Jack Coughlin - An Act of Treason

Hall picked up a plastic-covered menu and slid one to Morgan. “Long as he stays in the Marines, we have him on call anyway for regular work. Problem with Kyle is he sees things as right or wrong.”

“Naive way of looking at a complex world,” said Morgan.

“It ain’t all that complex for Swanson. Let’s eat.”

A FTER S WANSON AND H ALLfinished the story, arguing about specific points as they relived the old days, Jim Hall asked Lauren, “Okay, Your Honor. I have won, haven’t I? The mature Kyle has surrendered his youthful scruples and is now working for the CIA. He has killed men on missions that the Agency has run, and by doing so has become one of the best assassins in the world. I win on all points.”

Kyle’s look was sharp and steady. “Bullshit. Even when I do work for you guys, I remain in the military chain of command and act within my orders. I am a professional Marine sniper, not an assassin, so I shoot specific targets, and not innocent people to satisfy some murky political point. Therefore, I still have a scruple, your case sucks, and you lose.”

Lauren had eased back in her chair while they spoke, catching the byplay between the veteran warriors. Her arms were folded across her chest, a move that emphasized her breasts. “Sorry, Jim. The way I see it, not much has changed from fifteen years ago. We are running this particular show, so technically Kyle is working for us. When the job is done, though, we remain spooks, while he goes back to being a Marine.”

Jim Hall huffed in mock disappointment and pushed away from the table. “Judge Carson, you are a traitor to your class, and I don’t like you anymore.”

PAKISTAN

M UHAMMED W ALEED SQUEEZED SOMElemon juice on the aaloo keema but could only nibble at the spicy dish of tender beef and soft potato. The tastes of ginger and green peppers tingled, but he was eating for sustenance rather than enjoyment at this meal. Too much was on his mind to really enjoy the dishes that came from the women in the kitchen.

He had spent years working to move Pakistan toward a tipping point, to a precipice at which he could give it a single mighty shove. There had been no real timetable, only the firm conviction that he would reach his goal before he died. Now, without warning, it was spread before him, a gift from Allah, praise be unto his name.

“Is everything ready for your meeting with Jim Hall?” Waleed directed his dark eyes into those of his confident younger son, Selim, who returned the look without hesitation. The interior of the small home with the thick mud walls was cool, despite the heat outside. A few fans churned the still air.

“Yes, Father. The two fighters are safely tucked into the apartment, and the two American soldiers are secluded in a place near the hotel.” Selim was not worried about incurring the famous wrath of his father, for he had spent a lifetime obeying every command. The young man’s education, war-fighting experience, and religious and political studies were part of his father’s careful plan. Over the years, Selim had come to respect the old lion, whose bravery was tempered with wisdom and cunning.

Waleed swatted at a fly that buzzed around the food, then drank from a tall, chilled glass of crushed mango pulp and yogurt. The taste pacified the tanginess of the food. “At first, I did not understand the plan of the Prophet in all of this. It was truly a puzzle. I asked why these people had fallen into my hands.”

“I can understand your concern, Father,” said the son. “There was no doubt the fighters had carried out the assigned mission to slay and behead the infidel soldier in Afghanistan. Once the awful images found their way to the Internet, the outrage was as expected. It should have stopped there.”

“My intent was only to show that our fighting forces remain strong enough in Afghanistan to strike when we see fit.” He fell silent again, letting his son continue the line of reasoning.

“Then that irrational Fariq decided on his own to capture the two Americans and bring them back to his village as trophies, a vain and stupid act. The Americans had almost forgotten about the fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq, and now that huge, rich, and powerful country was galvanized to action and was once again united, at least temporarily.”

“Only the target was now in Pakistan.” Waleed followed with a question. “Was that a bad thing, Selim?”

“Yes, Father. Your problem was obvious. Fariq turned a military scrimmage into a political problem. The Americans wanted vengeance. You had to find a way to bring opportunity out of crisis. A great problem, indeed, and events were being forced upon you.”

Waleed chuckled, a deep rumble in his stomach. “Ah. When that fool of a village leader rejected my invitation to buy the prisoners, he did me a favor by narrowing my options. Things became clear just as the slow settling of ripples makes a pool of water as smooth as mirrored glass.”

“And you had me contact Jim Hall to provide the coordinates of the village. For a million American dollars.”

“Correct.” Waleed sat back and put a hand on each knee, ever the teacher. “And what is the lesson to you?”

Selim was dressed casually today, but there was nothing informal about this discussion. “Without question, Fariq deserved to be executed, and the fact that his hometown suffered dearly is on his head. That left you, my father, to deal with the prisoners. Again, you turn to Jim Hall of the CIA. What is that old saying, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’?”

Waleed was nodding vigorously now. “Jim Hall and I have known and worked with each other for many years. He was a field agent when I was directing the supply mules ferrying money, equipment, and information from the CIA to wherever they wanted it to go. But we both recognized that no matter what was going on between America and the Taliban, our friendship could be of immense value in the future. The passing years have proven that we were correct. I hope that you are investing time and effort into grooming your own future sources of intelligence from other countries.”

“I am, Father. I thank you for these lessons.”

Both men stood, then embraced. “Then back to Islamabad with you, my boy. Rid me of these American prisoners. You have my instructions. Please tell my old friend Jim Hall hello from me and find out what he really wants. I trust you to make it work. Do not use any form of telephone to report back to me.”

The son bowed to his father and left the room.

ISLAMABAD

PAKISTAN

“T HIS WAS AN INCREDIBLYprecise incision,” the Pakistani doctor observed after a brisk examination of the wound on Jake Henderson’s arm. “Few surgeons could have done any better.”

“She cut off my tattoo.” Henderson was on clean sheets in a medical clinic. “Sliced the edges and pulled it right off. It hurt like hell.”

The doctor was small, with precise and birdlike movements. “Well, I am most certain that it did. Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Henderson. That woman had experience with a blade and apparently also a knowledge of the human body. The damage could have been a lot worse.” He applied some salve to the soggy area, bandaged the wound, and gave Jake a shot of antibiotics.

“You seen this kind of thing before, Doc?”

“Yes. Some of the tribal people are quite brutal.” He returned his implements into his small case. “However, you are the only survivor.”

Javon Anthony spoke from the adjoining bed. “Can you tell us anything about what is going on?”