“Speaking of assets,” Christine said. “What about Jake Harrison? Have we hired him yet?”
“He turned down the offer,” Rolow replied.
“How much was he told? Does he know Mixell is involved?”
“It would have been a standard job offer. No details would have been provided.”
“But that’s the key issue. He needs to know we’re hunting down Mixell.”
“We’re not authorized to disclose that information. I’ll admit it’s a catch-22 situation, in that if Harrison was already an agency employee with the proper clearance, we could reveal the information.”
“Who’s the classifying authority?”
“The FBI.”
“What authority do I have as director? Can I supersede the FBI’s determination?”
Rolow looked to the deputy director. Bryant answered, “Technically, no. But if you were to direct us to disclose this information, those who could hold you accountable have much bigger fish to fry. Plus, the FBI has leaked far more sensitive information to the public lately, and they probably won’t bark up that tree. If you direct us to disclose Mixell’s involvement, I’ll have HR reengage Harrison.”
“I have a better idea,” Christine replied. “I haven’t made the trip to the Naval Undersea Warfare Center in Washington state for the surveillance program review. Harrison lives nearby. We have a long history and I’m sure I can talk him into assisting.”
Bryant shrugged. “You’re the director. If you want to spend your time hiring folks, that’s your prerogative.”
Christine replied in an icy tone. “Thank you for your blessing. Set up the trip and meeting with Harrison as soon as possible.”
When the meeting ended, Christine and the other deputy directors and staff departed the conference room, leaving only Bryant and Rolow. The deputy director closed the door, then returned to his seat, eyeing Rolow before commenting.
“She’s a royal bitch.”
“I like her,” Rolow said. “Give her some time. Right now, she’s asserting herself, making it clear who’s running this place. Of course, that’s not entirely true, but don’t dispel the illusion. Once Christine settles in, she’ll be fine. In fact, she’ll be better than fine. She’s perfect for the job.”
Bryant shot Rolow a curious look.
“Have you reviewed her file?” Rolow asked.
“Just her professional qualifications. Enough to know she’s even less qualified to lead the agency than your standard political appointee. She hasn’t even served on an intel committee. She’s a weapons expert and policy wonk.”
“Read the rest of her file. You’ll find Appendix C quite interesting.”
“Classified personal incidents? She’s been a congressional and White House staffer. What could she possibly have done to warrant an Appendix C?”
“She has a remarkable knack for ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Fortunately for us, although she might be a royal bitch, she’s also a vindictive one.”
“How’s that?”
“She killed Russia’s defense minister and SVR director.”
Bryant raised an eyebrow. “I thought Elena Krayev did the deed.”
“That was the plan, but we couldn’t get Elena in place. The defense minister didn’t take the bait and instead invited Christine to spend the weekend with him.”
“I’m not surprised,” Bryant said. “I’ll admit, Christine is pretty easy on the eyes.”
Rolow continued, “Elena convinced Christine to complete the task. It was pretty straightforward, but Christine got caught. Semyon Gorev, Russia’s SVR director, strung her up and subjected her to a mild case of physical and psychological torture. If you look closely at her left cheek, you’ll see the faint scar where Gorev sliced into her face.
“To make a long story short, Christine managed to call an extraction team and could have slipped safely away. Instead, she searched the villa for Gorev and blew his brains out.”
Bryant pulled back slightly in his seat as Rolow added, “If I were you, I’d mind your p’s and q’s around her.” Rolow grinned. “The important takeaway is that Christine isn’t afraid to do what it takes to accomplish the mission. I think you’ll find her more receptive than previous directors to proposals that fall into the gray area.”
“She’s not going to learn about any of that,” Bryant replied. “We feed her, like the previous directors, what she needs to know and nothing more. Keep her desk full of paperwork and engaged enough for her to think she knows what’s going on. We leave the tough decisions to you and me, unless we need her buy-in to cover our asses.”
Rolow nodded. “Business as usual.”
7
KARACHI, PAKISTAN
The bright city lights reflected off the front window of a green Suzuki Mehran as it worked its way through Karachi’s congested streets. Inside the small four-door car, based on a three-decade-old design and sporting nearly the same features as the original version, two men rode in the front in silence. Driving the car was Amir Zahed, whose attention at the moment was split between the American beside him and the traffic. Lonnie Mixell sensed the stiffness in the man’s posture as he gripped the steering wheel. Zahed didn’t yet trust him, and the feeling was mutual. Both men were taking a gamble, one that would cost them their lives if tonight’s meeting didn’t go well.
Three hours after assassinating America’s ambassador to the United Nations, Lonnie Mixell had boarded an Emirates Airlines flight from New York’s JFK International Airport to Dubai, followed by a connecting flight to Karachi, where he had waited expectantly for word from Aleksandr Plecas. After the call was received, Mixell made one of his own, arranging tonight’s meeting. Zahed had picked Mixell up at his hotel, and aside from a short greeting, the man hadn’t spoken, focused instead on navigating the clogged streets. With a population of more than fifteen million and the fifth-largest city proper in the world, Karachi was truly a place where one could get lost in the crowd.
The buildings thinned out as they entered the suburbs, and Mixell sensed they were nearing the end of their journey when the Mehran turned in to a residential area of gated estates. After several more turns, Zahed pulled into a driveway and stopped before a black metal gate. A query emanated from the speaker on the driver’s side, which Zahed answered, and the gate slowly opened. As they passed into the estate, Mixell assessed its defenses. The metal gates transitioned to twenty-foot-tall brick walls that encircled a sprawling three-story residence. In the distance, he spotted three armed men in various locations, each cradling an assault rifle.
Zahed pulled to a stop on a circular driveway outside the home’s entrance. Both men stepped from the car as two armed men emerged from the dwelling. Like Zahed, the men wore white dishdashas, although they also carried AK-47s held ready at the waist. The two men greeted Zahed while eyeing Mixell suspiciously, then motioned for Mixell to follow Zahed inside.
Mixell stepped into a brightly lit foyer occupied by two other men, similarly armed, who searched him for weapons. Finding none, they stepped aside and Zahed led Mixell into a living area filled with several couches and chairs arranged around a low table. Zahed settled onto a couch and motioned Mixell into one opposite him. As Mixell sank into the plush cushions, he was surprised that they were the only men in the room.
“I thought we were meeting the leader of your organization.”