“You think being in love with a field operator is tough, you oughta try being in love with a genius. Sometimes it’s downright scary.”
Pete brought her overnight bag and purse down to the front hall. Louise handed her a small leather bag with a diplomatic seal.
“Your Glock, a couple of magazines of ammunition and a silencer. The seal will get you through Customs in London.” She handed Pete a manila envelope. “Your tickets, confirmation number at the Connaught for three days, a new passport and other papers, plus air marshal creds, which you’ll need to carry your weapon aboard for the flight to Islamabad. What happens once you get there could be another story, but you’ll just have to take it a step at a time. In the meantime I suggest you take a look at everything — your work name will be Doris Day, and your home address, Hollywood.”
Pete had to laugh. It was an old tradecraft trick; give them something so glaring that it would direct their attention elsewhere. A NOC, non-official cover agent, would never travel into badland with such an outrageous ID — therefore the ID had to be legitimate.
In the kitchen, Louise put on the coffee, and Pete sat at the counter.
“You haven’t asked what I’ll do if the guy is an imposter,” Pete said.
“It’d mean that Dave is almost certainly the Messiah. You’d have to prevent the stand-in from warning him.” Louise turned around. “You were an interrogator before you were a field officer. Do you think that you can do whatever is needed if the situation arises?”
Pete had thought about just that possibility. Mac had once explained to her that the thought of killing someone, anyone, was opposite of everything he was and everything he stood for. But the people he had eliminated were bad, many of them beyond any sort of redemption or even incarceration. If he hadn’t pulled the trigger, other very bad things would surely have happened.
“I have to look at it like a soldier on the battlefield,” he’d said. “For every life I take I have to figure that I’ve saved ten, maybe fifty, maybe even one hundred or more innocent lives.”
“Haven’t you been afraid of making a mistake?” Pete asked. At that time she’d been in the process of falling in love with him, and she wanted to know everything. Some of her questions had been reckless. But he’d taken them in his stride.
“All the time,” he’d answered.
Admitting something like that had to have been hard for him, but he’d explained another time that in the business, partners had to be completely honest with each other. No secrets whatsoever. By then she had been head-over-heels and the only word of his that had really registered was partners.
“I’ll see when the time comes,” she answered Louise. “But first I’ll have a couple of questions for him.”
“Like I said, keep your ass down.”
At first light Louise drove Pete out to Dulles, weekday traffic already building on the Beltway. On the way she phoned Otto, who had spent the night in his office.
“We’re on the way to the airport. Have you had any word from Mac?”
“He’s at a news conference with Powers and Rajput,” Otto said. “Are you on speakerphone?”
“I can hear you,” Pete said. “How did he sound?”
“Fine, but he doesn’t know that you’re on your way to London.”
“Anything new from Boyle’s people?”
“They’re wary of the guy, so they haven’t been crowding him.”
“Someone should have gotten close enough for a positive ID. Maybe a telephoto lens?”
“Boyle says Haaris’s tradecraft is too good for something like that. And anyway, they’re one hundred percent sure that it’s him.”
“Christ,” Pete said.
“It’s the reason for you going to have a look for yourself. Mac needs to know what’s coming his way — what might already be gaining on him. But watch yourself, Pete. The ISI is playing for very big chips.”
THIRTY-SIX
McGarvey had to show his passport before he was given his press credentials for the news conference. When he got to the main briefing room an aide to President Rajput had just come to the podium. The hall was filled to capacity with more than one hundred journalists seated and perhaps a dozen or more standing at the back.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” the aide said. His English was as crisp as his Western-cut suit.
A woman with short, unkempt blond hair standing next to McGarvey wore an ABC pass on a lanyard around her neck. She glanced at Mac’s pass, and her eyes narrowed. “Dr. Parks,” she said in a low voice. “I’m a bit surprised to see you here. I would have thought they’d turn you away at the door.”
“Freedom of the press.”
The woman chuckled. “I read a few of your overnight blog posts about the situation here. Pakistan’s new prime minister is no friend of the U.S. and neither is the Messiah — who probably is nothing more than a stooge of the ISI.”
“Well?”
“All I can say is you’ve got balls showing up in Pakistan, let alone here.” She looked at the PM’s aide. “If they spot you this’ll be interesting.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, Prime Minister Hasan Rajput and the Honorable Donald Suthland Powers, ambassador from the United States.”
The journalists applauded briefly as Rajput and Powers strode into the room and took their places at podiums placed only a few feet apart. Rajput spoke first.
“I’ll make just a brief statement, after which Mr. Powers will have a few comments, at which time we’ll open the floor for questions.”
Like Powers, Rajput’s smile and easy manner were obviously forced. The political situation in Pakistan had radically changed, but the relationship between the two countries had deteriorated. The U.S. still needed Pakistan’s cooperation in going after the terrorists along the border with Afghanistan. And Pakistan needed the billions in economic aid from Washington to prop up its military.
“Extraordinary events in recent days have propelled Pakistan into a new era — one, we hope, of peace and prosperity. My deepest wish is for the guns to go silent. All of the guns and bombs which will make drone strikes a choice of the past.” Rajput turned to Powers. “Which is why we invited you and your staff to return to your embassies — along with the ambassadors of all the other nations — so that we can get back to work. Welcome, Mr. Powers.”
“It’s good to be back, Mr. Prime Minister, and I wholeheartedly share your desire for peace — but not peace at all costs.” Powers turned to the audience. “It’s also my hope that the violence which has swept across Pakistan for the past several years may have finally come to an end. The events of the past few days, as Prime Minister Rajput said, have been nothing short of extraordinary. In Washington we looked with some alarm on the happenings, wondering if Pakistan would dissolve into chaos — into the same sort of civil war that has gripped so many other countries recently. But it has not happened. Though the circumstances were nothing short of extraordinary, the results are even more stunning.” Powers turned again to Rajput. “President Miller sends her warmest regards, and her commitment to aide Pakistan on its road back to a lasting peace.”
Rajput and Powers shook hands and held the pose for photographers to catch the shot.
“And now we will take a few questions,” Rajput said. He pointed to a journalist in the front row, but McGarvey raised his hand.
“Mr. Prime Minister, can you tell us the whereabouts of the Messiah? I would have thought that he’d be here today.”
“I’m sorry, sir. You are?”
“Dr. Travis Parks, PIP. I’d like to ask him a few questions. Perhaps even a one-on-one interview.”