Rajput motioned for McGarvey to have a seat in front of the desk. “Coming here just now, what struck you most about the demonstration out there?”
“So far as I know, this time your Messiah hasn’t cut off anyone’s head yet.”
“It was a brutal act, but one that may have been necessary. Pakistan was going nowhere under its former leadership. And I believe you call such actions a ‘clean sweep.’”
“Some would call it a purge.”
“The guns have been silent. The suicide bombers have taken off their vests. Business goes on in peace. The ambassadors are returning to their embassies — most notably your Mr. Powers — and next month we will be receiving a delegation from the Pentagon to open a new era of cooperation between us and your military.”
Rajput wasn’t rising to the bait — yet.
“What went wrong in Quetta?”
“A nuclear accident, regrettable, but the location was isolated enough, there were only a very few casualties.”
“The driver and escort were moving the weapons somewhere. But it was my understanding that in cases such as that one the weapons would have been unmated — their nuclear cores and trigger mechanisms separated.”
“In this instance that was not in fact the case. An investigation is in progress, the results of which will be classified.”
“But there has been very little about it in your press or on television.”
“We do not restrict our citizens from access to foreign newspapers, television or the Internet. If truth be told, the unescorted shipment was probably attacked by a Taliban group that got more than it bargained for. Because of the Messiah we have begun steps for rapprochement with them.”
“Instead of supplying them with weapons.”
Rajput sat back. “What are you doing here, Dr. Parks? What do you want from Pakistan?”
“Extraordinary things have been happening over the past days; I just want clarity for my readers on a number of issues that seem to have eluded the foreign press to this point.”
“The nuclear incident in Quetta has been discussed with your government.”
“It’s my understanding that you stonewalled President Miller, which was why she ordered teams to disable as many weapons in your nuclear arsenal as they could reach. There’ve been no reports that I’ve seen on the effectiveness of those raids or of the casualties on both sides.”
Rajput said nothing.
“How has that affected Pakistan’s relationship with the U.S?”
“There has been no effect.”
“How many weapons remain in your arsenal?”
Rajput smiled.
“What I meant to ask, does your military still present a credible enough threat to India that it will not make a preemptive strike?”
“It would be a mistake on their part.”
McGarvey made a point to look up at the big monitor on the wall between the windows. The crowds had grown. Haaris and the Taliban representative were not visible, but there was a center to the mass that moved steadily up the broad avenue.
“What do you want here, Dr. Parks? I’m still not clear.”
“An in-depth one-on-one interview with the Messiah. My readers want to know who he is and what his agenda might be.”
“Even I do not know that yet.”
“Then we’ll ask him together when he gets here.”
“But what is your agenda?”
McGarvey suppressed a grin. It was like fishing: hook, line and sinker. “To get a story.”
“Do you know Ross Austin?” Rajput asked out of the blue.
“No.”
“You’re lying. He knows you and he knows why you’re here.”
McGarvey maintained his composure.
“Mr. Austin is in fact the chief of station for the CIA’s activities here in Pakistan. And he is concerned about you. In fact he wants me to have you arrested and turned over to Ambassador Powers immediately.”
“We have a little thing called the First Amendment.”
“He says that until recently you were an analyst with the CIA. He says that you fancy yourself as the next Edward Snowden, and that you have come to Pakistan seeking asylum in exchange for information.”
FORTY-SIX
It was well after eleven in the evening when Otto Rencke left his office and took the elevator up to the seventh floor. The DCI had called fifteen minutes earlier to say that he was coming to Campus and wanted a meeting, not at all surprised to find Otto still at work.
Louise had gone home a couple of hours before, totally wasted after working nearly nonstop for the past thirty-six hours. She was just as worried as her husband was over the chances of Mac getting out of Pakistan alive, let alone finishing what he’d gone there to do, yet Otto expected the situation was harder on her in part because she didn’t have the same history with Mac’s abilities, and she wasn’t at the center of CIA activities.
Page had just arrived by helicopter when Otto reached his office. Already there were Marty Bambridge and Carlton Patterson, whom Otto had come to think of as the DCI’s unlikely war council.
“Don’t you ever get tired, dear boy?” Patterson asked, though he looked just as beat as everyone else. He was an old man, in his late seventies, and yet he had energy because, he’d once explained, his job was at least interesting if not exciting.
“No time for it,” Otto said, taking a seat next to him on one of the couches in the middle of the room.
The DCI’s office was laid out much like the Oval Office because Page often found it more comfortable to have discussions with his people not across his desk, and not around a long table in a conference room, but up close and personal.
Bambridge, who’d been down the hall in the Watch since late afternoon, looked sullen as usual, but Otto detected a hint of fear in his eyes. It was unusual even for the DDO.
“There’ve been some developments in the past hour or so that all of you might not be aware of,” Page told them. “First off, the TTP’s representative Shahidullah Shahid has disappeared.”
“The Messiah and a Taliban mouthpiece, apparently the mufti Fahad, had a brief meeting this morning at the Presidential Palace before they set out on foot toward the Secretariat, presumably to meet with Prime Minister Rajput,” Bambridge added.
“Yes, we know that much,” Otto said.
“Then you also know that the blogger who identifies himself as Travis Parks is none other than Kirk McGarvey.”
Otto looked to Page. “That was supposed to be kept secret, for his own safety.”
Bambridge was puffed up. “Be that as it may, for whatever reason he revealed himself to my chief of station out there, who, duty-bound, reported it to me.”
“And what did you do about it?” Otto asked.
“I told Ross not to get himself or his station personnel involved except to monitor the situation as closely as practicable and report anything of interest directly to me.”
“Has he?”
“McGarvey’s apparently already gotten into trouble. Ross thinks that he killed two ISI officers and was responsible for the death of a third — a woman — whose body is being transported from Pakistan by a team of SEAL Team Six operators out of Jalalabad.”
“Did you know about this?” Page asked Otto.
“I arranged it.”