“Tough call for the new president,” Hall agreed in a neutral tone.
“President Graham cannot let this atrocity go unpunished,” Geneen repeated. “To do so would make him appear soft on terrorism. He is furious about the incident.”
Hall shrugged his shoulders and spread butter on a tiny triangle of toast. “With all due respect, the bottom line is that all ten men in that squad were volunteers, and this Wilson boy is only the latest single casualty in a dirty war that has cost thousands of American lives. He died doing his job. They screwed up by parking in exactly the same place every night. Now the squad leader and another soldier are gone. A terrible development.” He paused, dabbed his lips, and drank a little water.
“I see fault here with everybody in the command structure who allowed that practice of keeping in the same position night after night, at least all the way up to the battalion level. They made it too easy for an ambush, bypassing established defensive protocol. It was a snafu, but shit happens in war.” He had laid out facts and not ventured any suggestion.
The CIA director picked up the remote control for a large flat-screen television that was set into the wall of his office. He clicked a couple of times with no result. “I hate these things,” he said, continuing to punch buttons. The machine finally flickered to life, and with another click the terrible pictures of Eddie Wilson being murdered came onto the screen. “Jim, the public relations fallout from this gruesome torture has been extraordinary-an evil and macabre execution that has gone all over the Internet and has received millions of hits. The Muslim crazies are crowing about death to all Americans, and our own crazies here at home are demanding that the president nuke somebody.”
“Turn it off. I’ve already seen it about a hundred times, and it still disturbs me,” said Hall. “Gruesome, yes; tragic, yes; but the soldier’s death really changes nothing. The kidnappers, however, are slick. Our best guess is that they were not killed by that Predator strike in Pakistan. We were too hot for revenge, pumping in those Hellfires without really having eyes on the exact target. The Pakis up in that village there claim we wiped out a wedding party, and they paraded the usual corpses of some dead kids. I call bullshit on that, but the strike unquestionably made this bad situation even worse. Now the Pakistani government, with more than enough problems at present, has to pretend to be outraged with America.”
Geneen speared a prawn with a toothpick. “Which is why I asked you by for lunch today, Jim. I need some alternatives.”
“I have no crystal ball, Director. Our sources say that our kidnapped soldiers were in the village at the time the Predator came in, but they have now been moved, as have the kidnappers. We do not know where.”
The CIA leader watched Jim Hall carefully, almost able to see the wheels turning behind those brilliant blue eyes. “Options?”
“Several, I should think,” said Hall. “Another highly visible hit with a Predator or a cruise missile could send the message that this thing isn’t over, no matter how much the Pakis complain, but it would create a further mess. Big explosions always do. Or we could pay someone a bunch of money to have these bad dudes killed for us, but that would not send the proper message of our determination and strength. Best option is to stage a precision black operation with a low probability of further collateral damage.”
Geneen walked to one of the bulletproof windows in his office, turned, and examined Jim Hall, the assassin at sunset. Hall would turn sixty-two soon but looked ten years younger. Twenty-four years in the Marines and another two decades with the CIA. He was slim for his age, still held a military posture at six feet tall, and was in superb physical condition. His nails were manicured, the hair trimmed, and the shave perfect on tanned skin: a well- groomed killer. “You already have something in mind, don’t you?”
“Yes, Director. I have been looking at it since I heard about the Predator screwup. We have to do a precision strike now, something close-in and absolutely certain.”
“Nothing is absolute.”
A grin slid across Hall’s face. “This might be. We send in two of the best snipers available, spend some money to set up the tangos, and then our guys blow them away.”
“What about the prisoners?”
Hall shook his head. “A separate issue at this point. We cannot rescue them without making a large military footprint. The Predator apparently accomplished one good thing in getting these boys moved away from the badlands and farther along the food chain of responsibility. Our agency can try to locate them through covert sources, but we cannot mount a major rescue operation. However, we can sure as hell punish the kidnappers, which will motivate the Pakistanis to turn them over in a political settlement.”
Bart Geneen had been thinking along those same lines. There was a limit to what even the CIA could do. “Have you chosen the snipers?”
Jim Hall placed a folder on the white tablecloth, flipped it open, and handed a head-and-shoulders photograph to the director. “Kyle Swanson is one of them. He ran that Palace of Death thing in Iran and other dicey assignments for that Task Force Trident special ops group. He’s the whole package. Gotta be on the team.”
“I know Swanson. He is very good. But why not just use the SEALs or perhaps some FBI sharpshooters?”
“We want to keep this under our control. Swanson would report to the CIA field agent in charge of the operation.”
“So your second sniper choice is one of ours?”
“Me.” Hall looked at the director with a steady gaze. “I want to go in for this one.”
Geneen scoffed. “No, Jim. You run the op from here.”
“Bart, I will be retiring in three months. I want to go out at the top of my game, not sitting behind a desk half a world away from the action. I may be a step slower, but there is nothing wrong with my shooting skill, and I have the personal contacts over there. Besides, I helped train Kyle Swanson. We can work together almost without words. There would be no learning curve for a new partnership.”
Geneen mulled it over in silence. Hall wanted a last job that was a big task worthy of his skills and would carry the stamp of finality for a veteran agent. He deserved the chance. “Then go do it,” Geneen said, extending his hand across the table to shake with his prized operator. “Good luck, Jim. Remember. The president does not want any more collateral damage. Nor do I.”
“That will not be a problem. I’ll have a brief for you in a couple of days. It may get expensive.”
“For this one, money is no problem. If I have to blow a hole in the federal budget, so be it. I will give you the authorization.”
Hall walked away from the director’s office with his usual confident stride. Before reaching his own door, he stuck his head into the office of his deputy, Lauren Carson. “Find a Marine sniper named Kyle Swanson and get him assigned to us for temporary duty.”
She jotted the name on a pad. “All right. Where is he?”
Jim Hall was on the move again and called back over his shoulder, “Could be anywhere. Let me know when you get him.”
5
WAZIRISTAN
PAKISTAN SELDOM HELD A stable government for very long. Its politics held great rewards but even greater risks. Once again its people stood at the precipice of chaos. Muhammed Waleed believed it was his turn to seize power.
In the Arabian Sea port city of Karachi, street bonfires painted the sky in orange and yellow. Farther up the Indus River, the mayor of hilly Hyderabad was assassinated. Students were marching in Rawalpindi and Quetta. Public workers were striking in various cities throughout the Punjab. Order was slipping away, and the democratically elected government in Islamabad was unable to bring stability.
Muhammed Waleed had created a masterpiece of simmering chaos. He had spent years slowly weaning the competing elements of the Taliban away from their love of senseless violence in hopes of forming a permanent political movement. He decided to name his fledgling party the Bright Path, words that meant almost anything a follower wanted to believe, always viewing it as a better future. Fighting without obtaining political gain was both
