betrayed his impatience. This time, they had skipped the meet and greet in front of the press with the flags and the fancy chairs. It was time for brass tacks.
“This is not good for the relations between our countries,” said Wolfe, leaning forward, arms resting on the table. “In fact, this is very goddamn bad, Salman.”
Lawson surveyed the room one more time. Standing with his back against a wall covered in gold leaf designs and making no sign of understanding any of the words that were spoken—his role was that of a fly on the wall, springing into action only if the Secretary’s life were in danger. He did not expect trouble here, in the heart of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but paranoia was a healthy attribute of a man in his position. Three bodyguards present watched over the Foreign Minister, a heavy man with a trimmed and well-kept beard, temples graying but still sporting a full head of hair. He sat alone on his side of the table, facing Wolfe with round gold-framed spectacles, which he adjusted compulsively. Lawson had two of his guys against the wall behind the Secretary of State, who sat next to his Chief of Staff, Nadine Prince, who was taking notes on a yellow legal pad.
“We gave you permission to run this operation in our territory,” said Mangi, throwing up his hands. “We have been more than friendly to our ally the United States in this matter. Tragedies aside, I do not see why this should negate what was an act of friendship on our side.”
Wolfe’s face contorted into a near scoff, but he seemed to check himself. “This is not the time to count feathers in your cap. Washington is not happy, and you need to think about how to make this right.”
Mangi pressed his lips together in consternation. His tone was more than a little impatient. “We have been forthcoming with any intelligence we might have regarding the unfortunate events of this past week. We have given your people access to the scene.” Exasperation built in his voice. “What more do you expect from us, Mr. Secretary?”
“A lot of people in your government have been less than friendly in talking about our country. Some might even say they’ve been inflaming the people’s anti-Americanism. Do you think that’s a fair assessment?”
“The people are angry, Mr. Secretary. They are angry at your country. That is no news to you or anyone in Washington.”
“Government officials are fanning the flames,” Wolfe pointed out matter-of-factly. Prince, at his side, noted Mangi’s every reaction with sharp darting eyes.
“They are worried for their positions!” Mangi said, wiping the lens of his glasses with his sleeve and putting them on again. “Some for their lives. It does not pay to be pro-American in Pakistan. You were aware of the possibility of this kind of reaction to this mission. Do not tell me you were not. Now, are you really here to discuss public relations?”
Wolfe leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “How do you think Haider Raza knew we were coming?”
Mangi’s eyes widened in surprise for only a split second, but Lawson noticed, and Wolfe would have, too. “Raza is a clever man,” he said. “He has eluded all attempts to capture or kill him, and you know well enough the effort that has gone into that.”
“I do know,” said Wolfe. “The President knows, too. And we know that he has been two steps ahead of us at any given time. So tell me, how exactly has he managed to do that? Does he have supernatural powers?”
“I admit that sometimes it seems so,” said Mangi, confused at the sudden turn in the conversation.
“Or maybe he’s always two steps ahead of us because someone is tipping him off.”
Realization seemed to dawn on Mangi’s face, and then his forehead grew lined with dismay. “So you mean that you suspect one of ours has been passing along information to Raza.”
“Not only me, Salman. The concern is shared among the Joint Chiefs. Your intelligence services
“This is not good for the relations between our countries,” said Wolfe, leaning forward, arms resting on the table. “In fact, this is very goddamn bad, Salman.”
Lawson surveyed the room one more time. Standing with his back against a wall covered in gold leaf designs and making no sign of understanding any of the words that were spoken—his role was that of a fly on the wall, springing into action only if the Secretary’s life were in danger. He did not expect trouble here, in the heart of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but paranoia was a healthy attribute of a man in his position. Three bodyguards present watched over the Foreign Minister, a heavy man with a trimmed and well-kept beard, temples graying but still sporting a full head of hair. He sat alone on his side of the table, facing Wolfe with round gold-framed spectacles, which he adjusted compulsively. Lawson had two of his guys against the wall behind the Secretary of State, who sat next to his Chief of Staff, Nadine Prince, who was taking notes on a yellow legal pad.
“We gave you permission to run this operation in our territory,” said Mangi, throwing up his hands. “We have been more than friendly to our ally the United States in this matter. Tragedies aside, I do not see why this should negate what was an act of friendship on our side.”
Wolfe’s face contorted into a near scoff, but he seemed to check himself. “This is not the time to count feathers in your cap. Washington is not happy, and you need to think about how to make this right.”
Mangi pressed his lips together in consternation. His tone was more than a little impatient. “We have been forthcoming with any intelligence we might have regarding the unfortunate events of this past week. We have given your people access to the scene.” Exasperation built in his voice. “What more do you expect from us, Mr. Secretary?”
“A lot of people in your government have been less than friendly in talking about our country. Some might even say they’ve been inflaming the people’s anti-Americanism. Do you think that’s a fair assessment?”
“The people are angry, Mr. Secretary. They are angry at your country. That is no news to you or anyone in Washington.”
“Government officials are fanning the flames,” Wolfe pointed out matter-of-factly. Prince, at his side, noted Mangi’s every reaction with sharp darting eyes.
“They are worried for their positions!” Mangi said, wiping the lens of his glasses with his sleeve and putting them on again. “Some for their lives. It does not pay to be pro-American in Pakistan. You were aware of the possibility of this kind of reaction to this mission. Do not tell me you were not. Now, are you really here to discuss public relations?”
Wolfe leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “How do you think Haider Raza knew we were coming?”
Mangi’s eyes widened in surprise for only a split second, but Lawson noticed, and Wolfe would have, too. “Raza is a clever man,” he said. “He has eluded all attempts to capture or kill him, and you know well enough the effort that has gone into that.”
“I do know,” said Wolfe. “The President knows, too. And we know that he has been two steps ahead of us at any given time. So tell me, how exactly has he managed to do that? Does he have supernatural powers?”
“I admit that sometimes it seems so,” said Mangi, confused at the sudden turn in the conversation.
“Or maybe he’s always two steps ahead of us because someone is tipping him off.”
Realization seemed to dawn on Mangi’s face, and then his forehead grew lined with dismay. “So you mean that you suspect one of ours has been passing along information to Raza.”
“Not only me, Salman. The concern is shared among the Joint Chiefs. Your intelligence services
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