Andrew Britton - The Invisible

“Unfortunately for you, Naomi, you can’t stop me from getting involved. I really don’t want any part of this, but I can already tell you’re not going to give me a choice. So if I can’t talk you out of it, then I guess you’ve found yourself a partner. Bear in mind, though, that I’m only doing it for one reason.”

“Yeah?” She squared her shoulders, her eyes flashing in response to his tone. “And what’s that?”

Kealey stood up and snatched his jacket off the back of his chair.

“To make sure you don’t get yourself killed.” He turned again and walked to the door, regretting the conversation more and more with each weary step he took. He didn’t know what could have happened to change her this much, but he knew he wouldn’t rest until he had figured it out. In the meantime, all he had to do was keep her out of harm’s way. Easier said than done, said a little voice inside, but he pushed it down. He had done it before, and he’d do it again. He’d do whatever it took to keep her safe, regardless of how she felt about it.

ISLAMABAD

In his twenty-two-plus years with the Bureau of Diplomatic Security, Special Agent Mike Petrina had been charged with a wide range of duties. He’d couriered documents, investigated passport fraud, and protected senior U.S. officials in thirty-four countries on six continents. In that time, he’d witnessed some truly historic events, but he’d also experienced those rare, worrisome moments where the prevalent mood was downright hostile. Nosing a Suburban through a crowd of angry protestors could be dangerous enough, but that was a regular occurrence, and he’d endured far worse. In the fall of 2000, he had been standing a few feet away when Madeleine Albright first set foot on North Korean soil. He could remember the trepidation he’d felt when the first female secretary of state shook hands with Kim Jong Il, and he could recall—with crystal clarity—the plastic smile of the reclusive communist leader, as well as the icy stares of the North Korean soldiers standing guard. While the current situation wasn’t quite as bad as that, the mood in the room was undeniably tense, and it was getting worse by the minute. The wood-paneled press room of the presidential palace was filled to capacity with journalists and cameramen. Small, ornate chandeliers hung overhead, illuminating the crowd and the smiling portrait of Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the founder of Pakistan. As far as Petrina could tell, Jinnah’s was the only smiling face in the room. Two polished lecterns were standing before the portrait, positioned less than 3 feet apart. Behind the lectern, to the right, was the Pakistani foreign minister, Malik Bokhari. The lean, angular Pakistani was dressed in a dark suit and red tie. To his left was acting Secretary of State Brynn Fitzgerald. From where he was standing, Petrina had an excellent view of both officials, as well as the crowd, and the collective tension was hard to miss.

“Madam Secretary,” came a voice from the crowd. Petrina instantly looked for the speaker and picked out Susan Watkins, the senior correspondent for CNN. The foreign minister had already finished his prepared remarks, as had Fitzgerald, and they had moved into the question-and-answer phase of the briefing. “I’d like to refer, if I might, to Israel’s recent decision to complete a major arms sale to the Indian government. I assume President Brenneman has had time to reflect on that announcement, and given the sensitive nature of such a transaction, I was wondering if he might have reconsidered his decision to—”

“Ms. Watkins, I’ve already addressed this,” Fitzgerald interjected.

“The president has no intention of interfering with Israel’s foreign affairs, and he’s made it clear to everyone that this is a situation that can only be resolved by dialogue between the affected nations.”

“By which you mean India and Pakistan.”

“Yes.”

“But surely he recognizes the international call for American engagement on this issue, especially since the United States is the largest exporter of arms to Israel in the first place, and now they’re selling off the very weapons we provided them with.”

Fitzgerald looked down and met the other woman’s insistent gaze, but to her credit, her diplomatic façade didn’t slip an inch. “I hardly think that’s a reasonable statement, Susan, and it’s also a fairly simplistic way of viewing this situation. Israel has a major domestic arms industry, and according to the documents I’ve seen, more than one hundred fifty million dollars of the proposed sale will be used to purchase the Hermes 180 UAV. The Hermes 180, of course, is an unmanned aerial vehicle manufactured by Elbit Systems Ltd., a company based in Haifa. So the Israeli government is well within its right to make that technology salable on the international market. And on a more general note, the proposed sale to India in no way violates Israel’s commitments to the United States on foreign arms sales. If you’ll recall, the standards I’m referring to were drawn up after Israel considered a lesser sale to China in 2004. In that case, there were issues involving the unauthorized sale of sensitive American technology, which doesn’t apply in this situation. And Israel signed a memorandum of understanding to that effect in 2005. To date, they’ve adhered to the letter of that agreement. So, to reiterate, we see no basis for disrupting this sale.”

“But isn’t it true, Dr. Fitzgerald,” Watkins persisted, “that the Pakistani defense minister sent a letter to the Pentagon asking the United States to reconsider its stance, citing the damage the sale would cause to regional security in South Asia? Mr. Bokhari, if you would care to comment on that also.”

Fitzgerald didn’t respond for a long moment. Her counterpart turned toward her, awaiting her reaction, and the cameras started clicking away. Petrina winced involuntarily from the sidelines. Although she had an excellent rapport with the diplomats and world leaders she’d met so far, Fitzgerald’s previous position hadn’t prepared her for this kind of exposure. When the cameras were rolling, the slightest hesitation could have disastrous effects, as it automatically fostered the impression that the speaker in question was concocting a lie. Petrina just hoped she had the presence of mind to realize that before she answered the question.

“I haven’t had the chance to examine that letter,” Fitzgerald finally said. “Nor am I aware of its exact contents, so I can’t—”

“But you are aware of its existence, correct?” asked another reporter.

“Yes,” Fitzgerald replied, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “And so is the president. But as I said before, he—”

“Dr. Fitzgerald, if I may,” her counterpart interrupted. Fitzgerald nodded once, reassuming her neutral expression.

“Of course, Mr. Bokhari.”

Malik Bokhari turned back to the reporter who’d posed the question. “It’s true that we have appealed to many American leaders on this matter, not just the president. In fact, President General Musharraf has personally reached out to several influential members of Congress. Obviously, we’re vastly concerned over Israel’s proposed arms sale to India, and the escalating number of soldiers on both sides of the Line of Control is a testament to the dire nature of the situation. Pakistan has no intention of provoking a conflict in the areas of Azad Kashmir, but any further attempts by the Indian government to increase its military readiness will be met in kind, and any incursion on territory controlled by Pakistan will be met with swift and harsh resistance.”

The silence in the room was deafening as the foreign minister paused to let these words sink in. “I’d like to emphasize the fact that Pakistan has not sought additional arms or munitions since this impending sale was made public. We have no desire to be seen as the aggressors in this situation, and we seek only a return to normal levels of readiness. However, we do not believe that this can happen until India demonstrates its goodwill by canceling the upcoming purchase.”