The Shadow Protocol Read Free

reply. Syed buzzed him in. His men lowered their guns. The terse response was probably a form of code, Adam decided, remembering that Umar had done the same. Saying anything more than their name would warn those inside that the new arrival was there under duress.
    Syed turned back to his visitor. “How soon will you be able to get us more rockets?”
    “As I said, I can have fifty in two weeks. I will need a down payment—half the money in advance. Then all I need to know is where and when to deliver them.”
    “One hundred thousand American dollars? It is a lot of money.”
    Adam shrugged. “It is a lot of firepower. But you can test that for yourself, hey?” He put the rocket back in the case. “If you get three hits, you will get three kills. I guarantee it.”
    For the first time, Syed’s expression became something other than grim mistrust, the corners of his mouth crinkling upward with malevolent anticipation. “I look forward to it.”
    “I thought you would.”
Got him. I’ve got him! Champagne to celebrate, once I’m out of this backward alcohol-free country!
The part of him that was Toradze reveled in his success … while the rest struggled to conceal his loathing at his actions. Syed’s group now had three devastating anti-tank weapons; while they would never receive any more, no matter how events played out—Toradze’s contact at the weapons factory would soon be arrested—it was still three too many. The men in Washington who had authorized the mission had deemed the risk worth it. Adam didn’t necessarily agree.
    But his opinions were irrelevant. He had a job to do. Follow orders. Complete the mission.
    Syed picked up one of the rockets, admiring it. “After we test them, what then?”
    “I will come back to Pakistan to collect my down payment,” Adam replied. “Then we will arrange delivery.”
    Syed nodded, then looked around at a knock on the door. Two quick, a pause, then two slower taps. Guns were raised again. Marwat, nearest the entrance, opened the door slightly to check who was outside, then let him in.
    Cold fear surged through Adam’s body as he recognized the newcomer.
    The young man’s name was Muhammad Khattak. He had met the arms dealer before. And he would know at a glance that the person standing alone in a room full of terrorists was not the real Giorgi Toradze.

Puzzlement grew on Khattak’s face as he stared at Adam. He had expected to see somebody else, and at any moment would expose the supposed arms dealer as an impostor—
    “Ah-ha, Muhammad Khattak!” said Adam with a broad smile. “I did not expect to see you here. I thought you were fighting in Kurram?”
    Khattak was baffled. He looked between the American and Syed. “But—who are …”
    Adam’s grin widened. “Oh come on, Muhammad. I know it has been a few years since we met in Drosh, but even with the plastic surgery I don’t look
that
different, do I?”
    “Plastic surgery?” snapped Syed. He put the rocket back in the case, one hand moving toward the AK-47. “Muhammad, what is going on?”
    Khattak’s confusion faded, replaced by worry—and anger. “I don’t … This—this is not Toradze!”
    The room exploded into commotion. Two men rushed to the window, checking the street below, while Umar hurried to cover the door to the landing.
    Every other man aimed his weapon at the interloper.
    “Adam!” said Holly Jo urgently. “Baxter’s team can reach you in less than two minutes. If you need backup, tell us.”
    Adam remained silent. Syed picked up his AK, flickingoff the safety with a loud click. He gave the agent a cold stare. “Tell me. Who are you?”
    “I am Giorgi Toradze,” Adam replied, tempering defiance with exasperation at being doubted. He looked back at Khattak. “Muhammad, it is me. Really! I had plastic surgery because my face was becoming a little too well known. Look, see?” He brought his hand up, pointing at his neck behind the right side of his jaw.
    Khattak