A man nearest the gate had an American flag in hand. Two others appeared to be dousing it with gasoline. A fourth—a kid, really—brandished a lighter.
A split second later, Old Glory was engulfed in flames.
But that wasn't even the sight that turned her stomach.
It was the photos slotted in along the bottom of the screen. There were seven in all—each a graphic depiction of a woman who'd died in that cave. Worse, those seven photos hadn't been snapped by Durrani. They'd been taken by the US Army. Regan knew, because those exact photos were currently weighing down the classified accordion file in her possession—and ratcheting up her nightmares.
Son of a bitch. They had another leak.
But was it the same leak?
Because while those who'd had access to her BI would also have had access to those crime scene photos, there were others—in both the Afghan and Pakistani diplomatic contingents—that had only been granted access to the latter.
And what the hell was being said by that commentator?
She'd find out soon enough. John was listening intently to the accompanying narration. Evidently, she needed to add Urdu to the man's languages list. Though, really, with Urdu sharing forty percent of its vocabulary with two of his other proficiencies, Persian and Arabic, it would've been a natural acquisition for John.
She heard Scott shouting for someone to grab extra CS riot-control grenades before he refocused on their call. "All hell's broken loose, Prez. Someone called in a tip to the local news. Claims seven pregnant Pakistani women were murdered in a cave in the Hindu Kush by a US soldier—an SF captain by the name of Mark McCord. As you can see, the informant provided some seriously hellish photos of the carnage, as well as a DNA report proving that McCord's blood was found at the scene—on the women's bodies. I'm guessing this is connected to that psycho-toxin shit that hit the news a few weeks back. I remember McCord's name from that, though the commentator I heard hasn't made the connection—yet. I can only assume Staff Sergeant Brandt's death is somehow linked to that massacre, and that's why you're really here in Islamabad."
Regan glanced at the TV. Given the situation currently blowing up on the screen, not to mention in her, John's and Riyad's collective faces, she opted for honesty. To a point. "McCord's DNA was found in that cave—but the man was set up."
Unfortunately, the truth had a rabbi's chance in Tehran of being believed at this stage, didn't it?
Worse, with Durrani and Hachemi dead, they had no one to hold up as the real culprits. Sure, they could release the additional forensic reports that proved McCord's blood had been planted at the scene, but who would believe them now?
Not that raging mob.
Gil might be wrong after all. That Afghan bastard of a doc might have just won.
"Rae?" John had reached her side.
"Hang on a sec, Scott."
"That's all the time I got. Things are getting hot across the whole damned city. You'd best be getting back to the bunker. There's safety in numbers."
She killed her mic and turned to John. "Yes?"
"Ty's got good, bad and shitty news. The good—Tom Crier's en route to the embassy to assist. He's minutes out; Jeffers is already there. The bad—the Shifa was so crowded, Aamer Sadat managed to give his surveillance team the slip."
That was definitely bad. "And the shitty?"
"Ambassador Linnet had a function in town tonight. She's about eight blocks from here. The RSO's with her, along with a couple other men, heading back."
"Got it. Have Ty's men stay on Crier, Jeffers and Maddoc if at all possible." She clicked on her mic and resealed her phone to her ear. "Scott, contact the RSO. Tell Maddoc either Agent Riyad or Major Garrison will be heading his way to augment protection and assist in getting the ambassador safely back to the compound. The other one will be with me. I need to return to the hospital."
If she couldn't have Aamer Sadat's head on a platter tonight, she'd settle for his wife's. She had a feeling that, when pushed, Inaya would spill more anyway.
Unfortunately, she still needed a translator.
"Understood. Good luck, Prez."
"You, too." She was about to add a stay safe, but Scott had already hung up.
As had John and Riyad. Riyad was already pocketing his phone and heading for the door to the suite.
"John, where's Riyad go—"
"Down a few flights to pick up Tulle." John slung her laptop over his left shoulder, then grabbed her crime kit. He leveled a blistering frown on her when she tried to retrieve her kit from him. "Don't even. Your hand's been vibrating like an idling Humvee ever since Riyad walked back into the suite."
So much for hiding it from him.
She released her grip on the kit.
"As for Riyad and Tulle, they'll assist in getting Linnet to the embassy, where they'll remain. Riyad knows as much as I do about the plans Webber worked on, and a hell of a lot more about how Webber thinks and operates. I'll be escorting you to the hospital. Need anything from your suitcase?"
"No." Anything crucial was in her laptop bag or kit, including her extra ammo.
She did grab the scarf John had purchased at Al Dhafra and was truly grateful for his foresight as she wrapped the swath of black silk around her hair. Now was not the time to look western, much less American.
"We'll be back for our clothes." Her gear still in his left hand, John motioned her toward the door with his right. "I've got keys to the SUV Tulle rented. Riyad's got his own wheels. Let's go."
They did.
A teeth-gritting thirty minutes later, they'd bypassed a seething nighttime Islamabad via Srinagar Highway and were nearly at the hospital. Regan had spent the bulk of the journey on the phone with Agent Castile, letting him know about the latest leak regarding the crime scene photos and Captain McCord's DNA report. She tasked a member of Nathan's
