“British public schools are notorious, but they’ve graduated some pretty substantial people.”
Pete looked up at him. “You’re playing devil’s advocate again.”
“I guess I am. I don’t trust him either, but just because he was used hard as a kid in school, and he’s filled with hate, as you say, doesn’t make him bad. Nor does the fact that he was born in Pakistan, and raised by an uncle, make him suspect.”
“But?”
“I don’t know,” McGarvey said. And he really didn’t. “But before I pack my bags I’m going to press him. Maybe Otto’s right about him.”
“My God, you’re not seriously thinking about going over there to take out the Messiah?”
“I don’t think that even a SEAL Team Six unit with all the right intel and a lot of luck could do it. And get back out.”
“That’s not what I asked, Mac,” Pete pressed. She took his arm. “No screwing around now. What the president wants you to do is crazy.”
“Less crazy than sending troops over there.”
John Fay and his wife came over. “Mr. McGarvey, your name came up again in a strategy session this afternoon,” the secretary of state said. He was of the old school of diplomats, among the last of a certain class defined by breeding, refinement and intelligence.
“I imagine it did,” McGarvey said, and he introduced Pete as a CIA special projects officer.
“A serious title,” Jeanne Fay said. “If it implies what I expect it must.”
“There’ve been interesting moments,” Pete said, smiling pleasantly.
“Excuse us, ladies, but I’d like to take Mr. McGarvey aside for just a minute or two,” Fay said.
“Miss Boylan is privy to everything that I’ve done or have been asked to do over the past couple of years,” McGarvey said.
Fay was just a little vexed, but he didn’t press. “Have you come to a decision? The president is running out of viable options.”
“Like the situation when Russia invaded the Ukraine?” Pete asked.
“Worse. Kiev had no nuclear weapons and not much of a military.”
“They’re not going to start a nuclear war,” McGarvey said.
“Did you see the Messiah’s latest broadcast?”
“Yes.”
“What did you think?”
“I was surprised that he was inviting everyone back — especially us,” McGarvey said. “Our taking out a significant portion of their weapons had to be viewed as an act of war.”
“Yet there has been no mention of it, officially or unofficially,” Fay said. “What do you make of that?”
“I’m not a political analyst, Mr. Secretary. Just a tool.”
“At this point a very important tool. The question is, will you do it?”
It dawned on McGarvey that Fay was frightened, but it was impossible to tell if the secretary of state was more frightened of the situation in Pakistan or of the president’s decision to have an assassin kill the Messiah. “Do what?”
“Don’t be crude, Mr. McGarvey. The order was put on the table, and you are a volunteer. You can either carry it out or simply turn your back and walk away. Though from what I understand happened in Florida, the latter might not be an option for you.”
“Do you think something like that will happen again if Mr. McGarvey turns down the assignment?” Pete asked.
“You don’t think that it’s a good idea?”
“I think it’s stupid.”
Fay smiled faintly. “As a matter of fact, so do I. To this point Pakistan has shown no aggression towards us.”
“They want our financial support,” McGarvey said. He was fascinated with the secretary’s verbal maneuvering.
“Shahid has called for a continued cease-fire, in this instance with no time limits.” Shahidullah Shahid was the primary spokesman for the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan, the organization of militants in the country.
“I would think that’s good news. Are we sending Powers back to Islamabad?”
“He leaves in the next day or two.”
“What’s his brief?”
“To open a dialogue with the new prime minister, whoever he turns out to be,” Fay said.
“Will Powers be here tonight?” Pete asked.
“No, Miss Boylan, for reasons that should be obvious to you and Mr. McGarvey.”
Pete started to say something, but McGarvey held her off. “Has he been told what the president suggested?”
Fay hesitated. “No.”
McGarvey had never considered himself a political animal, but he’d seen equal amounts of what he took to be brilliance and sheer idiocy coming from just about every office in Washington and the Beltway, including the National Security Agency, the CIA, the Pentagon and the White House.
“Every time we’ve had one agenda for an ambassador and another either for our military or intelligence services, it’s almost always turned out for the worse. I would have thought that you guys understood that by now. Especially after Benghazi and the aftermath.”
“One mistake.”
“Supplying bin Laden and his fighters with Stinger missiles to use against the Taliban — after which they were and still are used against us. Going into Iraq with no intention of rebuilding their infrastructure. Getting bogged down in an unwinnable war in Afghanistan. The list isn’t endless, Mr. Secretary, but it’s long.”
Fay took a moment to answer. “Mistakes have been made, but we do what we can do. Have you never made an error?”
“Plenty,” McGarvey said.
There was a flurry across the room. The Pakistani ambassador to the U.S., Idrees Burki, came to the middle of the room and held up a hand. The guests fell silent. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you the new prime minister of Pakistan, General Hasan Rajput.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Rajput, dressed in a British-cut dove-gray suit, with a blue dress shirt of horizontal white stripes and a plain gray tie, shook hands with Ambassador Burki and then turned to face the crowd, his eyes lingering one by one on the guests.
McGarvey stepped to one side so that Fay wasn’t blocking his line of sight to Rajput, and the new PM spotted him, with no hint of recognition.
“Who is he?” Fay asked.
“Until two days ago he was the general in charge of the ISI’s Covert Operations Division,” McGarvey said.
“I’ll be damned,” Fay replied, and he started forward, but McGarvey laid a hand on his arm.
“Just a minute, Mr. Secretary. What are you going to say to him?”
“I’ll merely introduce myself. It’s customary in these circumstances.”
Other diplomats approached Rajput and the Pakistani ambassador, forming what amounted to a receiving line.
“You have a little time yet. And considering what our SEAL teams did to their weapons, and the loss of lives on both sides — none of which has been made public — it might be better if you didn’t get to him first.”
“I thought that you weren’t a political animal.”
“I’m not, but first I want to see if Dave Haaris shows up.”
Fay gave him a sharp look. “He blames the ISI for murdering his wife. He wouldn’t dare show his face here.”
“Well, he just walked in the door,” Pete said.
Haaris, perfectly dressed in what was obviously an expensive tuxedo, an unreadable expression on his face though his lips were set in a tight smile, stopped to get a glass of champagne from a waiter then headed across the room to where the receiving line was forming.
He passed McGarvey and Pete without acknowledging them but nodded to the secretary of state and his wife. “Mr. Secretary, good to see you here this evening,” he said without pausing.