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Her date appeared at the top of the staircase with an apologetic smile on his face. Ke
“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he bent over to kiss Ke
She offered her cheek and said, “Don’t worry, any chance I get to have a moment alone is one I’ll gladly take.”
The man laughed genuinely and took his seat directly across from Ke
They were at the Ruth’s Chris Steak House on Co
Ke
As the two glasses clanged, Barstow said, “To an evening without interruptions.” With a conspiratorial wink he added, “I left my phone in the car.”
Guilt washed over Ke
Barstow noticed the look on her face. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No… it’s just that… there’s a good chance I will have to take at least one call.”
“That’s all right, your job is a little more important than mine.”
Ke
Barstow ordered a fabulous bottle of Bordeaux and they made small talk over salads. He got the wedge and she got the baby arugula. Ke
Three waiters filed into the room with the main course and sides. A petite filet was set down in front of Ke
Ke
Looking back at her through the glass was Rob Ridley. The deputy Clandestine chief was a pere
After a heavy sigh she said, “Bill, you’ll have to excuse me. It appears that interruption I was anticipating has arrived.”
Barstow tried to look sympathetic, but in truth was already inhaling his first cut and looked like he might pass out. Ke
“What’s wrong?”
“We’ve got big problems.”
“How big?” she asked.
“Really big.”
“Mitch?”
“Yep.”
Ke
“I’ll brief you on the rest of it in the car,” Ridley said.
Ke
CHAPTER 17
TRIPLE FRONTIER, SOUTH AMERICA
MORALE was not good. It was something he had failed to account for and Karim rarely failed to account for the important things. That was his strength. He was a scholar first and a warrior second. To be fair to himself, though, he had considered it briefly. In the final few seconds before he killed Zachariah he thought of how the execution would affect the other men. As he drew his sidearm, pulled the trigger, and watched the hollow-tipped round spray the back of Zachariah’s head against the screen, he felt certain that his action would galvanize the men, unify them, force them to put their differences aside and focus their talents on this important mission. He saw now that he had misjudged them.
It was their faith, he decided, a lack of true devotion. Tribal rivalries had also played a role, to be sure, and Karim chastised himself for not seeing that beforehand. Islam was notorious for its infighting; the petty rivalries that had kept them apart for so many years. The four Saudis under his command were fine. They would fight with efficiency and courage to the last man. Even the lone Afghani seemed to be taking it well, but then again the Afghani had served under him for more than a year and had fought bravely in countless incursions with the enemy. Because they had been to battle together they had that trust. The Afghani would be fine. They were the toughest, most selfless fighters Karim had ever known.
The Moroccans, however, were a problem. He now saw that, if anything, the team was more deeply divided than before. He briefly considered executing one of them, but found it impractical. He was not above using fear to motivate, but in this instance he was dealing with a finite supply of men. Karim had studied the brutal tactics of men such as Lenin and Stalin. There was something to be learned from them. Their sheer audacity and thirst for power was unmatched. Most impressive, though, was their ability to seize power and then hold on to it by the most heinous means necessary.