Bloodmoney by David Ignatius Read Free Book Online Page B

had abandoned the family nest in favor of Support—arranging travel and housing and the other humdrum logistical details that allowed the agency to function. In that role, he had amassed an unusual network of power. Nearly everyone at the CIA owed him a favor, as did people in many other parts of the government, as well.
    “Bad news?” asked Hoffman when he got on the line. He sounded almost merry.
    “How did you know?” answered Gertz.
    “Rossetti told me I should expect a call. And frankly, Jeff, why else would you be in touch?”
    “I have an officer in Karachi who’s AWOL. He missed a meeting an hour ago. That place is the Wild West, and I’m worried.”
    “Tell me what you need, my friend,” said Hoffman. His voice was liquid.
    “Rossetti says you have a declared officer in the consulate in Karachi. I need for him to notify the Sindhi police right now that an American citizen is missing, presumed in trouble. Under no circumstances should he suggest any USG connection to the man. I’ll send you the alias name and passport number when I hang up. He was covered as a businessman working for a hedge fund in London called Alphabet Capital. He traveled often to Pakistan.”
    Hoffman made a clucking noise with his tongue, as if he were correcting a pupil.
    “I think you mean that the consular officer should talk to the Sindhi police, not the base chief, if you want to keep the agency out of it.”
    “Right. As if the Paks think there’s a difference.”
    “Oh, my, they know us better than you might imagine,” said Hoffman. “Can we give the Karachi police a location?”
    “We have the GPS coordinates of his BlackBerry. But I suspect that the man and the BlackBerry are no longer in the same place.”
    “That’s unfortunate. Anything else?”
    “Find the driver,” said Gertz. “That’s where the Paks should start. Find the taxi driver who was taking my man to his meet.”
    “Uh, what’s the flap potential here?”
    “If he has been captured? Pretty damned big, I’d say. If he’s dead, not so big.”
    “Can we grab him?”
    “Sure, if we can find him. That’s the other favor I need to ask. Can you get an extraction team from Bagram on the scene, pronto?”
    “Yes, but the Paks will get squirrelly.”
    “Not if you don’t tell them. Fly in an extra team from one of the task forces. Put them in a hotel in Karachi. Send some weapons and shit over from the consulate. Have them chase any signals we pick up. If we don’t need them, you can send them back to Afghanistan and nobody will be the wiser.”
    Hoffman paused. There was a reedy noise through the phone that sounded almost like he was humming.
    “What about the ISI?” Hoffman resumed. “Should we inform them? They’re going to know something is up.”
    “No. Let them guess. For all we know, they’re the ones who did this, them or their friends. I don’t think we should tell them a fucking thing.”
    “The gentlemen from ISI are not stupid, I regret to say.”
    There was another pause, and that humming noise began again, and then stopped.
    “Should we tell the oversight committees anything?” mused Hoffman. “That’s what the director is going to ask me.”
    “God, no. Don’t tell them a word. This is a missing American civilian. Full stop. That’s all the world is going to know. His identity is secret. Those are the rules of this game, right?”
    “Excuse me, Jeff, but it would appear that somebody knew that secret identity already. If Egan was grabbed, that means his cover was blown. You might start thinking about how that happened. Before you have another, um, accident.”
    “What are you going to do?” asked Gertz.
    “I…”—Hoffman paused and took in a breath, “don’t…”—another delay, while he blew his nose—“know.”
    With that, Hoffman rang off.

    Gertz told Tommy Arden to send out a book cable to everyone, every officer and every platform that was part of The Hit Parade’s network. Report anything