Читать книгу State Of Honour - Gary Haynes - Страница 11

Linda Carlyle looked up as the heavy door opened, hoping her rising sense of unease didn’t show on her face. The dimly lit room was fifteen metres square, the few pieces of furniture functional rather than decorative. Sitting at an oak desk, she lifted a pair of black-rimmed eyeglasses off her aquiline nose. For the past forty-five minutes, she’d been speed-reading a departmental report she’d commissioned on the near-past disputes between Iran and Pakistan; all of which had stemmed from Islam’s major schism. While Iran was ruled by Shias, Pakistan was Sunni dominated. In the nineties, they’d backed opposing sides in the Afghan Civil War, and had sponsored sectarian terrorism in each other’s major cities. Now they were on the brink of a conflict that could ignite the whole region.

“Good morning, Madam Secretary,” the deputy director said, walking towards her, his hand massaging the folded skin at his neck.

“You’re not harassing my boys, are you, Bill?”

“Sometimes I forget I swopped fatigues for a suit.”

Forcing a smile, she said, “Take a seat. I’ll be right with you.”

Deputy Director Bill Houseman, who had travelled to Islamabad with the secretary, together with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Under-Secretary of Defense, sat in a padded chair two metres from the desk and crossed his muscular legs.

Linda closed the marble-coloured lever arch file and tapped a remote. The room lit up. “So let’s have it,” she said, switching off the antenna-like arc lamp she’d been reading under.

“The switchboard operator just got a call. I think we should ask the head of your security detail to join us.”

“I’d like to hear what you have to say first. Please continue.”

“A threat has been made.” He clenched his teeth.

“I see.”

“The caller said the Leopards of Islam would ensure that the US Secretary of State never leaves Pakistan soil. We’re putting it down to a random individual. Low-level risk assessment.”

“And why’s that?”

Houseman cleared his throat, putting his hand to his mouth. “Because as a rule, the Leopards don’t make threats before an attack, ma’am.”

“That makes me feel a whole lot better,” she said, shaking her head. “And the current situation here?”

“The Leopards are launching fresh attacks in Karachi, Bahawalpur, Lahore. The list goes on. There’ve been three bomb attacks in Islamabad in the past twelve days.”

“Is civil war on the cards?” she asked, fearing the worst.

“We have reports that Shia elements of the army are joining the insurgency, so it’s a possibility.”

“And the Leopards are definitely backed by Iran?”

Houseman nodded. “No question. But the Sunnis brought it on themselves. The atrocities against the Shia minority were bound to result in an armed response.”

“How serious is the Iranian threat?”

Houseman drew in an audible breath through his nose and shuffled his buttocks a fraction. “Satellite images and drone feeds show that Iranian Special Forces have already made incursions across the border. And there are three divisions of the Revolutionary Guard massed just four miles from the largest of Pakistan’s five provinces–”

“Balochistan.”

“That’s right. Our analysts believe that Iran is planning to occupy the port of Gwadar and help themselves to the huge resources of natural gas in the province if Pakistan becomes a failed state.”

“They’re hoping to take advantage of the chaos,” Linda said, leaning back in her chair and arching her fingers.

“They are, ma’am. But if the Iranians come over the southern border in force, the Pakistanis, despite their internal problems, are likely to go to war. They regard the Iranians as apostates.”

“It’s a mess.” She massaged her temples with her thumbs and forefingers.

“My view is we back Pakistan with muscle and–”

“That’s a decision for Congress.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Houseman said, nodding.

“Thank you, Bill. Send the agent in, will you? The tall one with the buzz cut.”

Houseman got up, said, “May I speak freely?”

“You may.”

“Don’t go to the children’s hospital this morning. Frankly, I don’t think it’s worth the risk; however small.”

He has a point, she thought.

Pakistan had been a Frenemy for years. But the new Prime Minister had requested her visit to discuss the possibility of the US taking temporary possession of Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal if matters got worse. Although they’d been distributed over the country for security reasons, they’d been brought back to Islamabad in recent weeks. They were safe for now. But if the Pakistanis refused to allow them into US custody, her brief also extended to ensuring that the likelihood of them being used if the Iranians came over the border in force was zero.

This, she had to admit, was the real reason for her visit. Houseman knows that, too, she thought, which is why he’s advising against the trip to the hospital.

But, she said, “The president wants to show solidarity with the new regime on the issue of opposition to extremist acts of terrorism, if nothing else. Those children are their victims. I will ensure that the head of my security detail speaks with your people before we leave. Is there anything else, Bill?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, barely able to conceal his concern.

Tom saw the door open. The deputy director came out, scowling.

“Is everything all right, sir?” Tom asked.

“Just peachy.” He gestured behind him. “The secretary would like to see you.”

He put the folder under his arm and straightened his tie before strolling off towards the elevator, taking a call on his cellphone after a few steps.

Tom moved through the door left ajar and saw the secretary standing in front of the desk, a neat, navy-blue box in her hand. Her shoulder-length chestnut hair was tied back with a flesh-coloured scarf. The scarf was a concession. Flowing hair was easily grabbed. Curtailing the possibility of that kind of embarrassing incident just meant one less thing to worry about. She also wore a ballistic pantsuit, as he’d asked her to, together with her specially made jewellery, a gold pendant shaped like a pear and a heavy emerald ring. The pantsuit was a pale hue of cameral. Soft body armour that could withstand a round from a handgun. The impact of the bullet was eradicated by a net of multilayered woven fabrics, which dispersed the energy over an extended area. Pure physics. He’d seen videos of Americans down in Columbia being shot at in their ballistic suits from close quarters. Something he wasn’t about to divulge. It was useless against a round fired by a high-velocity rifle.

She smiled and stepped forward holding out the blue box. “I’d like you to have this.” She handed it to him.

Tom opened the box. Inside was an expensive silver watch, an Omega with a large face studded with diamonds.

“I’ve had it engraved,” she said.

Tom took it out, turned it over. He read the inscription: To Tom with heartfelt gratitude. Linda G. Carlyle. US Secretary of State.

“Thank you,” he said, feeling a little embarrassed by her gift.

“I just want to tell you how much I appreciate all you’ve done.”

“It’s been an honour, ma’am. But I still have a week before I leave the detail.”

“I know. I just wanted to give it you today… Oh, and I should tell you that a threat has been made,” she said, clearly doing her best to sound mundane.

“A threat. Why wasn’t I briefed?” he asked, his jaw muscles flexing.

“It’s not serious. An anonymous phone call to the embassy just a minute ago. The CIA will brief you before we leave this morning.”

“I’d like you to reconsider your visit to the hospital, ma’am.”

The faint lines on her forehead deepened. “The president gets ten threats a day. He got fifty on the morning of his inauguration. Where would we be if we succumbed to them all? Ensconced in a bunker at Fort Bragg, I imagine.”

“But, ma’am—”

“No, Tom. My mind is made up.”

He looked down at the watch. “This is very generous.”

“Don’t ask what the G stands for. I never use it, and no one knows apart from my parents. Don’t ask about my birth certificate, either.” She feigned a laugh.

His head snapped back up. “I’ll get you safely home, ma’am,” he said. “I promise.”

“Yes, you will.”