Mary Pat looked back to Ryan. “Well, I now know why this General Rehan was not on my radar. He’s not a beard.”
“A beard?”
“An Islamist in the Pakistani Defense Force. You know they are split down the middle in the Army over there, the ones pushing for theocratic rule, and the ones who are still Muslim but want a nation ruled under a secular democracy. There have been two camps in Pakistan for the past sixty years. ‘Beards’ is the term we use for the theocratic government proponents in the PDF.”
“So Rehan is a secularist?”
“The CIA thought he was, based on what little was known about the man. Other than the name and thee ntion one photo, there is literally no bio for the guy, other than the fact he was promoted from colonel to brigadier general about a year back. Now that you have shown me that he is also Abu Kashmiri, I’m going to go out on a limb and say the CIA was wrong. Kashmiri was no secularist.”
Jack sipped his Diet Coke. He wasn’t sure how important this information was, but Mary Pat seemed energized by it.
“Jack, I am very glad to hear you guys have been working on this.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because I was a little worried you were involved in that shootout in Paris the other day. Not you, personally, of course, but Chavez and Clark. I guess if your shop is working in Cairo, then you weren’t operating in Paris at the same time.”
Ryan just smiled. “Hey, I can’t talk about what we are and are not involved in. Sources and methods, right?”
Mary Pat Foley cocked her head a little. Jack could tell she was trying to get a read on him right now.
Quickly he changed the subject. “So… Melanie is single, and she lives down in Alexandria, huh?”
25
Judith Cochrane took her seat at the little desk in front of the window into Saif Rahman Yasin’s cell. He was still seated on his bed. He held a notepad and a pencil in his lap. Upon seeing his lawyer, he stepped up to the window and sat on his stool, bringing his pen and his pad with him.
With a smile and a nod, he lifted the receiver of the red phone on the floor.
Cochrane said, “Good morning.”
“Thank you very much for arranging for me to get some paper and a pencil.” “That was nothing. It was a reasonable request.” “Still, for me it was very nice. I am grateful.” Cochrane said, “Your writ of habeas corpus was denied.
We knew it would be, but it was a motion we had to go through.” “It is of no consequence. I did not expect them to let me walk away.” “Next, I am going to petition the courts to allow you to—” “Do you have any ability, Miss Cochrane, to draw?” She wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. “To draw?” “Yes.”
“Well… no. Not really.”
“I enjoy it very much. I studied art for a short period in England at university, and I have continued it as a pastime. Normally I draw architecture. It fascinates me very much the design of buildings all over the world.” Judith did not know where, if anywhere, this was going. “I can arrange perhaps some paper that is a better quality if you would like or—” But Yasin shook his head. “This paper is fine. In my religion, it is a sin to photograph or draw the face of any living, walking thing.” He held up the pencil in his hand as if to clarify the point. “
“I would like to show you some of my work, and then, perhaps I can teach you a bit about art.” The Emir reached into his notepad and pulled out four sheets that he had already torn from the pad. He held them up, one at a time, to the thick bulletproof glass. He said, “Judith Cochrane, if you would like to assist me with my case, if your organization has any interest in holding your nation accountable to its own laws, then you will need to copy these pictures. If you work slowly on the desk there with your pen, I can watch you and help you along. We can have an art class right here.” Judith Cochrane looked carefully at the drawings. They were sketches of four men. She did not recognize them, but she had no doubt that they were real people who would be recognized by anyone who knew them, so detailed and careful were the renditions.
“Who are they?” she asked, but she feared she knew the answer.
“These are the Americans who kidnapped me. I was walking down the street in Riyadh. They came from nowhere. The young one, this man with the dark hair, he shot me. The old man, this one, was the leader.” Cochrane knew the FBI men could see her through the closed-circuit camera behind her. If they were watching right now, and she was certain they were, then they would see the Emir showing her pages from his pad. There was no reason for that to raise any sort of red flag, but still she waited nervously to hear the door behind her open.
“We have been through this over and over. I can’t discuss any of that with you.” “You are my lawyer, are you not?”
“I am, but—”
“Judith Cochrane, I have no interest in helping the United States government in a charade to convince the world I am guilty. If I cannot tell my own lawyer what has happened to me, then I—” “We have rules we must obey.”
“Rules imposed on you by your opponent. Clearly they are — what is the term you use in America? — stacking the deck.” “Let’s talk about your nutrition.”
“I am not going to talk about my nutrition. It is halal, it is permissible for a Muslim to eat. Other than that, I don’t care about it.” Cochrane sighed, but she realized he was still holding up the pictures, and she realized she was still looking at them. Despite herself, she asked, “Are they CIA? Military? Did they tell you who they worked for?” “They did not tell me. I assume they are in your Central Intelligence Agency, but I need you to find out.” “I can’t find out.”
“You can show people these pictures. There were others, but these four are the ones I remember the best. The old one who was the leader, the young one who shot me, the short foreign man with the tough eyes, and the young one with the short haircut. There was another man, a man with a beard, but I was not satisfied with my pictures of him.
“All the other people I came into contact with after these men, either I was wearing a hood, or they were wearing masks. I have not seen any faces since I saw these faces here. Until I saw yours.” He held up the pictures again. “These men are fixed in my memory. I will never forget them.” Cochrane wanted his information. Damn the agreement she had with Justice.
“All right,” she said. “Listen carefully. I am working on getting a pass-through slot opened up so that we can exchange documents. I won’t be able to leave with anything, though, so maybe I can bring some tracing paper in my pocket or something. I can trace your drawings and then give them back to you.” The Emir said, “I will work on these some more, and I will add some written details below the pictures. Height, age, anything I can think of.” “Good. I don’t know what I will do with this information, but there is someone I can ask.” “You are my only hope, Judith.”
“Please, call me Judy.”
“Judy. I like that.”
Judy Cochrane looked at the four pieces of white paper again. She had no way of knowing that she was looking into the faces of Jack Ryan Jr., Dominic Caruso, Domingo Chavez, and John Clark.
Life at Hendley Associates was returning to normal after the Paris operation. Most employees in at eight. A quick meeting in the conference room at nine, and then everyone back to their desks for a
