Christopher Reich - Rules of Betrayal

The plane came to a halt. Time passed. Still they did not move. A full five minutes elapsed. Haq looked around for a window, but the plane was not configured for passengers. Worried, he rose and hurried to the cockpit. “What’s going on?”

The pilot shot him a nervous glance. “All departures have been halted. The army is demanding to search every plane.”

“Why?”

“You tell me.” The pilot climbed out of his seat. “Get in the back and hide in one of the trucks.”

Haq selected a truck near the rear of the aircraft and climbed inside. The wait was excruciating. Minutes stretched on, until an hour had passed. Finally he felt the plane shudder slightly and heard voices echo in the cabin. Crouching behind the backseat, he waited for the door to open, a flashlight to shine on his face. But the voices were gone almost immediately. He rose, looked out the windshield, and saw the pilot walking toward him alone.

Haq jumped down from the truck. “And?”

“We’re an American military aircraft. They took one look at my cargo and left.”

Haq breathed easier. “Will we be leaving soon?”

“As soon as the airport is reopened, we are number seven in line for takeoff.”

“How long to our first stop?”

“Seven hours.”

Haq winced, looking at his wounded leg. “Get me a first-aid kit and some pliers.”

“I’ll be back after takeoff,” said the pilot before heading back to the cockpit.

A few minutes later the plane began to move. It made a series of turns, paused, and the massive engines revved loudly. The plane gathered speed. The jeeps and personnel carriers and crates began to shake violently, dust rising from them as the plane thundered down the runway. And then the nose lifted and the wheels rose off the ground and the shaking ceased.

Closing his eyes, Sultan Haq prayed. He prayed for his father’s wisdom and his brother’s cunning. He prayed for his son’s respect and his family’s courage. And when he was finished, he swore to make his clan proud.

A melody came into his mind. It was a bouncy, carefree melody, too smug by half, full of ridiculous promise, sung by men who wore their country’s uniform too proudly, who instinctively mocked cultures different from their own. Men with small, ignoble noses who considered foreigners to be inferior by definition and were happy to kill them on general principle. Men who believed it was their birthright to rule the world. Americans.

Against his will, Sultan Haq hummed a few bars. If possible, his hatred grew. Suddenly he knew that he had been headed this way his entire life.

West.

Toward the setting sun.

The search was called off after two hours.

Over twenty vehicles and one hundred men combed the airport. All departing flights were delayed while manifests were checked. A description of Haq was sent to the airport police and given to every officer on duty. Every hangar was inspected. But no sign of the jeep or Sultan Haq or the warhead was found. For all intents and purposes, he was declared dead, his corpse a mass of superheated bone and ash buried beneath several tons of corrugated iron. And the bomb with him. Both would be found in due time. Colonel Pasha swore it. In the meantime, a formal perimeter had been established around the still smoldering hangar. The first preliminary cleanup was scheduled for the following morning at eight o’clock.

“It’s too soon to stop,” said Jonathan as he pulled to a halt with Danni and Major Nichols at the staging area where they had begun. “Haq may have boarded a plane. We need to pull everyone off all the flights.”

“I can’t do that,” said Major Nichols. “That authority lies with the civilians. Colonel Pasha is adamant that no one got out of the hangar in the first place. Maybe he’s right.”

“I saw him,” said Jonathan.

“Look, there was a lot going on. You’re shaken up, you’re bleeding… Maybe it wasn’t Haq you saw. It wouldn’t be the first time someone mistook what they saw.”

“Dammit,” said Jonathan. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I heard you loud and clear,” responded Nichols. “This airport ain’t LAX. There’s only so many places he could have gotten to. We didn’t find a trace of him or the jeep. Maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s as good as you’re going to get today.”

“Haq is alive. He is in possession of a nuclear warhead and he means to use it. It can’t stop here. There’s got to be something more we can do.”

Nichols climbed out of the Humvee. “Look, Ransom, I don’t know if you’re right or you’re wrong, but we’ve done all we can. You got an issue, talk to your superiors in Langley, or wherever it is you’re tasked out of. Right now, you’re coming with me. I’ve got to transfer you to the proper authority.”

Jonathan followed at his shoulder. “You’re the only guy I’ve got-”

“That’s enough,” said Nichols, spinning to face him. “Now, am I going to have any problem with you two?”

“No, Major Nichols, you’re not,” said Danni, stepping between the two men. “We thank you for giving us the benefit of the doubt. It’s clear you did everything in your power to find Haq. It’s been a difficult day.”

“Yes, Ms. Pine, it has.”

Danni smiled consolingly. “Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?”

“Embassy. This is an intel matter. You spooks can sort it out among yourselves.”

An hour later Jonathan was with Danni in the rear of a Pakistani Army Humvee, two Delta Force operators at the wheel, as it made its way along the sun-bleached streets of Islamabad. A bandage covered his ear. Arnica salve had been applied to his bruised forehead. Butterfly stitches closed the laceration from the opium knife.

“What’s going on?” asked Jonathan. “Connor was ‘removed from his post.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that his colleagues found out what he was doing and objected to it,” said Danni. “Frank was never one to follow the book. It may finally have caught up to him.”

“The timing couldn’t be worse.”

“Forget about it. Right now our priority is Haq. We have to assume that he’s alive and at large and that he has the weapon. Nothing else matters.”

The two sat facing each other on opposite benches, heads close, whispering. There were no handcuffs, no restraints of any kind. After all, as Danni had assured Major Nichols, they were all professionals.

“Haq’s hair was cut short,” said Jonathan. “He’d shaved his beard and cut his nails, all except one. He’s going somewhere where he has to look like us. Like an American or European.”

“You mean like a Westerner,” said Danni. “Yes, I agree. Do you know anything else about him? Something that might give us a clue as to his intentions?”

“He was in Gitmo for a long time. I don’t think he’s too fond of doctors or Americans. Oh, yeah, and he likes movies. I’m afraid it’s not much help.”

“It’s a start. Like you said, he didn’t cut his hair for nothing. It means he’s delivering the WMD somewhere he has to blend in and he’s delivering it now.”

“How soon is now?”

“We have to assume he’ll either hand off the bomb or detonate it himself within the next twenty-four hours.”

“I saw it,” said Jonathan. “It was so small. You can hide it anywhere. At least we can pass on what we know about the bomb to the people at the embassy. I’m sure they can do something.”

“What bomb?” said Danni. “The only person besides you and me who knows about it is Frank Connor, and he’s gone missing.”

“What are you saying? That no one will believe us?”

“Would you? I mean, look at yourself. You’re an untrained, untested operative being run by a disgraced spymaster.”