Page’s secretary buzzed him. He picked up the phone. “Not now.” But then he looked at McGarvey. “Dave Haaris would like to have a word with you as soon as possible.”
“Five minutes,” McGarvey said.
Page gave his secretary the message and hung up.
“As soon as Dave Haaris disappears I think the Messiah will show up. But it won’t happen until the staff at the Presidential Palace has been purged of everyone who supported Barazani, including just about everyone in the compound.”
“It’s not been in the news yet, but the purge has already started. Quietly, but it won’t be long before word of it gets out.”
“I’m going down to talk to him now.” McGarvey got up and went to the door. “When does our ambassador and his staff leave for Islamabad?”
“Two days.”
“You’re a friend of Fay’s. Have him include me in the delegation.”
“Not a chance they’d take you. And even if they did you’d be recognized the moment you got off the plane.”
“I’ll be an assistant to the military attaché. Different name, different appearance. No one will recognize me.”
“Once you’re there, then what?”
“I’m going to kill the Messiah.”
A haggard-looking Dave Haaris was alone in his office reading a summary report on the developing situation in Islamabad that had been sent down to him from the Watch, when McGarvey was buzzed through.
“Thanks for coming to see me,” Haaris said. “I want to apologize to you personally for my behavior last night. I wasn’t myself.”
“No need to apologize to me, but you might want to have a word with the Pakistani ambassador and with your old friend Rajput, who’s filed a formal complaint with the White House.”
“I’m rather afraid that I’ve lost the ear of the president.”
“What was the point of confronting Rajput so publicly?” McGarvey asked. “What sort of a reaction were you looking for?”
Haaris took a moment to answer. “The general has never been a friend of mine, old or new, but I have met with him a sufficient number of times to have made a measure of the man. And there’ve been the odd psych reports, which contained some nuggets. But I didn’t get what I was looking for. Either he’s a better liar than I thought he was or he truly knows nothing about my wife’s assassination.”
“So now what?”
“Deborah is being cremated this afternoon, and I’m taking her ashes to London. She thought it would be elegant if her remains were to be spread on the Thames. Actually, she’d always thought it would be both of us. Mine because she thought I wanted to go home, and hers because she wanted to be with me.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tonight. Since I’m no longer required to be at the White House, I thought I’d see some old friends at the SIS and get their take on the situation. Pass it along to my people here.”
“What about the Messiah?”
“What about him?” Haaris asked.
“The president has asked me to assassinate him.”
Haaris was taken aback. “How extraordinary.”
“The same order was given for bin Laden.”
“I meant how extraordinary that you would tell me such a thing, unless you firmly believe that I’m the Messiah.”
“Where did you hear that?”
Haaris smiled. “Good heavens, you were the director of Central Intelligence once upon a time. Didn’t you learn as DCI that there are more leaks here on Campus than there are in a peasant’s roof?”
“I could ask you who you heard it from.”
“I don’t recall, but perhaps it was from Miss Boylan. We had a chat a couple of days ago, she might have mentioned it. I understand that she was involved in an automobile accident this morning. How is she?”
“Dead,” McGarvey said.
TWENTY-NINE
McGarvey went back up to Page’s office, where he briefed the director on his conversation with Haaris.
“I’ll have Tommy Boyle put a tail on him,” Page said. Boyle was the CIA’s London chief of station and a friend of Haaris’s. “But I don’t understand the part about Miss Boylan.”
“As long as most everyone thinks she’s dead, she’ll stop being a target,” McGarvey said.
“If Marty’s in on it he’ll want to use her as an asset.”
“I don’t want to worry about her, so keep Marty out of it.”
“I understand how you feel,” Page said. “But she’s a capable field officer who’s proved her worth on more than one occasion. From what I understand she was of some assistance to you in Florida a few days ago.”
“Have our media people pass it along to the Virginia Highway Patrol. They can make the announcement that one of our officers was killed in a car crash on the parkway. It was an unfortunate accident.”
“I’ll do it, but you’re the only one who’ll be able to convince her to lie low.”
“Have you talked to Fay yet?”
“I was waiting until you spoke with Haaris. You still mean to go through with the president’s request?”
“Like I said, Walt, I don’t think we have much of a choice.”
“You understand that this won’t be like the bin Laden op. You’ll be totally on your own. If you’re captured or taken out, we’ll deny your orders. And I got that directly from Kalley. Not in so many words, of course, but her meaning was clear.”
“I’ll have Otto send up a passport name, photo and number later today or first thing in the morning. You can tell Fay to tell the ambassador that I’m a CIA officer, but I’ll be tagging along purely as an observer.”
“What about our station staff at the embassy?”
“I don’t want to interact with them unless it becomes necessary. If this thing goes south I want Austin to stay in the clear.”
“I suppose if I briefed Carlton he would say that you had finally gone completely out of your mind,” Page said. “And I’d have to agree with him.” Carlton Patterson was a longtime admirer of McGarvey’s.
“You’re right, so don’t bother him,” McGarvey said.
“One of these days when you walk out of this office you won’t come back.”
“You’re almost certainly right about that too. But it’s what I signed up for at the beginning.”
“Take care of yourself, Mac.”
Otto was in his office monitoring the same feeds from Pakistan that the Watch was receiving when McGarvey showed up.
“Louise has been bugging me about Pete. How’s she doing?” Louise and Pete had become fast friends over the past couple of years.
“She’ll be okay. I’m bringing her out here first thing in the morning as soon as Franklin releases her.”
Otto had to laugh. “Do you think she’s going to stand for it — putting her on ice so you don’t have to worry about the pretty little woman? I can just hear what she’ll say about that move. Even Louise will think you’re nuts.”
On the feed was the image of a stern-looking man in traditional Punjabi dress, seated behind a desk, the national flag behind him, the translation of what he was saying in a crawl across the bottom of the monitor.
“Shahidullah Shahid,” Otto said, “official spokesman for the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan. He’s been speaking for the past hour and a half about unity. But it’s not so important who he is but where he is.”
“Could be anywhere.”
“The Aiwan,” Otto said. “In fact he’s seated at the president’s desk.”
“The ISI has finished its purge.”
“Mostly a bloodless coup so far, except for Barazani.”
“Any sign of the Messiah?”