Syed considered the offer. ‘Will they work?’ he said eventually. ‘Are they as good as you say?’
‘I will bet my reputation on it,’ Adam said proudly.
The terrorist leader stared at the warhead. He’s hooked. I’ve got him. ‘Okay. I will accept your… gift. If they work, how soon will you be able to deliver—’
The door buzzer sounded.
The other terrorists raised their guns in alarm. Suspicious eyes glared at Adam. But Syed waved a hand for them to remain still. He thumbed the intercom button and spoke in Pashto.
‘Muhammad,’ came the 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 upwards 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 backwards alcohol-free country! The part of him that was Toradze revelled 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 authorised 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 round 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 recognised 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.
Chapter 2
Identity Crisis
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 towards 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, flicking off 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 moved for a closer look, Syed also leaning forward to see. Below Adam’s ear, down the line of his jawbone, was a thin scar. It was a remnant of the earwig’s implantation, but the terrorists couldn’t possibly suspect that — he hoped.
‘It was expensive,’ Adam went on, ‘but it kept me out of prison. I had a nose job, my teeth straightened. I even lost weight! But — you really don’t recognise me? Azim, I can’t believe you don’t know me from my eyes!’
The Pakistani was startled by Adam’s use of the nickname. He looked more closely at the other man’s face. The real Toradze had quite distinctive eyes of an intense blue; the contact lenses were a good simulation.
Doubt appeared in Khattak’s own eyes…
‘It really is me, Muhammad,’ Adam pressed on. ‘I will prove it. Ask me anything about when we met.’
Khattak frowned. ‘If you are a spy, you would have interrogated Toradze to find out what he knew about me.’
Adam laughed. The boy is as stupid as when I met him! ‘Azim, when I met you four years ago, you had only just become a man! How long had you been with Yusef’s group? A few months? Do not take this badly, but you were not important enough for a spy to know about! The reason I remember you is because… you made me laugh.’
Khattak’s doubt increased. ‘How? How did I make you laugh?’
Toradze’s memory came to Adam’s mind as easily as if it were his own. Despite the guns pointing at him, he smiled. ‘When I arrived and met Yusef, you were standing behind him, holding a Kalashnikov. You looked so proud of it — you were a warrior, with your first weapon! But when he turned round to go into the next room, you stepped back, bumped against the door frame…’ The smile widened. ‘And your gun’s magazine fell out and hit your foot.’
Khattak actually appeared embarrassed, before uncertainty returned. ‘What else? Where did we meet?’
‘A house on the edge of Drosh. There was only one little window in the back room, and all you could see outside was a chicken coop. The whole place stank of birdshit!’
Syed asked a question in Pashto, Khattak nodding as he answered. ‘He asked if that was right,’ said Holly Jo.
The leader pursed his lips, then lowered the AK — though he didn’t put it down. ‘It seems you are telling the truth,’ he said to Adam.
‘I have changed my face, but not who I am. And Muhammad knows that Giorgi Toradze always delivers what he promises, hey? It is how I stay in business — and how I stay alive.’
The Kalashnikov was finally returned to the desktop, the other weapons lowering. Adam concealed his relief behind Toradze’s more casual acceptance of the situation: of course they believe me. I am Giorgi Toradze! However, Khattak still seemed troubled. A potential problem?
For now, Adam’s main concern was the mission. There was still something he needed to do — beyond simply getting out of the building alive.