So far McGarvey had not taken the Fish Harbor bait, even though he had approached the compound on his earlier visit, but the CIA had already contacted Colonel Obaid Sarwar, who was chief of ISI operations in the Karachi region, with the information it had purchased for five million dollars.
His time here in Karachi was running out. But before he left he hoped to solve the most vexing problem he’d ever faced. McGarvey.
Someone knocked softly at the door.
“Come,” he said, and he looked up as Graham’s driver, Tony Sampson, came in. The man was extremely ill at ease, nevertheless he rudely looked bin Laden in the eye.
“You were right, sir, it’s there where you said it might be.”
Bin Laden nodded. So it would begin and end tonight. “You did not disturb it?”
“No, sir, I left it under the bumper where the bugger must have put it.” Sampson looked away for just a moment. “I swear to God I’m sorry. I should have known …”
There was no doubt which god the infidel was swearing to, but before this night was over, he too would be joining his maker, though on which hand he would be seated would certainly come as a horrible shock.
“Where is Captain Graham at this moment?”
“I don’t know, sir. But he asked me to be ready to leave by one thirty.”
“Find him, please, and tell him that I wish to speak to him.”
“Yes, sir,” Sampson said and he turned to leave, but bin Laden stopped him.
“Sergeant, are you armed?”
“Not at the moment, sir. Not up here.”
“Get your pistol. You may be needing it this evening.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was a few minutes after one when the blue and white Toyota van that Joe Bernstein was driving pulled up and parked on A. R. Kayani Road, directly in front of the main entrance to the soaring M. A. Jinnah Commercial Centre front plaza. There was very little traffic at this hour, only the occasional truck or cab; in fact the entire sprawling city seemed to be asleep, or at the very least holding its breath in anticipation of something happening.
McGarvey and Rencke sat in the back, waiting for Bernstein to give them the all-clear. They’d agreed that they wouldn’t go in until the street was totally free of innocent bystanders. Too many Pakistani civilians had already been killed by the U.S. military trying to run down and wipe out al-Quaida leaders. McGarvey did not want to add more bodies to the carnage.
Gloria was parked at the end of the block across from the building’s underground parking entrance in a Fiat she had rented from the hotel. She wasn’t going inside with them, despite her best arguments. In the end she understood that she would be more valuable helping Bernstein as a backup in case they had to get out in a hurry, or if for some reason they got stuck inside.
It had taken Bernstein the better part of two hours to gather the uniforms and equipment McGarvey had requested, and make it back to the Pearl, and now they were on the verge of running out of time. Graham had promised to return to the hotel at two, which meant he would probably be leaving the building within the next half hour or forty-five minutes. If he got to the hotel and found that McGarvey and Gloria had gone, he might guess something had gone wrong and warn bin Laden.
But bin Laden almost certainly knew that McGarvey was here in the city, so he would be on his guard in any event.
A garbage truck lumbered by, and moments later Bernstein turned back to them. “Okay, it’s clear now,” he said.
Rencke’s eyes were round, but he was determined. He wasn’t a field officer, but over the past few days he’d learned enough Urdu, which was Pakistan’s major language, to give them a slight edge when they first entered the building. He had darkened his face and hands, and wore a cap to hide his long, out-of-control frizzy hair. The slight disguise wouldn’t hold up much beyond a first impression, but hopefully it would be enough, combined with a few phrases in Urdu, to give them the time to take control of the building’s security people before an alarm was sounded.
“Ready?” McGarvey asked him.
Rencke nodded. “Let’s do it.”
“If everything goes okay we should be out of there in fifteen minutes,” McGarvey told Bernstein. “If it’s much longer than that, it’ll mean we ran into trouble. Get word to Coddington.”
“Good luck,” Bernstein said.
McGarvey slid the side door open, grabbed the black nylon bag with the equipment Bernstein had brought, and jumped out of the van, Rencke right behind him. They were both dressed in dark slacks and windbreakers with the ISI logo across the back.
Rencke closed the door and together he and McGarvey crossed the broad plaza in front of the tower. The automatic glass doors were locked, but the night service door was equipped with a card reader.
Two guards in uniform were stationed behind a counter in the middle of the atrium lobby. They stood up and watched nervously as McGarvey held up a red ISI identification booklet while Rencke swiped a universal keycard through the reader and the door buzzed open.
Rencke slipped inside first, and held up his ISI booklet as he walked to the security desk. “Good evening,” he said in Urdu.
One of the security officers had a hand on a telephone, the other had unsnapped the restraining strap on the pistol holstered at his side. They both were suspicious.
One of them said something in Urdu, and Rencke laughed.
“Of course I will explain,” he replied.
McGarvey pulled out his pistol, stepped to the side, and pointed it at the guards.
“You will surely reach Paradise this very evening unless you cooperate fully with us,” Rencke told them.
The one guard started to pick up the telephone, but McGarvey gestured at him with the pistol, and the man backed off.
“We mean you no harm, brothers,” Rencke said. “I promise this in Allah’s name.”
The one guard carefully moved his gun hand away from his pistol.
Rencke pocketed his ISI booklet and went around behind the counter. “Get down on the floor, please,” he said. When they complied, he bound their hands and feet with plastic wire ties, and duct-taped their mouths and eyes.
McGarvey holstered his pistol and came around the counter with Rencke, who took just a moment to figure out the control panel for the building’s monitoring system. A bank of six television screens plus a flat panel monitor for the computer were laid out just beneath the lip of the countertop.
Rencke brought up the directory to see if there were any closed-circuit television cameras on the twenty-fifth floor, but if there were any they did not show up in the file.
“Try the parking garage,” McGarvey said. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that no one was coming.
Rencke brought up the five underground levels one at a time. Most of them were free of parked cars, but a half-dozen were parked on the lowest level, including Graham’s Mercedes. “Bingo.”
McGarvey moved closer as a man stepped out of the deeper shadows across from an elevator. He was dressed in loose trousers, a dark shirt, a light-colored long vest, and he was armed with the boxy Ingram MAC-10 submachine gun, fitted with a suppressor.
A moment later the elevator door opened and a man dressed in dark slacks and a dark pullover came out. A second armed guard stepped out from behind the Mercedes and said something.
“The guy from the elevator is Graham’s driver,” Rencke said. He looked up. “Could be they’re expecting trouble.”
“Can you find out what floor that elevator came from?”
Rencke brought up the building’s elevator panel. “Twenty-five,” he said triumphantly. “You were right.”
McGarvey keyed his lapel mike. “Gloria, set?”