More Than Strangers (7 page)

The lines to the four immigration desks snaked around the corner. At the rate they were going, it would take hours to process all the new arrivals. His badge-flashing expeditor cut to the front of the diplomat’s line. No one batted an eyelash. Jason had left government service years ago and was carrying a tourist passport, but the disinterested official didn’t seem to care. He was rich enough to afford an expeditor, which meant he had earned his place ahead of the crowd.

They passed immigration and skirted the baggage claim area. He knew better than to bring check-in luggage. Cart pushers, smelling wealth, vied for attention. Foreigners meant money. If the statistics were correct, much of this country’s population subsisted on less than a dollar a day. A vocal minority may spend their time plotting the demise of those they considered infidels, but most of this country’s citizens were more concerned with the hungry mouths waiting at home. A five-dollar bill went a long way, and too many of the local elite had taken their wealth and fled.

Jason couldn’t blame them. The risk wasn’t worth the reward, and tighter times were coming. America was on the brink of pulling out of Afghanistan, and with that went the development funds this country needed. Most of the city’s infrastructure was in shambles, and its literacy rate was close to nonexistent. Businesses had a habit of getting blown up and ransacked during religious demonstrations. With a minuscule internal economy and dubious stability, foreign direct investment was slowing to a trickle.

Anyplace worth going to in the city needed a guard with a shotgun posted out front. On average, local security companies paid less than two dollars a day. When things heated up, whether their hired thugs would fire or run in the opposite direction was up for debate.

Jason’s business partner had chosen the expeditor well. The unassuming man shook hands and rubbed shoulders with most of the airport’s employees. Folded-up bills were passed out a number of times as they covered the short distance to the exit. Jason knew the region well enough to know they weren’t paying for this particular trip. The bribes and connections were meant for a time when they needed these officials to turn a blind eye or get them out in a hurry. It was money well spent.

The airport was one medium-sized hall. Thirty seconds after the baggage belts were behind them they stepped through the sliding doors into chaos. Throngs of men, women, and children milled about. Most of them were dressed in loose garb and rubber sandals. Many pushed carts heaped with taped-up boxes and plastic sacks. There was no way to move forward without rubbing against sweating bodies and getting rammed by luggage on wheels.

Within ten seconds of exiting the air-conditioned building, Jason’s face was covered in a layer of sweat and grime. The air smelled of dirt, exhaust fumes, and body odor. The crowd’s chatter combined with car horns created a din that threatened to obliterate all thought. The police presence wasn’t assuring since the ratio was one armed man against hundreds of civilians. Much of government’s security provisions were for show. In this country, every man was responsible for his own safety.

The fully armored vehicle that pulled up looked like any other SUV. Dark, dirty, and covered in well-placed dents, the car still stood out among the myriad of diesel-fueled pieces of tin on wheels. The windows were tinted, and the air conditioner was on full blast. With a breath of relief, Jason got in and quickly shut the door. The most dangerous window for attack was time spent getting in and out of a car.

His driver floored the accelerator. The vehicle pulled out with a screech. Even with the constant flow of artificial air, the SUV smelled of sweat. It was over ninety degrees and close to 70 percent humidity. It was not as hot as the country Jason just left, but it wasn’t cooler by much. On the bright side, rocket-propelled grenades weren’t quite as common in Pakistan as they were in Yemen.

As they entered the sluggish traffic, his gaze was drawn to signs calling for the destruction of the West. Dates and times of rallies and marches were posted in full view, and brightly colored strips of cloth marked light poles and pillars. No one in this country would waste time decorating cracked concrete and battered pieces of steel. All the colors had meaning—he just didn’t know what they were. In Yemen, all he had to worry about was getting caught in the cross fire between warring factions. Here, he had to be wary of crime, civil unrest, and targeted violence directed at Americans.

To think this city was a flourishing metropolis only a few decades ago. In the seventies, there were nightclubs, movie theaters, and a population that welcomed hippie tourists to Pakistan’s spectacular landscape. Historical sites and marvels of nature were all a short drive outside Karachi’s borders. But now any foreigner attempting trips there risked burglary, kidnapping, and death. The civilian government’s tenuous hold on law and order was fading. It was a matter of time before the tides shifted, and Jason didn’t know if it would be for the better.

The car turned in to the fortified entrance of one of the six major hotels. The enclave resembled a military base, with sand-filled shipping containers supplementing walls covered in barbed wire. Concrete barricades forced cars through a winding path lined with armed men. This wasn’t the best place to possess a noticeably American hotel brand. It would take a single vehicle-borne improvised explosive device to turn this multimillion dollar investment into rubble. This was why it was fortified better than most diplomatic missions.

He walked past an array of shotgun-carrying men to reach shiny glass doors. The marble halls echoed as he made his way to the reception desk. There was more staff than guests. It was two in the afternoon, and most shops were either closed or desolate. In the deserted coffee shop, a few Asian businessmen sipped coffee and smoked cigarettes. Sitting shadowed in a corner, his uninvited guest stood out like a sore thumb. The man was white, bespectacled, and dressed like a college professor. There was an armed guard hovering a few feet to his side. He might as well wear a sign that said, “I work for the U.S. consulate.”

Two local intelligence operatives lurked in the middle of the lobby with the finesse of mammoths. Any American applying for a visa would have been flagged and assigned a detail, so Jason wasn’t surprised when the ISI agents tasked to follow him walked through the glass doors and clasped hands with their colleagues. Subtle these guys were not.

Ignoring the fidgety guard, Jason plunked his bag down next to the coffee table and sat opposite the American diplomat. The government wasn’t known for efficacy or speed, so he couldn’t help but wonder out loud. “I didn’t know Uncle Sam kept such close tabs on me.”

The man slid his business card across the table. Vice Consul—a title so vague it was meaningless. The overt introduction was for the benefit of their quasi-official entourage. They knew each other from a time Jason would rather forget. “To what do I owe this visit, Travers?”

The returning smile didn’t reach the man’s eyes. “Can’t I meet an old colleague?”

Jason grinned. “We haven’t exactly kept in touch. How did you know I was here?”

“When a man who once had your security clearance comes to this neck of the woods, it raises all sorts of alarm bells.”

Knowing they were being watched, Jason took Travers’ card and put it in his breast pocket. He didn’t hand over one of his own. His company, Safe Harbor, had been around long enough that any potential clients knew who they were. That included the U.S. government. “I didn’t know the American consulate stayed in such close communication with Pakistani authorities. But then again, we were the ones who trained the ISI back in seventy-six.”

Travers shook his balding head. “You’ve read too much into
Ghost Wars
. The author grossly exaggerates. The local government shares information when it suits them. Your visa would have been stuck in administrative processing for much longer if we didn’t confirm you weren’t employed by the State Department.”

Jason leaned back in his seat. “The U.S. Government isn’t known for doing private citizens favors.”

“For someone who once worked for us, you have a low opinion of bureaucrats.” Travers took a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket and tapped one out.

Jason shook his head when the man offered him a smoke. He didn’t need to compound a high-risk lifestyle with lung problems. “I’m just an old and jaded former government employee. Let’s skip the prologue and fast-forward to how you want my help.”

The cigarette lighter’s flame cast an orange glow on Travers’ face. He looked old, tired, and worried. “I heard Safe Harbor was hired to provide security for the Public Health Partnership.”

“We were offered the contract, but we’ve agreed to provide a security assessment and nothing more.” After being in this country for less than an hour, Jason was certain he made the right choice.

Travers’ low laugh followed a cloud of smoke. “You’re a smart man.”

“Perhaps.” Running security for fuzzy-headed health workers working in the slums of one of the world’s most dangerous cities was a recipe for failure. He knew how to pick his battles, and this wasn’t one he could win. It meant turning down a large chunk of change, but he didn’t think it was a decision he’d regret.

The bespectacled diplomat slid a thin brown file across the desk. Curious, Jason flipped it open and skimmed the warden message. The travel alert was dated for tomorrow. “An unspecified threat against American public health workers isn’t news.”

Travers pulled the ashtray closer and snuffed out the smoldering cigarette. “This warning is still going through the clearance process, but the threat is real. You need to get those kids out of here.”

Jason drummed his fingers on the armrest. The moment he read about the project, he knew the PHP’s decision to send its employees here was folly. This city was a ticking time bomb. Whatever good these bleeding hearts could do wasn’t worth their lives. Having six months pass without incident was a miracle in itself. “As far as I know, the government doesn’t take responsibility of the safety of private citizens overseas.”

“It doesn’t. If they are kidnapped, our marines won’t be coming to their rescue. The most we’ll do is expatriate the bodies back to the grieving families” To his credit, Travers didn’t sound like he approved.

“Then why are we having this conversation?” In Jason’s experience, bureaucrats didn’t go looking for trouble.

Travers adjusted his glasses. “The department would rather avoid a public relations nightmare. Candidates for sainthood from wholesome American families tend to make a splash on the evening news if they get blown up.”

The man stood up to leave, prompting Jason to rise to his feet. “I haven’t taken the PHP’s offer. I don’t plan to.”

“And I’m not saying you should.” Their gazes met, and the raw intelligence he saw made Jason remember the highlights of his time in the military. It may be a lumbering bureaucracy, but Uncle Sam did a good job attracting the best, brightest, and most passionate. No one who had been in the service for as long as Travers stayed for the money.

“Talk to those kids and their boss, Jason. There are a number of places in the world with tuberculosis and polio that aren’t a technicality away from being a war zone. They’ve already been here for longer than is safe, and they’ve done more good than they know. It’s a noble cause, but it’s not worth their lives. Nothing is.” The diplomat didn’t want to admit it, but he cared a little too much.

“This is personal for you, isn’t it?” There had been too much emotion behind Travers’ matter-of-fact words. “No one at the consulate knows about this meeting.”

To his surprise, the staid official nodded. “I gave those kids a briefing when they arrived. One of them is my daughter’s age—she’s bright-eyed, full of energy, and oblivious to the danger she’s in. She goes into the most dangerous area of the city every day to supervise the TB testing initiative. It’s going to get her killed.”

Sincerity impressed Jason. He offered his hand. “I’ll do what I can. It’s good to see you, old friend.”

* * * *

Daniel Khan was waiting for Jason inside the hotel suite. They’d worked with each other for over a decade before they decided to form Safe Harbor. The man had olive skin, black hair, and brown eyes. He spoke Urdu, Pashto, and Russian like a native. He knew his way around weapons, and he wasn’t bad at using a computer either.

Dan’s recommendation would have been enough for Safe Harbor to refuse the contract. But the PHP was funded by Sheika Zahra, and her father happened to be one of Safe Harbor’s biggest clients. She had asked Jason to reconsider and provide a security assessment if not the service itself. Turning her down wasn’t a viable option if they wished to remain based in Dubai.

After placing his overnight bag on the floor, Jason strode to the bar where a glass of single malt scotch was already waiting. Alcohol was illegal here, but the hotel seemed to have a steady supply. Considering the country he had just left and the place he was in, he deserved a drink.

“I heard you got sidetracked.” Dan had a hint of a British accent. He also possessed three different citizenships, one of which was Pakistani. He hadn’t needed a visa to come here.

Jason took a long sip of the amber liquid. “Travers and I were catching up.”

“He’s one of the good ones.” Taking the file from Jason’s hand, Dan glanced over the warden message. “But he takes regulations far too seriously. The classified version would be more useful.”

The whiskey was smooth and smoky with just a hint of burn. “Bad people are targeting Americans in Pakistan. What would it say other than that?”

“A time, date, and place?” Dan suggested.

“You give our government too much credit.” Jason placed his empty glass on the bar. “There was no Wi-Fi at the Yemeni airport or this one, and I had my hands full in Sana’a. You’ll have to brief me. How bad is the security situation?”

Dan combed his fingers through his hair. It was longer than Jason remembered and now reached just past the collar of his friend’s shirt. Five months had passed since they’d last met in person. Jason took care of the Middle Eastern contracts while Dan handled Central and South Asia. At the rate the business was growing, they needed to bring in a third partner yesterday.