“You guys are the most powerful Intelligence Agency on the planet and I, little old depleted me, I’m all you’ve got? No way,” responded Richard, cynically.
“Richard, there is no one else right now,” Buckingham said, turning to him. “There’s enormous concern that the Emir may have a nuclear weapon at his disposal, and all of our available agents are working on that, pretty much around the clock.”
“We need you, Richard,” Baxter broke in. “We need to know the origin of those damned messages on Al Jazeera. We know that they arrive at their station in Islamabad, pretty much prepackaged and ready to air. We know that they come care of the reporter who’s airing them, but we need to know where he gets them. Other sources, and even the NSA, are suggesting that there’s a massive strike in the offing. We don’t know if it’s nuclear or if it’s connected to the stolen Semtex. It’s definitely one or the other. Either way, everyone’s feeling very uncomfortable about this. The Emir’s messages are taunting. His confidence is unnerving. The President is damn worried about it. We need you to do this.”
“Are you telling me that with a defense budget of I don’t know how many billions of dollars, and with the avalanche of money the CIA gets each year, I’m the only person who knows the lay of the land in and around Islamabad?” Richard was shaking his head in disbelief at his superiors. “I’m it?”
“Yes, Richard. Your retention level is better than I thought. We have other assets, but they’re all committed at the moment. You are the only available agent we have with the language and cultural knowledge.” The Admiral’s tone became more insistent. “You’re going to the market area in Peshawar. That’s where we think the messages are coming from. And you’re going to follow the trail from there. No one has been able to do it yet, but we’re counting on you to come through.”
“We’ll have your back, Richard,” Buckingham told him. “You won’t be operating solo. But when it comes to finding a lead guy for this particular role, you’re it.”
“Robert, you want me to squeeze the reporter of a high-profile outfit like Al Jazeera?” asked Richard. “Are you nuts? The media on that would be worse than when our SEALs half destroyed the Haramosh Star! We rough up a reporter and the entire planet will hear about it.”
“We know, Richard. We know,” said Baxter. “Of course you need to be discreet, and of course you can’t go beating up reporters. But we know that that there’s a big strike coming. There’s a high probability that it will involve that stolen Semtex or be nuclear. Most of us think they’re putting together a dirty bomb, either at a harbor or in a downtown core in one of our major cities. It may be another attack on some major buildings, with thousands of lives lost. We can’t just sit on our asses here. We need to know who’s behind this, so that we can try to stop it. The orders for this are coming from the top. We’ll be deploying other resources, and there will be backup. But you need to do this, forthwith. And Richard, it’s not a suggestion, anyway. It’s an order.”
Richard shook his head. “Come on, guys. This over-the-hill Navy fighter is all you’ve got? Shit, no wonder the world is going to hell. It’s an order, and I’ll do it, but you guys have got to get your asses in gear.”
“Yes, it’s a big problem,” responded the Admiral. “We have a serious lack of resources in HUMINT. We have billions of dollars in toys and satellites and drones and such, but almost nothing on the ground. That’s why Iraq went to hell after we arrived. That’s the problem in Iran and, I might add, in most of the trouble spots in the Middle East. We’re training people like crazy, but to get someone in deep cover takes years. That’s why Goldberg was such a huge loss. That was a four-year mission. There’s only one guy who can do this now, Richard, and it’s you. Don’t blame me that you grew up in Islamabad. Besides, you won’t be on your own. The Embassy is behind you. Your new partner, Jennifer Coe, has a pretty good grasp of what’s going on as well. And basically, all we’re asking you to do is some detective work. Just find out who’s delivering the messages to that reporter.”
“Jennifer, huh,” responded Richard. “Me and blondie against al-Qaeda. Sure, no problem. We’ll just get right at it. Nevermind that neither one of us has any field training.” He got up and left the room.
After he left, Buckingham, Admiral Jackson, and Baxter discussed the situation further.
“How sure are you guys about this?” asked Jackson. “He doesn’t sound very dependable. And the way he left. You just don’t do that. Is he on something? What kind of meds is he taking?”
“Don’t know for sure,” replied Baxter. “Ever since he splashed that Tomcat, apparently because of his vision problems, he’s been on a downhill slide. And this thing with Zak is pretty awful. Those two grew up together. When Richard lost his parents he went to live with Zak and his parents in California. They were like brothers, and there’s a rumor going around that Zak was Richard’s main support system. When Zak went undercover, Richard’s problems became a lot more obvious. He already had a problem with authority, but now he’s become a bit of a loose cannon. He may be on drugs of some kind. We’re not sure. But he’s got a good heart. And dammit, we don’t have anybody else.”
“I think he’s pretty messed up,” said Buckingham. “Unfortunately he saw what was left of Zak’s body at the airport, before Trufit took it to Tel Aviv. He totally broke down. And then, a couple of days ago, when the President read the coroner’s report in his press conference, he got even more upset.”
“Michael, is there really no one else?” asked Baxter.
“We have other people,” Buckingham replied. “But they’re all working on the nuclear threat. For obvious reasons, and on the advice of the director at TTIC, the President has given that priority. Pakistan has nuclear weapons. The nuclear threat seems to be originating from there. Everyone else is chasing various aspects of the same thing. All we need Richard to do is to find out how the DVD’s are getting into the Peshawar marketplace. He knows that area better than any other agent we have. He doesn’t need to do anything beyond that. He’ll be solid when he needs to be. And Jennifer Coe is pretty good. She’ll keep him in line.”
“OK,” said Jackson. “I guess he’ll have to do. But after this, we should ship him off to a psychiatrist. I want to get him some help. It really sounds like this guy is coming apart.”
“At the seams,” said Baxter.
“At the seams,” Buckingham agreed.
One hundred fifty miles to the west of the Islamabad Embassy, Zak had begun to feverishly scrape away at the decades-old mortar surrounding the iron grate, using the long screw he’d found. His fingers were bleeding as a result of the effort, but it didn’t stop him. His left foot, now missing two toes, was sending waves of pain through his body. Zak had decided that Hamani’s cauterization efforts were more for the additional pain they caused than for sealing wounds; his foot was bleeding heavily, and he was concerned that an infection was developing in the stub of the baby toe.
He’d been given a new roommate a couple days earlier — a fact that might have interfered with his plans for escape, under different circumstances. But the man was already missing one entire foot and one hand, and spent most of his time babbling nonsensically to himself in a corner of the small cell. He never caused any trouble, and Zak wondered if the man even recognized the presence of another human being in the room. In any case, he hadn’t taken long to consider the danger of a roommate seeing his digging. Despite his robust psyche, Zak was concerned that he too would soon be talking to imaginary friends. The mental and emotional strain was almost more difficult than the physical pain, and combining the three made survival a chancy proposition at best. Through the haze of pain, Zak fought to maintain his self-discipline, and stubbornly continued to scrape away at the mortar, stopping every few minutes to brush the gravel under the straw that littered the floor.