RAWALPINDI, PAKISTAN
The Suburban carrying Brynn Fitzgerald and Lee Patterson was the fifth vehicle in the motorcade making its way from Aiwan-eSadr, the presidential palace at the top of Constitution Avenue, to the air base south of Islamabad. Four cars back, Naveed Jilani, the senior assistant to the Pakistani chief of protocol, was doing his best to disguise his rising tension. He was waiting on the phone call that would seal the commitment he’d made two weeks earlier, and while he didn’t regret his decision, his sense of personal conviction wasn’t doing much to relieve his physical discomfort. He knew that what he was presently feeling was only to be expected, that the cold sweat running over his skin was completely natural, along with the tight ache in his chest and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. When the call finally came, the shrill tone caused him to jump in his seat. Lifting the phone to his ear, he recognized the gravelly voice on the other end immediately.
“Naveed, is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“I assume Mirza is with you.”
Jilani instinctively glanced to his left, where Ghulam Mirza, the chief of protocol, was studying his schedule for the following day.
“Yes.”
“Which car are you in? The last?”
“No.” Jilani paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He could tell that Mirza was listening to his end of the conversation, which was only making him more nervous. “That is much too late. I think we should move it up a couple of hours.”
“The third from the last vehicle?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Good. Now, the secretary of state. Which car is she in?”
“I think it’s the fifth number in the book,” Jilani said. He glanced out the window for the tenth time in as many minutes. Although he had not been informed of the motorcade’s specific route, he made the trip to Chaklala Air Base dozens of times each month in the course of his duties. He knew all of the roads by heart, and he had already figured out which route they were going to take. It was simply a process of elimination. “I can be there by ten. Unfortunately, I have prior obligations. Call Bashir if you need someone to sit with her.”
There was a pause as the other man interpreted. The crude code had been decided upon at the meeting in Peshawar. Jilani had just stated that the secretary of state was in the fifth vehicle. He’d also informed the general that the motorcade would cross a narrow bridge on Airport Road in approximately ten minutes. Jilani didn’t know the specifics, but he knew that armed gunmen were waiting on the road in question, as well as on two other frequently used routes from Aiwan-e-Sadr to the air base.
“So she’s in the fifth car,” Mengal repeated. “Are you certain? Because there’s no room for—”
“I’m certain.” Jilani froze involuntarily, his hand like a stone around the fragile plastic. It was the first time he had ever interrupted Benazir Mengal, and for a second, he felt something close to blind panic. “Forgive me, I didn’t—”
“I understand.” The older man’s voice had dropped to a dangerous murmur. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure, Naveed, but you’ve done well, and I’m grateful for your loyalty. Remember, when you hear the first rocket, put your head down and stay very still. You have nothing to fear. My men are well trained, and they won’t miss. Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”
“No, that is all.”
“Then good-bye, my friend, and good luck. Asalaam aleikum. ”
“Yes, wa aleikum asalaam.”
The phone went dead in Jilani’s ear, and he lowered it slowly to his lap. His mind was blank, and it was some time before he realized that the chief of protocol was asking him a question.
“Who was it, Navi?”
“A personal call, jana¯b.” Jilani avoided his superior’s curious gaze as his mind kicked back into gear. For the first time, he found himself wondering just how much his life was worth, given the circumstances. He could not think of a single reason why the general’s people would make the effort to spare him when the attack started, and this realization—the fact that he was completely expendable—was deeply unsettling. “My wife’s brother. Parveen has been ill for some time, so her doctor scheduled some tests at the hospital. We’re waiting for the results now.”
The other man removed his glasses, his thin lips creasing into a frown. “That explains a great deal. You’ve been very distracted over the past few weeks.”
“Forgive me, but—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mirza said, waving away the apology. “I just hope it isn’t serious. Your wife’s illness, I mean.”
“I wouldn’t be too concerned, jana¯b.” Jilani averted his eyes once more and tried to stop his hands from trembling. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”