‘If you are happy when you test these,’ he said, gesturing at the case, ‘then will you agree to my price? Two thousand dollars for each warhead.’
‘It is still a lot of money,’ said Syed.
‘Yes, I know. But my contact in the factory is taking risks to obtain them for me — he demands to be well paid.’
‘And you demand your profit too.’
‘Of course! I am a businessman, after all.’
‘Then you know the importance of haggling. One thousand dollars each.’
Adam shook his head. ‘I would make a loss at that price. My contact is not the only person I have to pay. They have to be transported, there are officials to bribe…’
‘One thousand two hundred.’
‘I am also taking risks. No, two thousand is a good price.’
Syed struggled to hide the anger in his voice. ‘One thousand five hundred.’
‘Ah-ha! Now we are getting somewhere.’ Adam patted one of the rockets. ‘Malik, my friend, you are a hard man — but also a fair man. I think we can make a deal that suits us both. Say for… eighteen hundred?’
‘One thousand six hundred.’
‘Seven hundred. My final offer.’ There was sudden steel in Adam’s voice, his expression hardening.
The terrorist leader drew in a slow breath. ‘Very well. One thousand seven hundred dollars.’
‘Excellent!’ Adam clapped his hands together — and as he did, he pushed one of the rings on his left hand around so that its setting pointed outwards from his palm, a small dark square on the gold. ‘We are both happy — it is good business, hey? Now, we shake on it.’ He held out his right hand to Syed again.
Syed hesitated, then took it. Adam gripped hard as he shook, preventing the Pakistani from pulling away, and placed his left hand firmly on Syed’s sleeve. ‘A good deal, a very good deal,’ the American agent said with enthusiasm. ‘You won’t regret this.’
‘I had better not,’ Syed replied quietly, the threat unmistakable. Adam finally released his hand. ‘I will contact you again in… one week? After we have tested these.’ He closed the case.
‘I will be waiting for your call.’ Adam raised his left hand to rub an imaginary speck from the corner of his eye, surreptitiously checking the ring. The little grey square was gone. ‘Until then, have fun, hey?’
Syed regarded him with disdain. ‘One week,’ he repeated, before issuing a Pashto command. The other members of his group prepared to move out. Adam was about to do the same when Syed raised a hand. ‘And Giorgi?’
‘Yes?’ A sudden adrenalin surge. Was this a betrayal?
The leader indicated the case. ‘The combination?’
‘Ah, how did I forget?’ Relieved, he showed Syed the tumblers. ‘It is easy to remember. One, two, three… five.’
‘Five?’ said Syed dubiously.
‘Who would think to try that? Four ones, four nines, then one-two-three-four — everyone tries those, but after that they are lost. Nobody has ever got into my luggage with that combination!’
‘Perhaps they did, and you did not know.’
‘Oh, I would know. Trust me.’ He gave Syed a conspiratorial smirk. ‘But now, it is time to get my other luggage from the hotel and go to the airport. There is a lot to do. I will talk to you in one week. Until then, nakhvamdis!’
Adam followed Marwat and Umar out and down the stairs, the other members of the cell coming after him. Syed had delegated the task of carrying the case to another man. Was there still some way to prevent the terrorists from using the improved warheads?
He forced himself to dismiss the idea. Syed was the mission’s sole objective. As much as he wanted to somehow sabotage the rockets, that wasn’t why he was here.
Umar opened the door to the street, warily checking outside before stepping through. He and Marwat didn’t go far, waiting by the neighbouring shopfront. ‘We see you,’ said Holly Jo with relief as Adam emerged after them. ‘Baxter’s in the van, fifty metres to your left.’
He glanced in that direction. It was still raining, but only lightly. The street was much busier than before. On the far side was an anonymous blue Mercedes van, dirty and dented. He ignored it and headed right. ‘The tracer’s on Syed,’ he whispered.
‘Testing… okay, we have it.’
‘Good work,’ said Tony. ‘You had us worried when that other guy showed up.’
‘Well bluffed. Remind me never to play poker against you,’ added Albion.
On the pretext of checking for traffic as he crossed the street, Adam looked back. All the terrorists had now left the building, splitting up. Standard practice for such a cell; dispersing individually made it harder for observers to track everybody.
Except… not everyone was going their own way. Khattak was the last to leave, and he had called back Umar and Marwat.
The gazes of all three followed Adam.
‘I think I’m going to have company,’ he said. A few seconds later, he was proved right as the trio started after him. ‘Khattak and two other guys.’
‘We can’t give you eyes,’ Holly Jo warned. ‘The UAV’s tracking Syed.’ The terrorist leader had disappeared down a narrow alley.
‘You need to lose them,’ Tony warned. ‘You can’t lead them to the rendezvous.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ Adam replied. ‘Just make sure you get Syed.’
‘We’ll bag him. See you soon.’
The Mercedes grumbled past as Adam reached a junction. He rounded the corner on to a side street.
A surreptitious glance back as he turned. The three men were still moving purposefully after him.
Tony stared at a high-resolution satellite photograph of Peshawar on the screen. The tiny tracer Adam had stuck to Syed’s sleeve while shaking his hand now revealed its position as a red diamond; the van was a green circle. Directing the latter to intercept the former should be a simple task.
In theory.
He knew from experience, however, that no satellite overview could beat personal knowledge. ‘Imran,’ he said into his headset, ‘he’s going east. Do you know that part of town?’
‘I know the whole town.’ The van’s driver was Imran Lak, a Peshawar native — and also a CIA asset. ‘I’ll catch him.’
‘He’s just come out of the alley,’ reported Kyle. The view from the drone’s camera slowly but constantly shifted as he followed the terrorist from above. ‘Crossing the street… now going north.’
The green circle had only just turned east. A tag floated above the symbol, showing the distance in metres between the two subjects. It was gradually increasing. ‘He’s getting away from you,’ said Tony into the mike. A statement of fact, not reproach — yet. ‘Turn north as soon as you can. We can’t lose this guy.’
Lak looked ahead, trying to see past the overloaded truck in front of the van. There were alleys between the buildings, but none was wide enough for the Mercedes. The nearest road he could take was at least two hundred metres away.
He sounded an impatient blast on the horn, pulling out to overtake but finding a couple of cars coming the other way. Frustrated, he swung back behind the truck.
‘You’re losing him,’ said an American voice behind him. ‘Come on, get this thing moving!’
Lak flicked a look over his shoulder. The darkened rear cabin was lit by the pale glow of laptop screens, four burly men huddled over them. ‘I can’t drive through walls,’ he complained.
John Baxter was in no mood for excuses. ‘If we miss this guy, we might as well have spent the day playing with our dicks,’ he said, Alabama accent strong. ‘Catch up with him!’
Lak frowned, but said nothing. The cars passed. He pulled out again, dropping down through the gears and accelerating past the truck.
‘He’s turning again,’ Kyle warned. ‘Heading east.’