“I wanted to be alone with my thoughts,” Moradi said. “What about you?”
Moradi knew he was not physically imposing. Nor did he possess martial skills that made up for his slight stature. Unlike the wolf clothed in sheepskin standing next to him, Moradi had not achieved his station because of battlefield prowess. Even so, he possessed two attributes that made him a formidable adversary—brains and proximity to power.
Surviving this encounter would require both.
“We are ambitious men,” Ruyintan said. “Sometimes ambitious men make mistakes.”
A movement to Moradi’s left punctuated Ruyintan’s statement.
Turning, Moradi saw Ruyintan’s ever-present security detail. Two members of the protective detail had taken positions on the upper dais, while the remaining pair were posted behind their principal at the foot of each stairwell. Unless he decided to take his chances with the oak trees, Moradi wasn’t going anywhere.
“Speak plainly,” Moradi said. “It’s late, and I’m jet-lagged.”
Ruyintan chuckled, a dry rasping sound entirely free of mirth. “For a cleric, you are refreshingly straightforward. I will endeavor to be the same. Earlier today, I received a call from one of my operatives in Afghanistan. He was attending an auction.”
“An auction for what?”
“A captured American soldier.”
Moradi studied the operative’s face, looking for a sign that Ruyintan was joking.
He found none.
“Are you mad?” Moradi said.
“The American wasn’t just any soldier. The man was a Ranger—a member of their special operations contingent.”
“And you thought this was a good idea?”
Ruyintan scowled. “My men are taught to exercise initiative, as are yours. In any case, the wisdom of his decision is not important.”
Moradi would have begged to differ, but he held his tongue.
Ruyintan was still talking.
“What is important is the man my operative found with the captive in the cave. A man the Iraqis call Malikul Mawt. Do you know of him?”
Moradi did know of him, but not for the reason Ruyintan might suppose. The Angel of Death was the nom de guerre given to the CIA operative Mitch Rapp. The same operative who Ashani had convinced Moradi was their sole chance of avoiding war with the Americans. Moradi had bet his life on the intelligence officer’s plan.
Now the stakes were coming into focus.
“Of course I know of him,” Moradi said.
“Have you ever met Rapp?”
On its surface, the question sounded innocent enough, but Moradi thought he detected an undertone in Ruyintan’s voice. A dangerous one.
“Until two months ago, I was an aide to a member of the Guardian Council. I’ve been a cleric my entire adult life. On what occasion would I have met this Mitch Rapp?”
“Yes or no will suffice.”
This time, the danger was front and center in Ruyintan’s icy reply.
Moradi’s stomach knotted, and he could feel sweat beginning to gather at the nape of his neck. It occurred to him that while his position in the MOIS and his friendliness with his old boss were protection of sorts, that protection only extended so far. While he’d seen several fellow hikers during his trek to the lookout, Moradi couldn’t help but notice that the two tiers were now conspicuously absent of bystanders.
Islamabad was a major city with major city problems. Crime was low, but not nonexistent. Tourists who were foolish enough to wander the sprawling nature preserve alone were responsible for what befell them. The park was full of wild animals like the leopards that lived in the surrounding hills.
There were also dangerous beasts that walked about on two legs rather than four.
“No,” Moradi said, infusing his reply with outrage. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you steered me toward him.”
Moradi furrowed his brow as he furiously thought. He was prepared for Ruyintan to make this connection eventually, but his realization was supposed to have occurred after the Americans had disrupted the Quds Force plot in Afghanistan. But Rapp had missed his rendezvous with Ashani. Moradi had attempted to smooth out this wrinkle by sending word to Mike Nash that he wanted to talk. Ironically, Moradi had come to this secluded space to collect his thoughts ahead of his scheduled meeting with the CIA officer.
Now Ruyintan would be part of those deliberations.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Moradi said.
“Farid Saeed. Why did you suggest that I meet with him?”
“For the exact reasons I told you. His organization is a gateway to the Sunni militias in Iraq. Getting him on board with our operation would allow us to duplicate your Afghanistan success in Iraq.”
“But why Saeed specifically?”
Ruyintan’s question was no louder than a whisper, but Moradi nearly flinched at the vehemence behind the words.
This was it.
