Jeffery Deaver - Watchlist

Tesla met Charley’s gaze in the coach seat next to her and managed a reassuring smile. “You’ll be with your father in no time.”

“That doesn’t mean we’ll be safe.”

“Perhaps you don’t know your father.”

“You could be right. I don’t know anything anymore.”

The make-up Tesla had used to age Charley had begun to cake, and she noticed tear streaks down both her cheeks, evidence she had been crying in the moments Tesla had managed to steal some sleep on this final stretch of their exhausting journey.

She didn’t bother to deny the younger woman’s assertion. “You’re right, Charley. Once you go down the road we’re on, there’s no going back.”

“How do you live with it, what you do?”

“Easily, because not doing it is much worse.”

“At the expense of everything else,” Charley muttered, shaking her head.

“If we fail, there will be no everything else. The stakes are that high. People have died and more will if we can’t stop Sikari’s people in Kashmir.”

Charley sniffled. “I just want to go home.”

“It’s not safe, Charley.”

“Will it ever be again?”

“Probably not.”

Charley settled back in her seat, taking a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Tesla laid a reassuring hand atop Charley’s upon the armrest. “In the end, it’s all we have.”

“It is the only way.”

“It can not be just anyone. It would have to be someone we trust will not back out. We don’t have anyone I trust that much.”

“We have one.”

“Me.”

Standing within view of the now-completed dam, Archer replayed the conversation between Umer and Sanam in his mind. Both were fools, easily manipulated to serve his ends. And, appropriately enough, the business about the detonators and placement of the explosives was a fool’s errand. But they had supplied Archer with the army he needed in the form of the offshoot of Harakat-ul-Mujahedeen, 50 loyal soldiers willing to die for the cause.

Archer and his associates had secured press credentials to accommodate all 50. It was left to Archer to complete the process of getting them their video and camera equipment, all constructed to pass the scrutiny of any security check, even one undertaken as expected by the American Secret Service.

Archer held his gaze on the dam, a bit leery over the fact that the building security apparatus was considerably higher than he had anticipated. He felt a knot tighten in the pit of his stomach, anxiety over the fact that his mission had been compromised, robbing him of his destiny and his dream.

You were a fool, father. You should have left this whole project to me.

He knew Sikari had died admiring, even revering the son who would succeed him; actually exceed him. But if his plan at the dam failed it would all be for naught. His dreams, and the dreams of his father, would die here, the maelstrom that would follow never to grow into the fiery inferno certain to consume the world. And when that world was remade it would be in the image chosen by Archer and others like him, an image foreseen by his father.

Starting here. In a mere matter of hours.

“Pacing will not get us there any faster, my friend,” Chernayev told Middleton as their Boeing streaked through the sky en route to Kashmir, General Zang’s airfield well behind them.

Middleton stopped. “We can’t let this happen.”

“And we won’t. My men will be meeting us there. Along with U.S. security forces and Indian security. Sikari’s people will be stopped.”

Middleton slid closer to Chernayev’s seat and glared down at him. “That isn’t good enough. This is the President of the United States we’re talking about. The secretary of state was one thing, but this… ”

“I admit it’s an unexpected complication.”

“Unexpected complication? Is that the best you can do?”

“You didn’t let me finish, comrade. It’s an unexpected complication we must nonetheless not let distract us from destroying Sikari once and for all.”

“Sikari’s dead.”

“But not his cause, his mission. We find this heir of his and we can end this forever.”

“It’s not worth the risk.”

“You speak as if we have a choice. The president is coming here under cover. Even his most trusted advisors, believe he’s sick with the flu in the White House. He is coming to the dam opening to make a statement and nothing we can do can stop him. He’s been made aware of the danger and he’s coming anyway.”

Middleton could feel the heart racing in his chest. “In the face of a threat to his life. Those explosives… ”

“Cannot destroy the dam. We know that now. Remember, we’re not even sure Archer’s there.”

“Then we’re missing something. We’ve been missing it all along.” Middleton thought for a moment. “Sikari’s son couldn’t have anticipated his presence here either.”

“Now what is your point?”

“Everything, all Sikari’s plans, would’ve been based on the secretary of state. Less security. A different upshot to their plans.”

“I don’t follow, comrade.”

“Zang said it for both of you: chaos. That’s what this is about from Archer’s standpoint. To set the world on the road to a nuclear confrontation between India and Pakistan. You know what that would mean.”

“I’ve read the same studies you have,” Chernayev said, joining Middleton on his feet. “The complete collapse of the world economy. A decade or more of deep depression. And that’s just for starters.”

“A possible but unlikely scenario before. Now, with the president… ”

“Likely, if not inevitable.”

“Exactly,” said Middleton. “Pakistani militants will be blamed for the attack. The United States’ response will be… God, I can’t even find the word.”

“The vision suffices. Pakistan’s retaliation aimed at India because it’s all they have. Destroy our proxy.”

“Nuclear war,” said Middleton. “A world of chaos.”

“Not if we can stop it,” Chernayev told him.

Keeping up the ruse, Tesla wheeled Charley through Srinagar Airport. The airport, and the city known as the summer capital of Jammu and Kashmir, was located in the heart of the Kashmir Valley a mile above sea level. Tesla knew the inland and low-lying waterways made it the ideal site for the Baglihar dam.

As a smaller airport, this facility offered light security, even token. But the grounds both inside the terminal and out on the tarmac itself were teeming with Indian soldiers and district police.

“What’s going on?” Charley asked, still slumped in her chair to avoid detection.

“Look.” Tesla pointed to a large sign that welcomed visitors to the opening ceremonies of the dam. Then she gasped, “Charley.” She grabbed the younger woman’s arm.

At the bottom of the sign was some information about the dam-size, electrical output and factoids, one of which was that the people displaced by the construction and flooding had been relocated to a beautiful, new town nearby. It was affectionately called “The Village.”

“The warning in Balan’s email! Something’s going to happen here, now.” She stepped to a kiosk and bought a prepaid mobile. When it was activated, she called all of Middleton’s numbers-even his landlines-and sent text messages and emails.

After finishing, she slipped the phone away and wheeled Charley out the door. “If your father can get to any phone or computer, he’ll find out where we are and why.”

“If he’s alive,” Charley muttered.

“Stop it,” Tesla said, though not unkindly. “He’s fine. I know he is. He might even be here. If he knows about the Village.”