Suddenly he knew exactly where he was. The first main highway was the National Park Road, and he’d managed to make his way through Ayub National Park and onto the Rawalpindi Golf Club course. Otto had given him satellite views of the entire twin-cities area of Islamabad and Rawalpindi. He’d not had the time to learn much more than the layout of the main roads and their features, but this place stuck out in his mind because it seemed out of place. An upscale park and golf course in what was mostly a slum city didn’t fit.
The course was empty, and slipping and sliding, tearing up the turf, the Mercedes barely under control, he made his way to the maintenance sheds, where he drove directly into one of the garages, slamming into the back wall before he could stop.
A uniformed cop, drawing his pistol, a radio in his free hand, came around the corner in a dead run as McGarvey jumped out of the car.
The cop shouted something in Punjabi that almost certainly meant stop.
McGarvey jogged to the left, his leg nearly collapsing under him as the frightened cop fired three shots as fast as he could pull the trigger, all of the rounds slamming into the side of the car.
The sirens remained off to the east and north now, but they were getting closer, and back in the woods someone was firing a machine gun. His pursuers were all on hair triggers. They knew about him, and their orders were simple: shoot to kill.
Drawing the Glock, McGarvey fired two snap shots, both of them hitting the cop center mass, dropping the man.
The shed was filled with lawn mowers and other equipment to maintain the course, but just outside around the corner, a ratty blue Toyota pickup was parked, a key in the ignition. A pair of tools for taking plugs out of greens for hole placements were in the bed, along with a couple of bags of what were probably weed killer, and a large tub of green sand.
More firing came from the woods to the south now.
McGarvey closed the shed’s door, then laying the pistol on the seat next to him, started the pickup and headed up an access road that eventually led past the clubhouse and onto another broad thoroughfare, this one the GT Road.
There was some traffic here, most of it commercial, and he stayed with the flow, constantly checking his rearview mirrors.
Another jeep, followed by a troop truck, came from the north at a high rate of speed, and traffic parted to let them pass.
For now the search was concentrated on the golf course. But in the confusion, with all the shooting at shadows, it would take them some time before they calmed down enough to find the Mercedes and the dead cop in the shed, and perhaps even longer to realize that the Toyota was missing and start looking for it.
The massive crowds were already beginning to disperse by the time McGarvey made it up to Islamabad’s Red Section, but they were still heavy enough on Constitution Avenue that he had to take Bank Road across to Ispana, behind the Supreme Court, before he could get anywhere near the Aiwan.
He pulled over across from the National Library and called Otto. The battery on Pete’s phone was low and he had trouble getting through.
“It’s over, Mac,” Otto said. “He made his speech and he left.”
“I can’t hear you.”
“Wait,” Otto said, and a moment later the connection cleared. “Your battery is about flat, I gave you a temporary fix. Haaris is gone. He told the people that the Taliban was the tool and India was the real enemy. He held up the mufti’s head, just like he did with Barazani’s.”
“Goddamnit, where is he?” McGarvey demanded, his frustration nearly overwhelming.
“I don’t know. He left the balcony, and within ten minutes a convoy of nine cars and four panel vans took off from the Aiwan’s rear gate and headed in different directions. My darlings are tracking most of them, but he has the ephemeris of our spy bird, so he knows where to hide. He could be anywhere.”
“Still at the Aiwan?”
“I don’t think so,” Otto said. “But you’re going to have to get out of Dodge ASAP. The cops, the ISI, the army, everybody’s gunning for you.”
“What about Pete?”
“She’s safe at the embassy. A SEAL Team Six squad is coming by chopper around midnight to pick her up. The thing is, you’re not going to get anywhere near the embassy. They have the place completely surrounded. What’s your situation now? Pete said you screwed up your leg or something.”
“I’ll live,” McGarvey said, and he told him what had happened from the time he’d left Thomas’s place. “I’ll try to make it up to Peshawar.”
“You won’t get that far. They’ll figure out that’s where you’ll run. You need to ditch the truck and go to ground someplace safe until the ST Six guys can get to you.”
McGarvey looked up toward the rear of the parliament building, just beyond which was the Aiwan. He had failed. Haaris had been one step ahead of him — of them all — from the beginning. Now the deadline was here. It was bitter. But Pete was safe.
“Mac?”
“I’m going to the ISI apartment Judith Anderson took me to. It has to be clear by now. They’ll never expect me to go back.”
“Don’t leave the truck anywhere within a mile of the place,” Otto said. “And keep the phone with you; especially if you have to move, the guys can home in on it. But switch it off. I gave you a boost but the battery is still low.”
McGarvey didn’t bother asking how the phone could be located even when it was off; if Otto said it could be done, it was a fact.
“The important thing is, we’re getting you out,” Otto said.
Not important at all, McGarvey thought.
PART FOUR
The Countdown
SIXTY-TWO
Walt Page’s limo showed up at the White House East Gate a few minutes after six in the morning and was waved directly through. The DCI was met at the door by one of Miller’s aides, who without a word took him directly across to the Situation Room in the West Wing.
The president was sitting at one end of the long conference table, some of the Security Council members gathered around her. They were watching images of Islamabad’s Red Section on a large flat-panel screen on the opposite wall.
It was just after three in the afternoon there, and crowds were rioting. Cars and trucks had been set on fire, tall iron fences around the Interior Ministry and adjacent Secretariat had been torn down in some places, and army troops were dispersed in defensive rings.
The crowd had been fired on, many bodies were strewn about the streets, and as Page walked in, a pair of Chinese-made Al-Khalid main battle tanks rolled up Constitution Avenue.
The president looked over. “Is this what McGarvey warned us would happen?” Her tone was brittle.
“I don’t know,” Page said, taking his place across the table from her. “The Messiah’s turnabout came as a complete surprise to all of us.”
“Are you up to date on the present situation?”
“As of twenty minutes ago, about the same time the army opened fire.”
“I meant with India,” the president said. “Their military has gone on full alert. Air force bases at Ayni, Farkhor and Charbatia are on total lockdown, all leaves and passes have been cancelled and all personnel ordered to return to duty.”
Admiral Altman, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, had been on the phone. He hung up. “I’ve just received confirmation that the Vikramaditya is moving from its base at Karwar at a high rate of speed up the Arabian Sea directly toward Karachi.” The ship was the Indian navy’s newest aircraft carrier. She was capable of launching a full-scale nuclear attack on her own. “A pair of their Kolkata destroyers are accompanying her and we have to assume at least three of her Kilo-class subs are acting as screening vessels.”