The Pakistan Conspiracy, A Novel Of Espionage Read Online Free Page A
Author: Francesca Salerno
who had been declared persona non grata —unwelcome—by the Government of Pakistan.
She was alleged by the Foreign Ministry to have engaged in “activities incompatible with diplomatic status,” code words for espionage, though everyone understood that it was payback for SEAL Team Six and the embarrassment they had caused. One hundred U.S. Army training personnel were also asked to leave the country.
Mort Feldman was sympathetic, but there was little he could do. As chief of station, he had been exempted from deportation (though when irritated sufficiently, sometimes Pakistan even kicked out CIA station chiefs). He told Kate to pack a few essentials and plan to leave within 24 hours. Arrangements had already been made to fly her to Washington by commercial carrier via London. Her personal belongings would be packed and sent on a few weeks later.
Her tour of duty in Pakistan was over even though her role in the OBL takedown had been minimal. It was a career disaster all around.
Though some Embassy staffers had trouble making eye contact with her once the news was out, the Marine Guards quickly organized an impromptu going-away party for the departing CIA staffers at ‘Animal House,’ the two-story barracks they occupied on campus.
Kate permitted herself a rare evening of relaxation. She allowed her favorite Marine, the manly and handsome Stewart, to embrace her and plant a passionate kiss on her lips—to the wild whoops of the assembled beer-fueled crowd.
The next morning she packed a single canvas duffel with enough clothing to last a few days. She could replenish her wardrobe back in the States. What would she be doing next? She had no idea. It felt like a noose was tightening around her neck.
To his great credit, Mort Feldman had the decency to drive her personally to Benazir Bhutto International Airport. There he pulled a few strings so she could sit in the plush Rawal Lounge, usually the province of ambassadors and government ministers. He chatted with her aimlessly for a few minutes while awaiting her flight to London. They shook hands and hugged. Before leaving, Feldman told her that “I know there are great things in store for you.” Then he winked.
Her diplomatic passport made short work of passing through customs.
Kate was surprised and pleased by Feldman’s mysterious comment. What did he mean?
Chapter 3 — Islamabad
On Wednesday, May 4th, Brigadier Mahmood Mahmood arrived at the colonial-style Islamabad Club at half past twelve precisely, his chauffeured staff car pulling into the curved driveway fronting the red-tiled main club building on Murree Road.
Though still well maintained, the Islamabad Club had seen better days, when Pakistan was making a real effort to become a secular nation. A little frowzy now, it was still popular with military officers and wealthy Westernized Pakistani grande dames , who could safely preen in lipstick, high heels, and plunging necklines within the club’s walls.
When he was a lieutenant colonel years ago, Mahmood had the privilege of attending a course for senior officers at the United States Air Force War College at Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, Alabama. In some odd way, the Islamabad Club always reminded Mahmood of the Officers’ Club next to Cypress Tree Golf Course at Maxwell, though the Islamabad Club had pretensions of grandeur not found in Alabama.
In the lobby was a hardwood plaque listing, in sunken gilt letters, all Club Patrons since its founding in 1967. They included every military chief who had served in that period but pointedly omitted all but one of the civilian Prime Ministers, and that one was Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, Benazir’s father, who was hanged by General Zia-ul-Haq. The plaque said a lot about who wielded real power in Pakistan.
Brigadier Mahmood invited his top aide, Colonel Ehsan Akram, to join him for luncheon, preferring the club dining room to any one of
She was alleged by the Foreign Ministry to have engaged in “activities incompatible with diplomatic status,” code words for espionage, though everyone understood that it was payback for SEAL Team Six and the embarrassment they had caused. One hundred U.S. Army training personnel were also asked to leave the country.
Mort Feldman was sympathetic, but there was little he could do. As chief of station, he had been exempted from deportation (though when irritated sufficiently, sometimes Pakistan even kicked out CIA station chiefs). He told Kate to pack a few essentials and plan to leave within 24 hours. Arrangements had already been made to fly her to Washington by commercial carrier via London. Her personal belongings would be packed and sent on a few weeks later.
Her tour of duty in Pakistan was over even though her role in the OBL takedown had been minimal. It was a career disaster all around.
Though some Embassy staffers had trouble making eye contact with her once the news was out, the Marine Guards quickly organized an impromptu going-away party for the departing CIA staffers at ‘Animal House,’ the two-story barracks they occupied on campus.
Kate permitted herself a rare evening of relaxation. She allowed her favorite Marine, the manly and handsome Stewart, to embrace her and plant a passionate kiss on her lips—to the wild whoops of the assembled beer-fueled crowd.
The next morning she packed a single canvas duffel with enough clothing to last a few days. She could replenish her wardrobe back in the States. What would she be doing next? She had no idea. It felt like a noose was tightening around her neck.
To his great credit, Mort Feldman had the decency to drive her personally to Benazir Bhutto International Airport. There he pulled a few strings so she could sit in the plush Rawal Lounge, usually the province of ambassadors and government ministers. He chatted with her aimlessly for a few minutes while awaiting her flight to London. They shook hands and hugged. Before leaving, Feldman told her that “I know there are great things in store for you.” Then he winked.
Her diplomatic passport made short work of passing through customs.
Kate was surprised and pleased by Feldman’s mysterious comment. What did he mean?
Chapter 3 — Islamabad
On Wednesday, May 4th, Brigadier Mahmood Mahmood arrived at the colonial-style Islamabad Club at half past twelve precisely, his chauffeured staff car pulling into the curved driveway fronting the red-tiled main club building on Murree Road.
Though still well maintained, the Islamabad Club had seen better days, when Pakistan was making a real effort to become a secular nation. A little frowzy now, it was still popular with military officers and wealthy Westernized Pakistani grande dames , who could safely preen in lipstick, high heels, and plunging necklines within the club’s walls.
When he was a lieutenant colonel years ago, Mahmood had the privilege of attending a course for senior officers at the United States Air Force War College at Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, Alabama. In some odd way, the Islamabad Club always reminded Mahmood of the Officers’ Club next to Cypress Tree Golf Course at Maxwell, though the Islamabad Club had pretensions of grandeur not found in Alabama.
In the lobby was a hardwood plaque listing, in sunken gilt letters, all Club Patrons since its founding in 1967. They included every military chief who had served in that period but pointedly omitted all but one of the civilian Prime Ministers, and that one was Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, Benazir’s father, who was hanged by General Zia-ul-Haq. The plaque said a lot about who wielded real power in Pakistan.
Brigadier Mahmood invited his top aide, Colonel Ehsan Akram, to join him for luncheon, preferring the club dining room to any one of
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