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 Iron Duke, led the boarding party himself, somewhat chagrined at having been ordered to stop and search the sparkling yacht of Sir Geoffrey Cornwell. The Type 23 frigate of the Royal Navy rode easily in the deep waters, parallel to and only 150 yards off the port side of the white pleasure vessel Vagabond, which had been ordered over the radio to heave to.
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 Vagabond stayed together on the bridge for ease of identification. There was more polite chitchat; then Commander Thomas said, “May I get to the point, sir?”
“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 slender cigar, and lit it. She blew the smoke away from them.
“Kyle is also a very bright and resourceful boy, Commander Thomas. He knows that Pat and I would automatically be viewed as having a hand in protecting him. And that would be true… if he had asked, which he has not. He will not turn to us for help.”
“May I ask, then, why the Vagabond is out here? I do not doubt your word, but this yacht would provide a valuable refuge for a fugitive.”
Sir Jeff slid a notebook filled with diagrams and photos in plastic sleeves across the table to the commander. “This is one of the latest projects. We call it the Bird and Snake, and it is designed to be a low-cost and pinpoint weapon against pirates. So we are conducting some sea tests. It is a Top Secret project, sir, so I must trust you to keep it confidential, other than for need-to-know personnel.”
The sailors were emerging from belowdecks and reporting nothing unusual. The cabins and workspaces were all clear; the engine room, galley, and communications shack were in order. All personnel on the bridge had proper identification and valid passports, and there was no evidence that Kyle Swanson had been aboard.
“I can have my captain show you the Bird and Snake setup we have below, if you wish. Our computer hard drives contain proprietary data that I should not release to you without a proper court order. Nevertheless, we would welcome an electronics technician with proper security clearances to come aboard and review the contents, should you so desire. He would have to sign a separate and stringent government nondisclosure form, of course.”
Commander Thomas checked his men. All five were ready to return to the Iron Duke. “No, Sir Geoffrey, that will not be necessary,” he said. “The Americans are running this manhunt, not us. I imagine we were tasked to this irksome duty just as a warning that they are covering all angles.”