The Fourth Horseman (32 page)

On top of that Pakistan, the country that had turned its back on him when he was a child, and had so foolishly misspent its energy and resources on a stupid religious war with India, would pay dearly.

Standing at the windows in the president’s office—the same spot from which he had watched the crowds gather in what seemed like an age ago—watching the start of the dawn, he felt for just that moment like Gandhi. The man had started out as the great pacifier, giving up nearly everything to ensure that India’s Muslims and Hindus could learn to live in peace.

He’d been wrong, of course; and as a result Pakistan was born. And now it was the Messiah’s turn. He would reunite the two countries in fire. And when it was finished the world order would have taken a paradigm shift.

Not bad, he thought, for a peasant without parents. He threw his head back and began to laugh, all the way from his gut. It wasn’t a good feeling, just relief that the end was at hand.

His encrypted cell phone buzzed. It was an out-of-breath Rajput.

“We have trouble coming our way.”

“It’s too late for that,” Haaris said. He felt as if he were in a dreamlike state. Nothing could touch him. His will was supreme.

“Listen to me. Parks managed to kill his interrogator and three others and escape.”

“He won’t get far. When you find him, kill him.”

“You don’t understand. He had help. Someone shut down the building’s surveillance system long enough for him to get out of the interview cell, before they turned it back on.”

“The system isn’t hardened, I warned you about it before. Doesn’t change anything; he won’t get far.”

“Our entire system crashed for precisely sixty seconds. My people tell me such a thing is impossible. Yet it happened. Worse than that they believe that a virus has been implanted in the mainframe so that such a thing can happen again. It has made us vulnerable.”

“Go back to the factory default settings. Start all over again.”

“You still don’t understand. It gives them access to operational details.
Your
operation.”

“Nothing vital could have been included.”

“No, but enough for the right program to unravel it with time.”

“With time,” Haaris said, but something suddenly struck him, completely dashing his euphoria. “How exactly was the system crashed? Was it simply a power failure? And are you sure about a virus?”

“It wasn’t a power failure. Embedded in the virus is a warning that the system will go down again later this morning, and this time it could be permanent.”

“Backup systems?”

“All have been infected.”

“You have experts.”

“To this point they have no idea where to turn,” Rajput said. “And that in itself is an extraordinary admission. This isn’t the work of some ordinary hacker. Whoever is doing this to us is a genius.”

Traffic was building on Constitution Avenue, both vehicular as well as pedestrian. A normal workday was beginning. Functionaries out and about the business of governing 180 million–plus people through a difficult transition. Glad souls, many of them, sad souls, others.

“Rencke,” Haaris said, almost as a half whisper.

“Who?”

“Otto Rencke. One of the only men in the world—maybe the only man—who could pull off something like this. He’s the CIA’s resident computer genius, and he’s a close personal friend of Kirk McGarvey’s.”

“If that’s true, how do we stop him?” Rajput demanded.

“You don’t, but that’s not the most important thing.”

It was the look in the journalist’s eyes that had been bothersome. There’d been too much confidence in them, or at least a different kind of confidence. Real journalists asked questions; Parks had made challenges. Journalists were gatherers of information, storytellers. Parks had the feral posture of a killer.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s my fault. I missed it. Travis Parks is not the man’s real name.”

“We know that.”

“He’s Kirk McGarvey and he came here to kill me.”

The line was dead silent for a long time. When Rajput came back he sounded determined. “At least we know who we’re really dealing with. We found the jeep he stole and almost certainly the person or persons helping him. One of our helicopters was shot down on Murree Road just south of here.”

“What’d they report?”

“Nothing.”

“Call out all of your resources, priority one. Kill them on sight.”

“We’re already on it.”

“But, General, listen to me very carefully. Send your best people, and a lot of them, because McGarvey isn’t a man who’ll be so easy to kill.”

“We’ll need to hold off.”

“Absolutely not,” Haaris said, his anger rising. “We have a timetable and we will stick with it. All three packages will be delivered across the border as we planned.”

“Too much can go wrong.”

“We have come too far to stop now. After Quetta it was too late to quit, because sooner or later it’s bound to leak what actually happened up there.”

“Yes, and someone like Rencke will put two and two together.”

“But not the how or the where or the when,” Haaris said.

“I’m not sure,” Rajput replied.

“I am,” Haaris said. “The next step happens now.”

“What next step happens now?” the mufti asked from the doorway.

Haaris pocketed the phone as he turned. The Taliban spokesman, who was sharing the Aiwan with Haaris, stood in his full dress, including his head covering. He’d just come from morning prayers and his eyes were at peace.

Haaris smiled pleasantly. “Prayers this morning were comforting.”

The mufti chuckled. “Save me,” he said. “What next step?”

“The transfers begin this evening.”

“Everything has been arranged?”

“Yes. I want you to get word to your people in Quetta.”

“You do me an injustice, Messiah,” the mufti said. “All three packages have been waiting at the American and British trucking depots in Peshawar from the beginning.”

Haaris couldn’t hide his surprise. “I wasn’t told.”

“No reason. You and Rajput own this part of Pakistan, we own the north. Even you cannot imagine our reach.”

“There have been no suspicions?”

“The packages are radiologically sealed and hidden in boxes marked
hazardous.
No one will touch them until they reach their destinations in a few days.”

Haaris nodded. Even McGarvey was helpless to stop them.

“And now it’s time for me to talk to my people again. Tell them who is really to blame for their woes.”

“You mean
our
people,” the mufti said.

“My people,” Haaris said. He took out a silenced Glock and shot the mufti in the middle of the forehead.

FIFTY-NINE

Thomas sunk to his knees next to his wife’s body and arranged her clothing to cover her nakedness. Tears streamed down his face. The bullet wound in his back was merely oozing now. He had lost a lot of blood; his complexion was milky white.

“Is there someplace else for you to go?” McGarvey asked. “They know about you.”

“It’s not what you think. The ISI didn’t do this. It is our neighbors, the men from the teahouse at the corner. They resent my marriage to Wafa. I’m not a Pakistani. They’ve taught me a lesson.”

“Do you want us to go after them?” Pete asked.

“It wouldn’t bring her back.”

“You won’t be safe here,” Pete said.

“I won’t be safe from myself anywhere,” Thomas said. He pulled out his pistol. He looked up. “Both of you need to get out of here. If you can get to the Marriott, call Austin, he’ll arrange for the the airlift across the border.”

“We’re not leaving you,” Pete said. She looked to McGarvey. “Tell him, Mac.”

“Don’t be stupid. There’s not a fucking thing you can do here for either of us. You’re on a mission,” said Thomas.

“Goddamnit,” Pete cursed.

“He’s right,” McGarvey said. “The two days are nearly up; whatever’s supposed to happen will go down today.”

“We can’t just leave him.”

“Yes,” McGarvey said.

He took Pete’s sat phone, called Otto and explained the situation.

“Sit tight, I’ll have Austin send somebody for you,” Rencke said. “You’ll be safe waiting at the embassy. The chopper can pick you guys up there after midnight.”

“Pete and Thomas are going to hole up at the embassy; I have something else to finish,” McGarvey said. He had a fair idea what was going to happen sometime this morning, sometime soon, but something else nagged at him. Something he was missing, something they were all missing, had been from the beginning, and it was driving him nuts.

“What are you talking about,
kemo sabe
? Every gun in town is looking for you. And by now Haaris has probably figured out who’s screwing with the ISI’s mainframe, and once he figures out that it’s me, he’ll have to know who you are.”

“They’ll expect me to take refuge in the embassy,” McGarvey said. “They won’t bother about Pete as long as she’s not with me. But they’ll keep watch until I show up. Every car, truck, delivery van, anyone showing up on foot, will be searched.”

“I’m not going to leave you,” Pete said.

“Haaris is going to make another announcement, first on radio and TV, and then he’s going to make an appearance on the front balcony of the Aiwan.”

“The announcement was made five minutes ago,” Otto said. “He’s going to speak to the people in person and reveal Pakistan’s true enemies.”

“
Enemies,
plural?”

“Yeah.”

“The crazy bastard’s engineered another nine-eleven.”

“There’s more. One of my darlings picked up a brief mention in the ISI’s mainframe about weapons inventories. We took out eighty-seven of their nukes and we know where most of the rest are depoted, but four are missing from Quetta’s list. The Taliban detonated one, so that leaves three unaccounted for. If the inventory is accurate.”

“London’s on the list. He’s got an ax to grind because of how they treated him as a kid.”

“That’d make him insane as well as brilliant,” Otto said. “A bad combination.”

“Tell Page what we think might be coming our way and have him inform Sir John.” Sir John Notesworthy was head of the British Secret Intelligence Service.

“What about the president?”

“That’s her call,” McGarvey said. “But I don’t think this’ll wait for a diplomatic solution.”

“You’re going ahead with the op,” Otto said. “You’re going to show up at the Aiwan and try to take him out. With what? You don’t have a sniper rifle, so it’ll have to be a pistol shot, which means short range.”

“It has to be that way.”

“Goddamnit, why, Mac? You might get close enough to him to pull it off, but afterwards you’ll never get out of there. The mob will tear you apart.”

“He’s almost certainly compartmentalized the entire thing, which means he’s the only one who knows all the details.”

“He won’t talk to you,” Otto said.

“I think he will,” McGarvey said. “Now get on it, but, listen, Otto, keep everything low-key. I suspect that he still has a go-to on Campus.”

“Your name or the op haven’t been mentioned. The list is very tight.”

“I know, but if word gets out that we’re taking a special interest in incoming flights and ships, especially to DC, New York and London—and if I can’t get to him in time—his plans will change. He could postpone everything for a week or a month, even a year. We couldn’t keep up the tightened security posture forever.”

Otto was silent for a long time, and Pete looked stricken.

“I’m getting word to Austin,” Otto finally said. “I don’t like this, Mac.”

“Do you think I do?” McGarvey asked.

*   *   *

McGarvey borrowed a pair of loose trousers and a knee-length shirt from Thomas, and armed with Pete’s Glock and a spare magazine of ammunition he came back downstairs to where she was finishing bandaging Thomas’s wound.

“Good luck, pal,” Thomas said, his voice strong. He was holding up well. Hate was a powerful motivator.

“Nothing I can do for you unless you go to the embassy with Pete.”

“They’d think I was you, and we wouldn’t get within a block of the place. Then both of us would be in the shit.”

“I’ll have somebody come back for you after it’s settled,” Pete said.

Thomas actually smiled. “Sounds good.”

Pete came outside with McGarvey. “I understand what you’re doing, though I can’t approve. Your chances are slim to none, and you know it.”

McGarvey shrugged. “I’ve faced worse odds.”

“I want you to know something first.”

“Don’t say it.”

“Nothing you can do to stop me, Kirk. But the fact of the matter is that I love you.”

McGarvey didn’t want to hear it, not from Pete, not from any woman. At night when he dreamed it was always of Katy. On the sailboat at anchor; at home in her gazebo on the Intracoastal Waterway on Casey Key; in Washington, Paris, Berlin, Toyko, once even Moscow and another time, Beijing. She’d wanted to see some of the places he’d been.

“So long as no one is shooting at us,” she’d said.

But it hadn’t lasted, of course. There’d been the
of course
almost from the beginning. All the women he had loved, including his daughter, had been taken from him because of what he did, because of who he was, who he had always been.

“I know that you feel something for me,” Pete said.

McGarvey looked away.

“I want to hear you say it. Just once.”

“No.”

“Even if you don’t mean it, Kirk.”

He looked at her. “Not yet,” he said. “It’s the best I can do for now.”

She smiled. “It’ll do,” she said.

SIXTY

Haaris, in his full regalia, including the voice-altering collar, sat behind the president’s desk watching a replay on a laptop of his canned announcement, which was being broadcast through just about every media outlet in the world.

The building’s staff was at a bare minimum, most of them security officers forbidden to come above the ground floor. No real work of government was being done from here; Rajput handled the day-to-day business of the country, and he was doing a reasonable job, considering the difficult circumstances.