced to accept him.
Selim continued, “The president will be killed while he is away, and you will step forth as the candidate of the Bright Path Party to be elected and bring stability and peace to Pakistan. There will be a token opposition candidate, but anyone else seeking the office would find that life will be very, very difficult.”
“And Jim Hall does the job, wherever it may be?”
“Yes, Father. I have already set him in motion.”
36
ABOARD THE VAGABOND
MEDITERRANEAN SEA
COMMANDER STACEY THOMAS, CAPTAIN of HMS
Awaiting him on deck was Cornwell, the legendary former SAS colonel, now an international businessman. Cornwell was casually dressed, and, although he was still confined to a wheelchair from his injuries in a terrorist attack, his welcome was warm and friendly. No sign of animosity for being confronted by the military. That came as a relief for Commander Thomas, who did not want to make an enemy of this influential man.
“Welcome aboard, Commander Thomas,” Sir Jeff said, extending his hand. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Patricia.” An elegant woman in a casual blue and white deck outfit, with a white scarf around her neck, gave a cheerful smile.
The naval officer saluted, then accepted the offered handshakes. “Thank you, Sir Geoffrey. Lady Patricia. I am terribly sorry for this intrusion.”
Cornwell waved away the apology. “You have your orders, sir, so why get all bothered with legalities when what you seek is not here? Come and join me at that table beneath the deck awning while your lads conduct a thorough search. They may have the run of the ship. My crew will help if asked. It is important to clear this up as soon as possible.”
Stacey Thomas issued the command, and the five armed commandos spread fore and aft, scaling ladders and descending belowdecks. The entire crew of the
“Certainly. Some tea first?”
“Not at the moment, sir. Perhaps some other time, when things are not as tense.”
“Then let me answer your question before you ask: No, we have neither seen nor heard from Kyle Swanson. I was delighted to learn that he had escaped from custody in Pakistan, for we-Pat and I-will never believe Kyle is guilty, or even capable, of mass murder.”
“That would be simply impossible, Commander,” said Lady Pat in a pleasant voice. “Kyle is always very particular about whom he shoots.” She removed a small gold case that snapped brightly in the sun, took out a
