Chapter 16

A.D. 2012

"So what's our next move?" Nine asked.

They had just returned from a quiet dinner in San Francisco. It was Tina's suggestion, as a way to unwind from the tension of their hunt for terrorists. Using the information gained from the minds of each of the jihadists they had foiled, they had cleaned up every cell on U.S. soil, including a couple of training camps. Now it was time to pause and consider what they had and what to do with it.

"I guess we start on the rest of the world now," Will shrugged. "Even with our abilities, that's going to take some doing. I've been going over the information we've gotten, and it seems that, since the invasion of Afghanistan, most of these guys have been getting their training and backing out of Pakistan."

"Pakistan?" Tina was a bit surprised. "I thought Pakistan was our ally!"

"Me too. What say we find out for sure?"

"How do you mean?"

Come with me little girl, Will thought, and Tina could feel the amusement in his mind.

Together, their minds flew to Washington, D.C. while their bodies rested in their mountain cave. It was a city they knew well, having cleaned out no fewer than three terrorist cells there in the last few months.

It took only moments to locate the offices of the State Department. Even this late at night, there were people at work, and Will and Tina began with the same tactics they had used on the FBI offices in L.A. It didn't take long. Much of the information on terrorist activity around the world was not even classified. Some of the reports they found came out of a certain compound in Langley, Virginia, and Will diverted his attention there while Tina continued searching the minds of those at the State Department.

When they had completed their search and returned their attention to the cave, Tina looked at Will with an expression of wonder.

"My God!" she exclaimed, "That Pervez Musharraf must have been one hell of a politician. I never realized that Pakistan was such a patchwork of conflicting ideals and cultural differences."

"Yes," Will agreed, "and he was lucky that the National Assembly saw things his way in electing the man he had groomed as his successor. Former Prime Minister Aziz' nephew has turned out to be just as astute at keeping the balancing act going as Musharraf was."

"It's amazing that neither the Taliban nor the CIA has assassinated him," Tina added. "Like Musharraf, Aziz is walking a political tightrope and there's no safety net. On the one hand, he's got his own intelligence organization watching his every move, and they've got pretty strong ties to the Taliban. On the other hand, he's got the U.S. Government trying to twist his arm to go after the Taliban and Al Qaeda in the Tribal Areas."

"Yes and the only thing that keeps the U.S. from killing him themselves is the knowledge that whoever they got to replace him would likely be an out and out Taliban supporter. It was the ISI who started the Taliban and armed them during the Russian invasion, and they've still got strong ties with them. It's easy enough, from this side of the world to say that Pakistan is a state sponsor of terrorism, so we should bomb them, too, but the truth is much more complex than that."

"You know," Tina said, "if we could clean up those Tribal Areas, we'd probably be doing President Aziz a big favor, while getting rid of the biggest safe haven the terrorists have got..."

"Why, Tina," Will joked, "it's almost as if you could read my mind!"

"Wake up, Mr. President," Prototype Ten said in a conversational voice. He wasn't worried about being overheard. The energy field he had set up around the President's bedroom would ensure that no sound escaped. The bugs that the President's own intelligence people had planted in his quarters were now spying on fish at the bottom of the Indian Ocean.

"What... ?" President Aziz rubbed gritty eyes and scrabbled on the bedside table for his glasses. "Who are you? How did you get in here? Guards! Guards!"

"Relax, Mr. President," Will's American accent did little to put the Pakistani President at ease. "Actually, I'm a great admirer of yours."

"Is that so?" Aziz asked, beginning to hope that perhaps this wasn't a CIA assassination.

"That is so. Any man who can stay in power and keep a lid, however tenuous, on the political powder keg you have here in Pakistan, especially in your Tribal Areas, is a man to be admired, as was your predecessor, Mr. Musharraf."

"And you came all the way from America to sneak into my bedroom and wake me in the middle of the night to tell me this?"

"No, I came to offer you some help," Will replied. "My partner and I..."

For the first time, Aziz noticed the presence of a young woman in his bedchamber.

" ... thought we might be able to keep you from being assassinated by your people or bombed by the Americans," Will finished.

"You do not understand the situation here!" Aziz almost shouted. "My predecessor and I have fought long and hard to maintain a delicate balance here in Pakistan. If you do anything to upset that balance, the entire country will disintegrate into civil war. You westerners think you know so much about everything, but you do not have to live with tribes that hide in the hills and acknowledge no ruler. You do not have to live each day with your own security forces looking over your shoulder, knowing that you will be killed at the first wrong move. General Musharraf was a great leader, but your country kept trying to force him to commit political suicide, and now they are trying to do the same to me. You cannot help me, so go away!"

"Actually, we can help you, Mr. President," Prototype Nine spoke for the first time. "You see, we understand how difficult it is for you to go against the Taliban and their Al Qaeda friends when they were created by your own Directorate for Inter-Service Intelligence. We also understand the difficulty your predecessors passed on to you with the ISI, since it has strong ties to the Taliban."

"Our question for you, President Aziz, is: What you would do if you could be absolutely certain of who, within the ISI and the military, is loyal to you?" Will continued when Nine stopped speaking.

What would he do? Will and Tina watched as entire vistas of possibility opened before the President's eyes as he contemplated the idea.

"You must understand," he temporized, "I am not and cannot be a puppet to the United States. In fact, I have no particular love for your country after the treatment we have received at the hands of your President and Secretary of State. On the other hand, I see no good future from allowing the Taliban to continue to gain power. If they are not stopped, they will soon take over my country as well as Afghanistan. With no interference from my own government or Military, I would immediately launch strikes against their strongholds in North and South Waziristan, and when I have driven them out of those agencies, I shall attack Bajaur Agency and make sure that Al Qaeda no longer has a home there."

"Hmmm," Ten said, "those are very brave words, but perhaps I should explain that we do not work for the United States Government. Nine and I are kind of freelancers, so we don't need the political rhetoric. I can see in your mind that you are not at all sure that your military can carry out those operations successfully or that your Presidency would survive the effort, so I would like to offer an alternative plan. Suppose you close off all access into and out of the Tribal Areas, and Nine and I will see to it that the Taliban and Al Qaeda are driven back into Afghanistan, where U.S. troops will be waiting for them."

Nine took up the narrative from there. "You can tell your people that you are taking this precaution because of assassination attempts that have originated from those agencies. This will be much easier for you, politically, than going into the Tribal areas and attacking people there. Neither will it attach to you the stigma of inviting the U.S. into Pakistan to help with the invasion, which you would surely have to do to have a hope of succeeding. Certainly, there might be some questions about the timing of the events, but the manner of their occurrence will make it difficult for anyone to do more than speculate about who did what, when."

"The occurrences within the tribal areas, once the borders are closed, will generate some very strange stories," Will added, "but they will be non-military and the Taliban and Al Qaeda will cross the border of their own accord. Those not sympathetic to them will be given other instructions so that they will remain safe. Once inside Afghanistan, the Taliban will be ambushed by American troops. A few may escape, but they will not be allowed to return to Pakistan."

"This is wonderful news," Aziz said sarcastically, "but it is an impossible task."

"Do you pay attention to news from the U.S.?" Ten asked, unperturbed.

"Yes. In my position, I must, but normally I get only summaries prepared by my staff."

"Do the names 'Prototype Nine' and 'Prototype Ten' sound familiar to you?" Will continued.

"That would be the man and woman credited with single-handedly rounding up most of the terrorists in the United States, if I am not mistaken," Aziz answered, "but they operate only in the U.S..."

"Not anymore," Tina smiled. "Meet Prototype Ten."

She held out her hand toward Will, who added, "and Prototype Nine."

"You two? But you are just a man and a woman! How can you have done all of the things they say you have done?"

"Perhaps a small demonstration will explain better than words," Ten said, "but first, you'll need some more presentable clothing."

In a flash, the President of Pakistan stood naked beside his bed. Before he could protest, however, he was clothed in the clean, dark suit that had been laid out in preparation for tomorrow's press conference.

"How... ?"

Before the question formed, he found himself standing in the doorway of a room filled with men. At first, he was bewildered, until he recognized the man in charge of the ISI, who sat talking casually with a notorious Taliban leader. To one side sat a Mullah whose involvement with Al Qaeda was a matter of public record, and across from him sat none other than the man who had taken over Al Qaeda upon the death of Osama bin Laden.

For a moment, the men didn't notice them. At the instant their eyes started to turn toward the door where the three of them stood, they froze, apparently unable to move more than their eyes, which swept wildly about.

President Aziz was looking very nervous about being here with men who would just as soon kill him as look at him, especially the head of his security forces, now that his secret, clearly, was out.

"Don't worry Mr. President," Prototype Nine told him. "They can see us, but they can't hear us, and we're not allowing them to move."

"Now, you see," said Prototype Ten, gesturing toward the seated men. "Here, in one fell swoop, you have your head of security, caught fraternizing with the enemy, as well as three of the major players for the other side. I think, tonight, we will take Mr. Mohammed, here, back to Islamabad for questioning. These other folks, we'll round up at a later date. How does that sound to you?"

Aziz looked puzzled. "Why not take them all back so that we do not have to worry about them later?"

"Think about what it would do to your political situation if you had to deal with putting these men on trial for their crimes, or worse, extraditing them to the U.S.," Nine told him. "We'll shoo them over the border into Afghanistan when the time is right, and let the Americans deal with them."

"Ah, of course," Aziz nodded, "Thank you for thinking of that. I apparently do not think as well after being awakened in the middle of the night and transported halfway across the country. We are, I assume, in one of the Tribal Areas?"

"Yes," Will answered. "At the moment we are in Bajaur. As you can see, Al Qaeda has been making itself at home here, surrounded by good friends, including Mr. Mohammed of your ISI."

"What do you suggest I do with Mr. Mohammed?" Aziz asked.

"That's entirely up to you, Mr. President," Will shrugged. "It is your country and your laws. With your permission, however, we will put him in prison in Islamabad, along with the others of his staff who have ties to the Taliban and Al Qaeda."

"Of course," Aziz answered, "but tell me; how did we get here? Am I dreaming all of this?"

"No Mr. President," Nine laughed. "It's all very real. Your reaction is very similar to ours when we first discovered that we could do these things, but, as you can see, we can do them. This should give you some indication that we can fulfill our part of the plan we outlined."

"And how do I know I am really here?" the bewildered president asked.

"That's a fair question," Will answered. "Let's let these men loose and see what happens, shall we?"

"NO!" Aziz shouted, alarmed. "We will all be killed!"

"Not if we're not really here," Tina replied.

"I meant to say that I am not entirely convinced, not that I do not believe you at all," the President said. "Can you not find another way to convince me?"

"Well, Mr. President," Will said, "there is your head of intelligence, hobnobbing with the enemy. If I were you, I think I would want to slug the bastard. Why don't you go over there and give Mr. Mohammed a little love tap, just to show him how much you appreciate his efforts on behalf of your government?"

Will and Tina watched as the President thought it over. Even without reading his mind, they could tell when he made his decision. Steeling himself, Aziz walked through the crowd of immobilized men. All eyes followed his movements, Mohammed's in particular. As the President approached, the ISI man's eyes grew large, realizing what was about to happen, but unable to avoid it.

Drawing back his fist, Aziz delivered a respectable punch to Mohammed's nose, which immediately sprouted blood. Still, the head of intelligence was unable to move to protect himself or to staunch the flow of blood.

Rubbing his knuckles, which stung from the blow, Aziz noticed a small scrape on one knuckle as he returned to where Will and Tina stood.