Tom Clancy - Locked On

The fact that Sam appeared to be working outside the lines of American intelligence already entrenched in Pakistan, and the fact that Sam seemed to hold suspicions against al Darkur himself, only increased the Pakistani major’s opinion of the man.

Embling said, “I’ve done my best to look into this Rehan fellow. He’s a bloody mystery.”

Sam agreed. “We are trying on our end, as well. He’s done a great job of covering his tracks in his career. It looks like he just materialized as a high-level PDF officer working for the ISI.”

“Not easy to do in the PDF. That lot loves their ceremony, always getting photographed and awarded this or that trinket for one thing or another. They learned pomp and circumstance from we English, and I can say with just a wee bit of pride that we show military off like no other.”

“But no pictures of Rehan?”

“A few, but years and years ago, when he was a young officer. Otherwise he’s a bloody shadow.”

“But not anymore. What has changed?”

“That’s what Mohammed and I are trying to find out.”

Al Darkur said, “The said, only reason I can think is that he is being groomed for something. Lieutenant general, head of the ISI, perhaps even head of the PDF someday. I believe he is working on a coup, but certainly he is too unknown to take the reins of government himself. He seems to have spent his entire career as a spy, which is not common for military officers. Most serving in ISI are just sent there for a few years. They are not professional spies but professional soldiers. I myself was a commando with the Seventh Battalion, Special Services Group, before coming to ISI. But Riaz Rehan seems to be the exact opposite. He spent a few odd years as a lieutenant and captain in the regular PDF, in the Azad Kashmir Regiment, but since then he seems to have had some role with Inter-Services Intelligence, although they have kept that quite secret, even from the rest of the ISI.”

“Is he a beard?” asked Driscoll, referring to an Islamist within their ranks.

“Only by association do I know that to be true. His benefactors at the head of the Army and intelligence services are most definitely Islamists, though Rehan never turns up at any mosque, or on any list of attendees of the secret meetings the beards are always having. I’ve had prisoners of the hostile jihadist groups in my custody, and I’ve asked them, quite aggressively, I must admit, if they knew Rehan from JIM. I am convinced none of them do.”

Driscoll sighed. “So. What is the next step?”

Now al Darkur brightened a little. “I have two pieces of information, one of which your people can help me with.”

“Great.”

“First, my sources have discovered that General Rehan, in addition to his office at our headquarters in Islamabad, is also working out of a safe house in Dubai.”

Driscoll cocked his head. “Dubai?”

“Yes. It is the financial hub of the Middle East, and his department most likely does banking for its foreign operations there, but that in itself would be no reason for him to work there. I think he and his cadre of upper-level employees go there to plot against Pakistan itself.”

“Interesting.”

“In my position in the Joint Intelligence Bureau I do not have the reach or assets to investigate him outside of our borders. I thought maybe your organization, with its near infinite reach, might like to see what he is doing in Dubai.”

“I’ll pass it up the chain of command, but I am reasonably sure they will want to look into this safe house of his.”

“Excellent.”

“And the other piece of information?”

“This other avenue I will be able to look into with my own assets. There is an operation I have recently learned about that involves Rehan’s department and the Haqqani network. You are, I am certain, familiar with Haqqani?”

Driscoll nodded. “Jalaluddin Haqqani. His forces run large patches of the borderland of Pakistan and Afghanistan. He’s tied with the Taliban, runs a network many thousands strong, and has killed hundreds of our soldiers in Afghanistan, as well as hundreds more locals in bombings, rocket and mortar attacks, kidnappings for ransom, et cetera, et cetera.”

Al Darkur nodded. “Jalaluddin is an old man, so his son, Siraj, is leading the organization now, but otherwise you have it right. I have a prisoner in custody, a courier in the Haqqani network, who I captured in Peshawar after he met with an ISI lieutenant who iutenant s a known supporter of the Islamists. He has told my interrogators that the ISI is working with Haqqani network fighters at a camp of theirs near Miran Shah.”

“Working on what?”

“This courier does not know, but he does know they are expecting a foreign force there at the camp, and the ISI and Haqqani men will train these outsiders.”

“URC? Al-Qaeda?”

“He does not know. I, however, intend to find out who they are and what they are doing.”

“How will you do that?”

“I will go myself, the day after tomorrow, and I will watch the road to the camp. We have a base in Miran Shah, of course, but Haqqani’s people know about it. They lob in an occasional mortar shell, but otherwise they go on about their business. But we also have some safe houses around town, mostly to the south. Siraj Haqqani’s forces know of some of them, so we do not use them anymore, but my agents have secured a location on the Boya — Miran Shah road, and this happens to be near where the prisoner says this training camp is located.”

“Great. When do we leave?”

“ We, Sam?” asked al Darkur with raised eyebrows.

Embling broke in. “Don’t be daft, lad.”

Sam shrugged. “I’d like to see this for myself. No offense. I’ll tell my office about Dubai, but I’m here. Might as well come along with you, if you’ll have me.”

“It will not be safe. It is Miran Shah; there are no Americans there, I can promise you that. I will be heading down with a handpicked crew of Zarrar Special Service commandos, men I trust implicitly. If you come, I can promise you that myself and my men will be in as much danger as you, so you will benefit from our desire for self-protection.”

This made Driscoll smile. “Works for me.”

Embling didn’t like it at all, but Sam had made up his mind.

Twenty minutes later, Driscoll sat on the cool rooftop veranda of Embling’s house, drinking tea with one hand and holding a satellite phone with the other. The device, like all Hendley Associates sat phones, was equipped with a chip that held an NSA type-1 encryption package that made it secure. Only the person on the other end of the line would be able to hear Driscoll.

Sam Granger answered on the other end.

“Sam, it’s Sam here.”

“What’s the word?”

“The ISI contact seems solid. Not going to promise anything, but we may have a lead on Rehan and his activities.” Driscoll told Granger about the Dubai safe house.

“That is incredible, if true.”

“Might be worth sending the guys over,” Sam Driscoll suggested.

“You don’t want to go yourself?” asked Granger, somewhat surprised.

“I’m going with the major and a team of his SSG guys to North Waziristan for a little SR.”

“SR?”

“Strategic reconnaissance.”

“In Haqqani territory?”

“Roger that. But I’ll be with friendlies. Should be okay.”

There was a pause in the couse in tnnection. “Sam, you are the one whose neck is on the line, and I know you’re not reckless. But still… you will be in the belly of the beast, so to speak, will you not?”

“I will be as safe as the SSG men around me. They seem like they have their heads screwed on straight. Plus, we need to know what the ISI is up to at this camp. Any proof of Rehan or his people there is going to be critically important if we need to leak this guy to the intelligence community at a later date. I’m going to do my best to get pictures and shoot them back to you.”