“Sir?” Chesterfield swallowed hard and stared at the man.
“That you’d blow it.” Ingram crossed his hands in front of his belt buckle. “There were too many variables in this operation.” He walked to the window and glanced out. When he turned back he spoke slowly. “Still, we held out hope that you could pull this off.”
“We might still be able to pull it off. The team that tainted the flag fabric is still in country. They’re en route as we speak to find al-Abadi and ensure that he dies the same way as the demonstrators.”
Ingram shook his head. “They’ll never find him. By now, he’s so deep in hiding, his own asshole doesn’t know where it’s taking a dump.” He sat on the corner of Darren’s desk. “No, he’s in the wind. And we saw to that, didn’t we?”
Darren shook his head in confusion. “I don’t…I don’t understand what you—”
“The people you have at the TV and radio stations had his name out as being responsible before they even knew what was happening in the streets.” Ingram gave him a tight lipped smile. “Sort of jumped the gun there, didn’t you, Agent Chesterfield?”
Darren nodded slightly. “Yes, but like I said, we can have him taken care of in short order and then—”
“And then nothing.” Ingram stood and straightened his jacket. “The man is a ghost and hiding in his own back yard right now. The best you can do is hope that the moderates will still blame the deaths at the demonstration on the lab.” He turned and opened the door. Pausing with his back turned to the man, Ingram added, “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now. Keeping the priority goal from the wrong people in the initial meetings was a big no-no.”
Darren heard the door shut behind him and he spun. “But…it was your idea to keep that to…” he trailed off, realizing he was speaking to himself.
Karachi, Pakistan
SAMEER STARED AT the scenes broadcast on his television set and hadn’t realized his mouth was hanging open. He slowly shut it and moved closer, turning up the volume as he sat on the corner of the coffee table.
Reports that hundreds, if not thousands, were lying dead in the streets, killed by some unseen cause. One reporter was pointing out the black cloud that hung like a curtain over the city and correlated the reports from every hospital and emergency clinic of the flood of people hitting them as the black smoke settled on the area.
A different reporter broke in with a special news report. An investigative journalist with Al-Jazeera began speaking rapidly about how it had just come to their attention that the protestors were each killed just moments after the flag effigies were set aflame, sparking the question, were the two related?
Sameer fell off the coffee table, his ass landing hard upon the floor, his head shaking in nervous disagreement. “No…it cannot be,” his voice croaked as the reporter droned on.
He reached for his phone just as it rang in his hand. “Are you hearing this? They are trying to blame us for this!” Mamoon’s voice rattled the speakers of his cell phone.
“I just heard. But…I cannot believe that…we did no such thing! We would never!”
“Of course not!” Mamoon’s voice trailed off. “Unless one of our suppliers would sell us poisoned goods. Surely not.”
“I have never heard of such a thing, Mamoon.” Sameer continued to stare at the screen, his mind only partially listening to his boss on the other end. When one camera panned across a scene of destruction, Sameer choked. He dropped his phone and grabbed his remote. He quickly hit the rewind button, then advanced the show frame by frame.
Mamoon yelled into the phone to get his attention then heard his oldest employee scream. “No!”
Mamoon waited until Sameer picked up the phone again. “Mamoon…it is Tariq. I see him on the television. He was at the demonstration.”
Mamoon felt his chest tighten and his voice was barely a whisper. “Is he…”
“He is no more,” Sameer whispered then clicked his phone off.
Mamoon fell to the floor, clutching his phone and sobbing.
17
Karachi, Pakistan
ROGER PULLED THE Range Rover up to the coffeehouse hiding Jeff Green’s office. He threw the Rover into park and was through the door before the engine could finish revving.
As he worked his way through past the tables, Jeff opened the door and ushered him into the shadows. “Jay called me.”
Roger had to force himself to calm down as he paced the office. “This thing is going sideways fast. Any news other than what’s being reported?”
Jeff shook his head. “The normal channels are unusually quiet. Normally I might think that the different groups are keeping the chatter low to keep channels clear for whoever is running this op, but…this is a little too quiet.”
Roger shook his head. “What does that mean?”
Jeff crossed his arms and eyed the man warily. “In spook speak, that means one of two things. Either we had no hand in this or we’re in it balls deep.”
Roger gave him an exasperated look. “How do we know which it is?”
“IF, and that’s a big if, we are responsible, then it’s black ops shit and the channels will stay quiet until this blows over.”
“And if we’re not involved?”
Jeff shrugged. “Then the channels will go back to normal sooner rather than later. But for now, nobody is breathing a word.”
Roger collapsed into a chair and held his head in his hands. “I’m so screwed.”
“This isn’t on you, Agent Wallace.” Jeff sat across from him and poured him a double of bourbon. “Unfortunately, your buddy Bobby is the one they’re wanting to hang out to dry.”
Roger sat up and tossed back the bourbon, wincing at the burn. “I’m not even supposed to be here.” He set the glass down hard on the corner of the desk and eyed Jeff. “Jay sent me here so
