“There’d be no profit in crossing me, Page. It’d be much easier if we could find a common ground so that we could work together for the good of the country.”
“Nor would there be any profit in crossing Kirk McGarvey.”
Kalley nearly came across her desk at him. “Don’t threaten me, you son of a bitch.”
“Don’t interfere in an ongoing operation,” Page said, keeping his tone completely neutral, which was driving the NSA up the wall.
“The situation out there is critical. The ISI has had absolutely no reaction to our incursion, nor has it allowed any news to leak to their media. Were you aware that they pulled Geo off the air again just two hours ago?” Geo was Pakistan’s leading news channel.
“Yes, because they were getting too critical of the Messiah. They want to know who he is and where he came from.”
“He’s brought peace for the moment. Something no one else has been able to do.”
“Don’t be so goddamned ivory-tower naive. He has a schedule, and it’s set for less than two days from now.”
“No reason to think it’s not benign.”
“The man chopped off President Barazani’s head.”
Kalley was silent for a long beat as she composed herself. “Is that what you’ve come here to tell the president?”
“There’s more,” Page said.
“Tell me.”
“And the president,” Page said. “She’s expecting me.”
President Miller was working at her desk, her suit jacket off. She looked up when her secretary brought them in, but she wasn’t smiling.
“I thought you would have come sooner,” she said.
“There’ve been a number of developments,” Page said.
Miller glanced at Kalley. “You two have spoken,” she said. “Under the circumstances I had no other choice but to withdraw Mr. McGarvey from the assignment.”
“Having the ISI arrest him was the wrong choice for several reasons, Madam President.”
“The only choice,” Miller shot back, her anger rising.
“Something’s going to happen in less than two days’ time. We don’t know what it is, but it will possibly be a strike against the U.S. or our interests. Revenge for not only our incursion into Pakistan to assassinate bin Laden but for our strikes against their nuclear arsenal.”
“They already tried the first, and it didn’t work,” Kalley said.
“Because McGarvey stopped them. But there’s more. We think we know who the Messiah is, and it’s even more critical that we stop him now.”
“Who is he?” the president asked.
“David Haaris,” Page said, catching them completely by surprise.
“Impossible,” Kalley said.
“What’s your confidence level, Mr. Director?” the president asked.
“Ninety percent, conservatively,” Page said. He told them what had happened to date, including the discovery of Haaris’s imposter in London. “McGarvey was at the Secretariat, presumably to interview Rajput, at the same time the Messiah and Mufti Fahad, the new TTP spokesman, showed up. It’s more than conceivable that Mac and the Messiah came face-to-face.”
“If it was Haaris he would have recognized McGarvey from the start,” Kalley said.
“Mac is traveling under false papers and a very good disguise,” Page said. “Fortunately, Ross had sense enough to out Mac’s work name and not his real ID.”
“You’re ninety percent sure that Haaris is the Messiah, and you think he has something planned in two days, for which you don’t have a clue,” the president said. “What’s next?”
“McGarvey’s operating as a blogger under the name of Travis Parks. Call the prime minister and remind him that we have freedom of speech and of the press, no matter how onerous it might seem to him. And assure him that Dr. Parks is not an employee of the CIA.”
Miller swiveled her chair and looked out the bullet-proof windows at the Rose Garden for a long time. “Who else have you discussed this with?”
“Some of my staff, but the number is small,” Page said.
“Otto Rencke?” Kalley asked.
“Yes.”
“Saul?” the president asked.
Saul Santarelli, the director of National Intelligence, was a bright man, but in Page’s estimation little more than a functionary for nothing more than another layer of bureaucracy.
“No,” Page said.
“Then don’t. The need-to-know list will go no further. I’ll telephone Rajput first thing in their morning and ask him to release McGarvey — Dr. Parks.”
Page said nothing.
“The Messiah is probably Haaris, but we don’t know if he has an agenda, so we can’t react until something happens. The next twenty-four hours will tell. But Mr. McGarvey’s orders remain the same. Kill the Messiah, whoever he is. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Madam President,” Page said, surprised.
FIFTY-ONE
With the ambassador back in residence the embassy was busy. On the way upstairs Pete’s escort reminded her that they, like most of the other embassies whose staffs were returning, were on what amounted to a wartime footing.
“A lot of it has to do with the nuclear incident near Quetta,” the young woman said. She looked as if she was just out of college. “We still don’t have many answers.”
“Is it possible that the Taliban got their hands on one of the weapons and set it off by accident?” Pete asked.
“God help us all, because only one went off and three are still missing.”
“No sign of them?”
“Not yet, but everyone’s looking.”
Ross Austin, dressed in a light pullover sweater, jeans and deck shoes, was in the corridor just outside his office talking to a pair of marines in desert camos and bloused boots. They only carried pistols, but they wore Kevlar vests, pockets bulging with combat equipment.
“I’ll just leave you here, ma’am,” Pete’s escort said, and she hurried down the corridor in the opposite direction.
Austin looked up as Pete approached, then said something to the marines, who headed to the stairs.
“Thanks for at least agreeing to talk to me instead of turning me around at the airport,” Pete told him.
He was the perfect chief of station: of medium build, with a pleasantly plain face, an empty smile and a slightly vacant look in his soft brown eyes, completely without guile or aggression. He was a man who would never stand out in a crowded room or on a street corner in just about any city in the world. He could have been easily taken for an American businessman, a British tourist or an employee of a small Swiss bank.
They went into his office. “Wasn’t my choice,” he told her. “Though with any luck I’ll have you on a plane out of here first thing in the morning.”
Pete was jet-lagged and her temper rose. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”
“I was briefed by the director himself less than ten minutes ago. I know about Haaris and the imposter you burned in London, and I know what McGarvey’s real mission was.”
“Haaris has an agenda and whatever he has planned will happen in less than two days.”
“I’m sorry but I can’t envision Dave as the Messiah. It doesn’t fit, and from what I’m told the Company isn’t one hundred percent sure. Even Rencke can’t nail it.”
“Then why the imposter in London?“
“Dave has got something in mind, all right, but I suspect he simply wanted to step off the merry-go-round for a breather. He’s been going at it hammer-and-tong forever; time to take a vacation somewhere. An anonymous vacation. And I can’t say as I blame him.”
“Tommy Boyle said just about the same thing,” Pete practically shouted.
The office door was open and Austin went to shut it.