Luke watched Helen watch the technician. He followed her as she walked across the room, sensing that the technician was almost finished with his analysis.
Helen stood next to him, waiting. He adjusted the focus again, looked at the computer screen, and stood up next to her. She couldn’t stand it. “What do you think?”
“Good enough for comparison.”
“And?”
He studied the two images and did an automated computer comparison to confirm what he’d already concluded. He waited for the program to complete its analysis, then looked at Helen and said ominously, “It’s him.”
“Any doubt?”
“None.”
“That son of a bitch,” Luke said, amazed. “How did he get back to Pakistan?”
Helen nodded. “That is a question we will try to find the answer to one day. However, our current job is to get him. Either to bring him back here for trial or . . . some other option. The other options are not in my area.”
“Well, who is in charge of the other options?” Luke asked.
“That would be the other government agency. The one that begins with a C.”
The image of Khan sitting in Pakistan, safe and sound, was too much. “We don’t have a lot of time,” Luke said.
“Everyone is aware of that.” She dialed a number on her cell phone, a digital phone with some additional buttons Luke had never seen before. While it was ringing, she punched in a series of numbers onto the backlit screen. As soon as a connection was indicated, she hit “send” again, and the numbers were transmitted digitally.
“Was that for him? Did you tell the CIA that you’ve ID’d him?” Luke demanded.
She put the phone back on the clip on her belt and looked at Luke. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“So do you.”
“It’s my job.”
“I’m making it mine. I’m not done with him.”
“You may be right.”
* * *
“It’s him!” Cindy Frohm said as she burst into Morrissey’s office. “They have absolute confirmation that the print on the fork Renee got is the same as the one that was in the house in Nevada.”
Morrissey jumped up from his desk. “Renee has outdone herself. Does she have anything else since then? She was going to keep digging.”
“She hasn’t checked in since we got the print.”
Morrissey frowned. “Have you talked to anyone at the DO?” The Directorate of Operations.
“Nothing. They’re concerned. The embassy hasn’t seen her at all.”
Morrissey stopped and stared at Cindy as he thought. “What does that mean?”
“She would disappear now and then if she was on something that required her to stay undercover. But no one knows for sure.”
“Think they might have grabbed her?”
“Pakistan claims to be uninvolved in the Khan attack. Why would they go after her?”
“Because she’s collecting intelligence on their soil. If you get found doing that, they don’t step back and wonder about the final end-of-the-day implications. They just grab you.”
“At least we know where Khan is.”
“And that he may have something in mind. Did you read what Renee said about something happening in three days?”
“That’s less than forty-eight hours from now,” she said, looking at her watch.
“Exactly. And what is he going to do?”
“Did you see that estimate from the FBI?”
“Sure.” Morrissey felt uneasy. “They think a nuclear plant strike. Based on some Russian telling them what he thinks is the target and his estimate of India’s pathetic ability to stop them. I don’t know about that.”
Frohm waited. “So what now?”
“I need to talk to my counterpart in India. Call in a few chips.”
* * *
The man who’d knocked Renee down now sat next to her in a room at a table. She was surrounded by smelly men smoking and leering at her. Renee was still wearing her nightclothes. Her shoulder was throbbing from where she’d strained against his hold, but her wits were completely intact.
He took a long drag from his cigarette, a vile, dark one that produced acrid brown smoke. “So, we have long suspected you are with the CIA.” He waited for her reaction. There wasn’t one. “Are you?”
“I am with the Department of State. You know that,” she said icily.
He smiled. “Yes. The Department of State. Of course. Some kind of—what is it?—cultural person. What is it exactly?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “You won’t believe anything I say.”
“Why do you think that?”
“You broke into my home. You knocked me down. You obviously already have opinions. I doubt I can change your mind. Why try?”
“Why try?” He laughed. He looked at the other men in the room. “Why try?” He grew suddenly serious. “Because I believe you are with the CIA! That’s why!” he screamed as he leaned toward her. “And I know that you have been spying on our Air Force base! That’s why! You disguise yourself as a Pakistani woman. Your mother was half Pakistani!” Her head jerked toward him. “Ah, you didn’t think we knew? You continue to think we are stupid.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to know what you know.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“You have learned information about who attacked your country. It is my belief that you know who it is. I—we—want to know what you know.”
“Then ask my country what we know. I’m sure they’ll tell you.”
“No. Time does not lend itself to such formal requests. They do not trust us. Especially now.”
“Can you blame them?”
“Oh, yes. I can blame them. They think they know all about us, and they are mostly wrong. So tell me what you have learned about this pilot that attacked your country. This man, this pilot, has caused greater humiliation to our country than anyone in history. We are more interested in finding him than you are.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Do you deny that you were on our Air Force base near Karachi?”
“Yes. I deny it.”
He glanced over his shoulder, and a man behind him handed him a photograph. He tossed it in front of her. She continued to stare straight ahead. “Look at it.”
She glanced down quickly, maintaining her flat expression as she looked at a photo of herself serving the Air Force pilots their meals.
“Do you deny that is you?”
“Yes.”
He reached behind him, and a man put a small case in his hand. He tossed it onto the table. “Do you know what this is?”
She looked at it, trying not to show any reaction. “No.”
“It is a set of contact lenses.”
“So?”
“They are yours.”
“I don’t wear glasses or contacts.”
He smiled and lit another cigarette with the burning end of the one about to go out. He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke her way again. “You don’t need to wear glasses or contacts. That is a true statement. You don’t need them to see well. But these are brown in color. Can you imagine? Brown contacts? Why would anyone have those? Perhaps if you need them to disguise the blue eyes that you got from your American father so you can look more Pakistani.”
“You’re out of your mind,” she said quickly.
“Can you explain to me why these contacts have no prescription to them? Why would anyone have contacts without any correction?”
“I have no idea. Ask whoever owns them,” she said, looking directly at him.
“But we got them from your other apartment. You have no idea how they got there?”
“I don’t have any other apartment. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really,” he said.
The first man handed him another sheet. It was a series of photos of her going into the apartment w
earing Western dress and coming out in Pakistani garb. “You still deny it?”
“That’s not me,” she said, dodging. She knew they had her, but she would never tell them anything voluntarily.
He sat back and assumed a gentle tone. “You don’t seem to understand what we’re doing. We are on the same side of this, you and I. We are trying to find the man who did this to us. The one who has made us look like murderers in front of the whole world. Your country doesn’t trust us now and refuses to give us any help in finding the pilot who did this. We have begged for your help, but you refuse to give it to us. We must find this man. We have no idea what he has in mind, but if he is here, we must stop him. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I understand what you’ve said.”
“Then tell me what you know. If you have identified this man, tell me now. Who is it?”
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“We must know!”
Renee looked at him with contempt. “You must know? Why didn’t you know that there was someone in your Air Force who had international murder in mind? And theft of bombs or whatever else was stolen from your armory? And what about the attempted smuggling of warhead-grade plutonium over the border? Where were you guys then? So you’re left trying to intimidate an employee of the American State Department instead of doing your own good intelligence work?” She shook her head in disgust. “Can I go now?”
“You will tell us what you know!” he screamed as he stood up and leaned on the table.
“I don’t know anything,” she said.
The man turned in fury to those behind her. “Put her in the dark cell,” he ordered. “If anyone asks us about her, we’ve never heard of her.”
* * *
“Colonel,” Vlad said into the telephone in his native Russian.
“Vladimir!” Stoyanovich exclaimed, thrilled to hear the voice of his friend. “Where are you?”
“In America.”
“Are you near the radioactivity?”
“Not very. It is several hundred miles away.”
“Were you involved in that air battle? What happened?”
“Yes, we tried to stop them, but got there too late.”
“Your MAPS job has you in that Nevada school where this lunatic Pakistani started all that. Am I right? You are there with MAPS taking care of the MiGs?”
“Exactly. It is the best job you could imagine. It is the dream of a lifetime. And they were letting me fly, Colonel. They made me their MiG-29 instructor, and I fly in the hops with the American pilots who are all former TOPGUN instructors!”
“That is too wonderful, Vladimir. Then you must have your drinking under control. As you said you would. I should never have doubted you. You are so strong. I should tell you, just so you know, that I only intended to keep you away from flying for six months. I told you it was for the rest of your career so you would take it seriously this time. I think it was bad judgment on my part to tell you this. I think you believed me.”
Vlad held his head in his hand as he rested his elbow on the counter. If only he had known. But it was too late now. He looked at the open bottle of vodka that sat on a table. “Colonel, I am in some trouble.”
“Ah,” Stoyanovich said. The enthusiasm in his voice was suddenly tempered. “What is it, Vladimir?”
“I suppose you know how I got here.”
“Yes. You were threatened by the Mafia, those thugs, those scum.”
“They promised to get me out of the country and gave me this job. There were no strings attached. I just wanted to get out of Russia, and the chance to fly again . . .”
“It is perfectly understandable. But what is your problem?”
“They knew about the attack before it happened.”
“The attack on the nuclear plant?” Stoyanovich asked. “How would they know that?”
“That’s what I wanted to know. I still don’t know. But before it happened, Gorgov—”
“That traitor . . .”
“He told me something would happen, and I was to make sure it came off. He wanted me to make sure this Khan succeeded.”
“They were behind that attack?”
“I don’t think so. I just think they’re involved. They’ve given Khan something. I don’t know how or what, I don’t know what their role is, but they’re involved.”
“What did you do?”
“I tried like hell to stop Khan. The air battle.”
“I heard.”
“We caught them too late. We shot them all down, except for Khan himself, and he got me with a Sidewinder—”
“Vladimir, how could you—”
“I know. But I got out, and I’m okay.”
“What is it you need?”
“This isn’t over.”
“What isn’t?”
“Whatever Gorgov and the Pakistanis are doing. They’re not finished. He called me.”
“He called you again?”
“Yes. Just last night.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that there would be another opportunity for me to help. To intervene. To let Luke be—”
“Luke?”
“He’s the head of the school. American pilot, former TOPGUN instructor.”
“Go on.”
“He said Luke would try to be the hero. And when he did, I was to do the right thing.”
“What does that mean?”
“We will get a chance to intervene, to save the world. When Luke tries, I am to stop him.”
“You couldn’t do that.”
Vlad choked on his words. “Except Gorgov threatened to kill my sister and her children, and he knows where my mother is.”
“They always talk like that,” Stoyanovich said, trying to reassure Vlad.
“They mean it. You know that.”
“Too often.”
“This Khan is at an air base near Karachi. I’m convinced he is planning on attacking the Kakrapar Indian nuclear power plant. They want to start a war between Pakistan and India.”
“How can you know this? How can this be? He is still alive?”
“Yes. I can’t go into it all, but I’m sure that’s what’s happening.”
“What can I do?”
“You still remember that Indian intelligence man we met when we were in India?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Perhaps you can get one of our people to convince them that what they really need is two highly trained MiG-29 pilots to come to India to help them defend this plant from a guy we know better than anyone else. If India starts moving their Air Force to defend against an attack, it will be seen as provocation, and Pakistan will feel compelled to attack anyway. They’ve got to stay put.”
“Yes, of course. And who would go?”
“Me. Me and Luke Henry.”
“Consider it done, but isn’t that what Gorgov wants you to do?”
“It is exactly what he wants me to do.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“I don’t have any choice!”
“You want me to do his work? You want me to help him accomplish his goal? I would rather die!” Stoyanovich protested.
“Please . . .”
“I will do that. Because you asked. But I will also do something else, unless you ask me not to. And if I succeed, maybe you won’t have to do anything for him. I am tired of the damage this man and his kind are causing to Russia. I have had enough. I have seen enough. I am going to pay him a little visit. I know where his dacha is. Perhaps when he isn’t expecting it, I will visit him and show him very clearly what I think of him.”
“No, Colonel Stoyanovich. Do not underestimate him. He is a snake, and he is surrounded by other snakes.”
“Not always.” Stoyanovich smiled. “I will take care of both things. I will call you. It is time that we Russians stood up to the murderers who are ruining our country.”
“Please be careful.”
“Of course.
You should get ready to go to India. It is the right thing for you to stop this Khan. I will take care of everything else.”
24
Luke was trying to pretend that things were normal. He was trying to reestablish a routine, even though he wouldn’t allow himself to be away from the news for more than fifteen minutes to get an update on the growing crisis in Southern California and the drifting radioactive cloud. There was now a confirmed death toll of fifteen, with several hundred suffering from radiation sickness and a total of two thousand affected. San Onofre was operating cleansing stations twenty-four hours a day and running people through endlessly. They had started holding press conferences every hour, but it all served simply to confirm how horrible things were. Most of the population of Southern California within fifty miles of San Onofre was still trying to get out of the area. The cloud itself was drifting lazily westward, but without much momentum. It was dissipating, but not quickly. Experts were apoplectic. The antinuclear activists were crowing “I told you so! I told you so!” to anyone who would listen, even to those who wouldn’t listen, and Luke felt personally responsible for all of it.
He sat in the Area 51 Café and put his bagel with scrambled egg on the table in front of him. Raymond set Luke’s coffee next to his plate. “There you go, boss.”
“Thanks,” Luke said absentmindedly. He looked around the café. He was the only one there other than Raymond and Glenda. “No one else here?”
“No, sir,” Raymond said. “Seems most of the instructors are just staying in their rooms watching their televisions for the cloud and all. No one knows what to make of it. Kind of in shock, I think.”
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