“Very good, sir.”
“Ask the Deputy Chief to meet me in C’s office, Bill.”
“Right away, sir.”
Crocker headed upstairs.
“I’m not sure I like this,” Alison Gordon-Palmer said.
“It gives the Americans what they want, just not in the manner they requested it. And if Chace is right, it’ll bring us that missing Starstreak.”
“Which would delight me to no end, Paul, if I felt there was the remotest chance that Kostum’s intelligence on its whereabouts was in the least bit reliable.”
“Chace reported that Kostum had been interested in buying the Starstreaks himself. It’s plausible that he tracked their sale in the hopes of acquiring them at a later point. And if there had been four available, I can’t imagine that Zahidov would have only purchased three of them.”
“Plausible is not proof.” She frowned, thinking. “We know that, as of February, Zahidov had three of the four missiles. Is it reasonable to think he’s been holding the fourth?”
“Chace thinks so.”
“I’m asking you, Paul.”
“I trust her assessment.”
“And all of this is contingent on whether or not Ruslan Malikov can be trusted to begin with. Simon?”
Rayburn, seated beside Crocker, closed his eyes for several seconds before opening them once more. “I think Malikov may be on the level, ma’am.”
“Why do you say that?”
“There was never any intelligence to indicate that Ruslan had ambition to become President of Uzbekistan. It was only after the murder of his wife that he contacted the Americans to express interest. My understanding is that, prior to that time, it had been Dina Malikov who made contact with the U.S. Mission. So if he was running for President, he’d have been making a very late start, to say the least. I think Ruslan’s overtures read more as an insurance policy for himself and his son than a legitimate grab for power.”
C frowned at him, then at Crocker, weighing the decision. “And you want me to contact the Foreign Office, have them communicate with our Ambassador and pass along the message to Sevara Malikov?”
“It seems the best way to arrange things,” Crocker said.
She nodded, reached for her phone, tapping the intercom to her outer office. “Danny?”
“Ma’am?”
“Contact PUS at the FCO, ask if he’s available for a meeting soonest. I’ll come to him.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
She tapped the intercom again, then looked back to Crocker. “What’s Chace going to do in the meanwhile?”
“She’ll proceed to Tashkent, then stand by for word as to where and how to collect the boy. Assuming it all goes through, she’ll deliver Stepan to his father, then she’ll arrange transport for both of them out of Central Asia to the West.”
“Here?”
“It’s unclear. But Ruslan’s informed Chace that he has no desire to remain in the region.”
“Have you spoken to Seale?”
“Not yet.”
Rayburn nodded, already ahead of the conversation, and apparently in agreement with what C was about to say. “Probably best you let the CIA know Chace will be in Tashkent, and our suspicions about the fourth Starstreak. You don’t want their COS getting jumpy.”
“I’ll speak to Seale right away,” Crocker said.
The phone on C’s desk rang, and she answered it swiftly, listened, then said, “Have my car brought around, please, Danny.” Finished with the call, she rose, and Crocker and Rayburn followed suit.
“Seccombe will see me if I head over now,” C said. “If he likes the sound of it, he and I will bring it to the Foreign Secretary.”
“You’ll sell him on it?” Crocker asked.
“The way you’ve sold it to me,” she answered. “Paul, this’ll be the second time Chace has tried to get Ruslan and his son out of the region.”
“I know.”
“Let’s hope she gets it right this time.”
CHAPTER 40
Afghanistan—Hindu Kush Mountains—
Samangan Region
26 August, 0623 Hours (GMT+4:30)
They were ambushed before they came out of the mountains.
The fact of the ambush didn’t surprise Chace. What surprised Chace was who was doing the ambushing.
They’d departed Kostum’s stronghold before dawn, the sky just beginning to lighten enough to show the blue behind the black, and the last hard stars starting to vanish above. Kostum had insisted on guiding them back to Mazar-i-Sharif himself, leading the convoy, and leaving Ruslan behind in the stronghold, to limit his exposure. Lankford would wait in Mazar-i, and Chace would continue on to Tashkent. Once everything had been confirmed, Ruslan would join Lankford and proceed to the exchange, to be reunited with the boy.
Kostum assembled a convoy for them of guards and vehicles, three of the seven automobiles that he kept in a substantial garage. Chace and Lankford traveled in the middle vehicle of the convoy. The car was a four-wheel-drive Jeep SUV, like Fariq’s had been, but unlike Fariq’s it was in much better condition. Kostum drove, with Lankford beside him, Chace seated in the back. In the bed of the SUV, the graybeard who had escorted them to Kostum’s rode with them, Kalashnikov cradled in his lap.
They drove out along the base of the canyon for just over a kilometer before turning uphill, the vehicles following one another in a weaving incline that, to Chace, seemed impossibly steep. In the moments before they crested onto the road, she was certain their vehicle would topple over backward, and she envisioned herself being bounced around the interior of the car like a pinball as it fell, end over end, back to the canyon floor. It didn’t happen, and after a moment spent to allow the follow car to catch up, the convoy resumed its journey, wending along the mountainside, descending again.
Then they were hit.
The explosion came first, just as the lead car began around a bend. Dirt and stone rained upward from the road, and the lead SUV veered wildly, fishtailing, then falling sideways, skidding to a halt, its wheels spinning uselessly in the air. Kostum slammed on the brakes, cursing. Chace didn’t have to turn around to know that the same thing was going on in the car behind them; it was why the lead vehicle had been hit first, to stop the convoy dead in its tracks.
She lunged for the passenger-side door, shouting, “Out! Get out!”
An RPG streaked down from above, fired from higher along the mountainside, and as Chace tumbled out of the car she heard the lead vehicle exploding, and she thought she heard the screams, too. Then the chattering of weapons fire began, the sounds of glass breaking and metal tearing, Kostum’s men desperate to exit their vehicles to return fire. Chace had been riding behind Lankford, and both had exited the Jeep along the downslope side, and she figured the drop had to be nasty, but it couldn’t be nastier than staying on the trail, exposed. She leaped over the edge just as she heard another explosion, quieter than the RPG blast, what she thought was a grenade.