Brad Thor - Blowback

The man took a deep breath, and as he did, Harvath noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked terrible, as if he hadn’t slept in days. When he spoke, the clipped, powerful speech of a moment before was replaced with a tone of fatigue and resignation. “Why torment me? You know the reason.”

“I have my theories,” replied Harvath, “but I want to hear it from you.”

The Aga Khan looked at Harvath, too tired for games, but with no choice but to play along. “We needed him alive for the same reasons you wanted him dead, but of course you know this.”

“I can guarantee you I didn’t come all this way to kill Emir Tokay.”

The Aga Khan was confused. “You didn’t? Why not? You had all of the other scientists killed to ensure their silence.”

It was obvious the man thought Harvath was working for someone else. “I’m here because I want to make sure what happened in Asalaam never happens anywhere else.”

“Then you don’t work for him?”

“Who is him?”

“Akrep,” spat the Aga Khan, as if the name burned in his mouth. “The Scorpion.”

It was a name Harvath had never heard before. “Look, I work for the United States government. Just tell me about Tokay and what happened in Asalaam.”

The Aga Khan looked into the fireplace for a moment before responding, “I needed Tokay in order to defend my people from Akrep.”

“How? What threat does this man pose to someone like you?”

“It’s not just me. Akrep poses a threat to all Shia Muslims. I was foolish enough to believe that he had found a way to unite all Muslims, to bring them back together once again. But I should have known better. He was only using us.”

“Using you for what?”

“Money. Money for his expeditions, his grand search for the ultimate weapon that would allow the Muslim people to be on an equal, if not superior, footing in relation to the rest of the world.”

“The Muslim Institute for Science and Technology,” said Harvath.

“Exactly. The creation of which decades ago had been his idea.”

“Who is he? What is Akrep’s real name?”

“Who knows? What does it matter anyway? What I should have paid attention to was the one thing he couldn’t lie about-his history, the people from which he came. But because I didn’t, my people will truly suffer-all people will suffer. Only the Sunni will survive, and that is what he had planned all along.”

“You say he couldn’t lie about his people. Who are they?”

“They were once the greatest empire in the world. Hitler was fascinated with them and longed to achieve just a fraction of their power. Even your country has been drawn into their web without knowing it- Libya, Lebanon, Syria, Iran, Iraq, the Balkans-they all have something very special in common.”

They were all Muslim countries, but that seemed too obvious to Harvath. He reflected on the fact that all of those countries were home to very serious fundamentalist Muslim terrorist groups, almost all of which had some sort of ties to bin Laden. “Is there an al-Qaeda connection?”

The Aga Khan brushed the suggestion aside. “This goes much deeper than al-Qaeda. Akrep created al-Qaeda and could get rid of them just as easily.”

Harvath found it hard to believe that anyone could get rid of al-Qaeda, much less easily, and was about to ask how anyone could believe such a thing was possible, when suddenly his mind flashed back to the conversation he had had with Jillian Alcott just the day before. What did al-Qaeda want more than anything else? The establishment of a new Muslim caliphate. One nation, under Allah, headed by a caliph who would be the recognized leader of the entire Islamic world. “Akrep represents the hope of a new Muslim caliphate, doesn’t he?”

The Aga Khan nodded his head. “One in which, as he put it to me in the beginning, Sunni and Shia would be represented equally.”

“So what’s the web the U.S. has been drawn into? Libya, Lebanon, Syria, Iran, Iraq, the Balkans-what’s the connection?”

The Aga Khan leaned forward in his chair and said, “All of these places were once part of the greatest Muslim caliphate. A holy kingdom on earth that was unequaled in history and one which Akrep single-handedly intends to resurrect-the great Ottoman Empire.”

THE PRESIDENT ’ S PRIVATE STUDY

THE WHITE HOUSE

WASHINGTON, DC

Damn it, Chuck,” said Jack Rutledge, who hadn’t slept in two days. He punched the remote and turned off his television. “We’ve got a major terrorist crisis on our hands. I don’t have time for this Mickey Mouse stuff. I thought we agreed you were going to take care of this.”

“We’ve been trying, Mr. President.”

“So why the hell do I keep seeing Helen Carmichael in front of TV cameras?”

“She’s a senator. They constantly court the media. That’s what they do.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Chuck. I thought you were going to talk to her.”

“I did,” said Anderson. “And the DNC chairman.”

“And?”

“ Carmichael fought it tooth and nail. Just like we expected her to do and-”

“The DNC chairman promised he’d get to the bottom of it and clean it all up, right?”

“Right,” replied the chief of staff, “but-”

“Russ Mercer doesn’t take orders from our side of the aisle.”

“No, sir, he doesn’t.”

“What about Carmichael ’s source within the CIA? Are we any closer to figuring out who the hell it is?”

“A federal judge approved a warrant and we have the man we believe to be the leak under surveillance. Gary Lawlor is coordinating the investigation with the FBI and hopes to have something for us very soon.”

“He’d better,” said Rutledge. “From what I hear, Carmichael is ready to go public with Harvath’s name and service photo any day now. What about the subpoenas she served us?”

“Nothing to worry about. I’ve met with the White House counsel, and we’re going to ignore them.”

“We are?” said Rutledge. “What kind of liability does that open us up to?”

“It’s just an opening salvo. She knows she can’t compel us to appear. But word is Carmichael has had the Capitol police warm up a couple of the jail cells they have up on the Hill.”

The president didn’t look pleased.

“Don’t worry,” said Anderson. “It’s a media stunt. It makes for good television, but that’s all.”

“I beg to differ with you,” said the president. “It makes for terrible television.”

“As far as this administration is concerned, you’re right, but she’s grandstanding. She knows that no sitting president would respond to her subpoena. It’s all smoke. The only way she’ll be able to move this forward is to get enough consensus to appoint a special prosecutor.”

Rutledge pushed his chair away from his desk and looked back out the window. “Do you want to remind me again why I agreed to run for a second term?”

“Because the people want you,” said Anderson, “and because Carmichael couldn’t stick anything to you even if she had a roll of duct tape.”

“I wish I could be as confident about this as you are.”

“Trust me. We’re going to come out on top of this.”

“Any word from USAMRIID?” asked Rutledge, changing the subject back to the one that he had been obsessing over ever since it broke.

“No. Nothing new. The civilians who were exposed to the illness are still in quarantine and the CDC is working with the people at Fort Detrick, trying to come up with some answers.”

“What’s your gut tell you, Chuck? Are we going to come out on top of this one as well?”

“I don’t know, Mr. President.”

“I don’t know either,” replied Rutledge, “and it scares the hell out of me. We don’t have much time left.”