even Robert Andrews, his immediate superior, had been asked to leave the room. Either that or he’d been politely ushered out, which made more sense to the Agency’s second-ranking official. While Andrews held the top spot, he wasn’t a career intelligence officer, and the president had always placed a priority on experience.
Brenneman came around the table and extended a hand. “Thanks for waiting, John. I appreciate your patience.” He shook his head slowly, as if the enormity of the situation was only just hitting him. “It’s just unbelievable. The sheer audacity of these people….”
“I know, sir, but we’ll find her, and we’ll bring her back.” Alive was the key last word of that sentence. Unspoken, of course, but nevertheless, it seemed to hang in the air. “You have my word on it.”
“And the people responsible?”
“We’ll find them, too.”
Brenneman nodded and glanced over his shoulder to the entrance of the conference room. A man in a dark suit was standing just inside the door, which was still open. His hands were in front of his body, one folded over the other, but his attention was clearly fixed on his principal. Harper had been alone with the president dozens of times, but Secret Service agents didn’t differentiate between friend and foe; in their eyes, everyone was a potential threat. The constant paranoia was part of what made them so good at their work. “Sean, could you give us a minute, please?”
The agent hesitated, then nodded brusquely. “Of course, Mr. President.” He murmured something into his sleeve and left the room. A moment later, the door closed with a gentle click.
Brenneman extended an arm toward the table. “Please, have a seat.”
Harper picked out a chair. Once they were both seated, the commander in chief leaned forward and emitted a weary sigh. Nearly a minute passed in silence, and then he spoke without warning.
“John, how long have we known each other?”
The question caught the deputy DCI off guard, but he sensed it was serious. “About six years, I believe. You were the president-elect when we first met. It was a month or two before your inauguration.”
“That’s right.” There was a meaningful pause. “In all that time, I’ve never seen you outside of Langley or this building. Do you realize that? I’ve never once spent more than a few minutes talking with you about anything other than national security. I’ve never met your wife. I have no idea where you live.”
“Mr. President, I…” Harper wasn’t sure where this was going, and nothing in his career had prepared him for this kind of conversation. “Sir, what exactly are you getting at?”
The other man smiled mildly. “John, for all the good you do at Langley, you are not a politician, so you may find this hard to understand. Especially since you work in such a sensitive environment. But here’s the thing…You are one of the few people in government service who knows how to keep things quiet. We may not know each other very well, but I’ve told you a lot of things in confidence over the years, and I’ve yet to hear them anywhere else. In short, you’ve earned my trust, as well as my deep gratitude for your hard work in defending this country.”
Harper nodded slowly; he was deeply surprised by the president’s candor. “Sir, I don’t know what to say. I’m pleased you feel that way, but it’s my job. I would never divulge anything you tell me in confidence.”
“I know that, and that’s why I want to ask you something.” Brenneman hesitated, then propped his elbows on top of the table and interlaced his fingers. “Remember, I’m looking for your honest opinion here. I won’t accept anything less.”
“Of course. It goes without saying.”
“It has to do with Dowd’s comments early in the briefing. About my stance on the India-Israel deal and how it may have…precipitated this event.”
Harper was already shaking his head emphatically. “Mr. President, you are not responsible for what happened in Pakistan. Not for any of it.”
“But if there’s a chance I could get her back by opposing the deal, shouldn’t I—”
“No.” Harper waited for the other man to meet his eyes. “Sir, it’s too late for that. If you renege now, you might as well negotiate directly with the terrorists, because that’s how it’s going to look.”
“But that’s not—”
“That’s how the American people will see it,” Harper repeated forcefully, “and that’s exactly how it will be perceived around the world. You have to stay the course. At this point, it’s your best option. Your only option, really.”
“Stay the course,” Brenneman repeated slowly. He closed his eyes, lowered his chin slightly, and began massaging his temples. “I feel like I’ve backed myself into a corner on this, John. There’s no room to maneuver.”
“I can understand why you feel that way, sir, but I repeat: this wasn’t your doing, and my advice stands. Our best bet right now is to investigate as thoroughly as we can, follow up every lead, while at the same time preparing for the people who did this to make contact. Which they will do, and sooner rather than later.”
The president nodded, looked up, and straightened his tie unconsciously. “I’m confident the investigation will proceed smoothly. I have a lot of faith in the FBI. Especially in Director Susskind.”
Harper nodded. “That’s understandable. She started out working violent crimes in New Jersey, and the Bureau has more experience with kidnapping cases than any other law enforcement agency in the world.”
“Yes, they wrote the book on that particular subject, and they’ve had a lot of success with their extraterritorial work. Even in Pakistan, where it’s not exactly easy to get an investigation off the ground. As you know, the Bureau was involved with the apprehension of both Ramzi Yousef in 1995 and Khalid Mohammed in 2003, so they have a proven track record in the area. At the same time, there are…” Brenneman hesitated as he searched for the right word. “There are limits as to what they can ask, as well as how they can ask it. And that’s assuming they even manage to find Saifi.”
“Sir, we can’t link him to this yet,” Harper cautioned. “He may top the list of suspects, but it’s better to wait and see what the Bureau turns up before we start jumping to conclusions.”
“I’ll be immensely surprised if it turns out he wasn’t involved. We know he took part in the incident two weeks ago.”
“You’re referring to the kidnapping on the Karakoram Highway.”
“Yes,” Brenneman confirmed. “Let’s set aside the fact that he shouldn’t even be a free man for a moment. He’s perfected his modus operandi, it seems, and nothing about what happened today strikes me as the work of amateurs. At best, they were skilled professionals dressed in army uniforms. At worst…”
“They were actual Pakistani soldiers,” Harper finished grimly. Eyewitness accounts had verified that Fitzgerald’s abductors had been wearing in army fatigues. “And if that’s the case, we have a very serious problem.”
Brenneman didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he stood and moved over to the far wall, where several 32-inch monitors were positioned next to each other. The volume had been muted on all three, but the identical images were already numbingly familiar. CNN had been running the tape on a continuous loop, and over the last half hour, the footage had been burned into the minds of millions of disbelieving Americans. Like many senior U.S. officials, the secretary of state only traveled with members of one network, known as “the pool,” which shared coverage with its competitors under a long-standing agreement. The pool was rotated on a regular basis, and for Secretary Fitzgerald’s first official trip, CNN had been next in line. The network had paid a devastating price for the privilege. Eight crew members had been killed in the attack on the secretary’s motorcade, including Susan Watkins, a senior foreign correspondent and one of CNN’s most recognizable anchors. The film