Free I Am Pilgrim by Terry Hayes Page A

Genevaweredeserted,thebarssilent,theelectrictramsempty.Iheardlateritwasthesameincities fromSydneytoLondon,asifforatimethelightshaddimmedintheWesternworldinsympathywith
    America.
    ImademywaythroughwhatarecalledtheEnglishGardens,skirtedtheclutchofMoroccandrug
    dealers lamenting among themselves the lack of business, thought for a moment of putting a bullet throughthemjustforthehellofit,andwalkedalongthelakesidepromenade.Straightaheadlaythe exclusive village of Cologny, where Fahd, the ruler of Saudi Arabia, the Aga Khan and half the crooksoftheworldhadtheirhomes.Isatonabenchattheedgeofthelakeandlookedacrossthe
    waterattheUnitedNationsontheotherside–brilliantlyfloodlit,totallyuseless.
    Belowit,almostonthelake’sedge,rosethegreybulkofthePresidentWilsonhotel,commanding
    a perfect view of Lake Geneva’s most popular beach. Every summer, Saudis and other rich Arabs wouldpayahugepremiumforroomsatthefrontsothattheycouldwatchwomensunbathingtopless
    on the grass. With well-stocked mini-bars, it was like an Arab version of an upmarket strip club –
    withouttheinconvenienceoftipping.
    Althoughitwaslate,thelightswereoninmostoftheroomsnow.Iguessedtheyhadrealizedwhat
    sortofshitwasabouttocomedownandwerepackingtheirbinocularsandbags,gettingreadyforthe firstflighthome.
    ButnomatterwhatWesternrevengewouldbeexactedonOsamabinLadenandArabsingeneral,
    one thing was certain – the events of the last twelve hours were an intelligence failure of historic proportions. The overriding mission of the hugely expensive United States intelligence community
    was to protect the homeland, and not since Pearl Harbor had these all-powerful organizations screwedupwithsuchspectacularandpublicresults.
    As I sat in the cool Geneva night I wasn’t pointing the finger at others – none of us was without blame.Weallcarriedthebluebadges,weallboretheresponsibility.
    Butsodidthepresidentandcongressmenwhomweserved,thosewhoestablishedourbudgetsand
    priorities.Unlikeus,atleasttheycouldspeakoutpublicly,butIfigureditwouldbealongwaitbefore theAmericanpeoplegotanapologyfromanyofthem–thenextmillenniummaybe.
    Thewindwasrising,sweepingoutoftheAlpsandbringingwithitthesmellofrain.Itwasalong
    walkbacktomyhotelandIshouldhavestartedthen,butIdidn’tmove.
    Iwascertain,evenifnobodyelsewasthinkingityet,thatprettysoonLowerManhattanwouldn’tbe theonlythinginruins–thenation’sentireintelligencestructurewouldbetornapart.Ithadtobeifit wasgoingtoberebuilt.Nothinginthesecretworldwouldeverbethesameagain,notleastforThe Division: people in government would no longer have any interest in secretly policing the covert world;theywouldonlybeinterestedinsecretlypolicingtheIslamicworld.
    Ihadgotupinthemorningand,bythetimeIwasreadyforbed,itwasadifferentplanet:theworld doesn’tchangeinfrontofyoureyes,itchangesbehindyourback.
    I knew I had none of the language or operational skills necessary for the brave new intelligence worldwhichwasabouttobeborn,soIfoundmyself–likeMarkusBucher–suddenlyataforkinthe road.Unsurewhatfuturelayaheadofme,notnecessarilyseekinghappiness,butfulfilmentwouldn’t bebad,Iwaslost.IhadtoaskmyselfwhatlifeIreallywanted.
    Sittingalonewiththestormrollingtowardsme,Ilookedbackovertheyearsandfound,ifnotan
    answer,atleastawayforward.RisingoutofthepasttomeetmewasaremotevillagecalledKhun
    Yuam,justontheThaisideoftheBurmaborder.Lookingback,Ithinkthememoryofithadwaited
    foryearsindarkness,knowingitstimewouldcome.
    It is wild, lawless country up there – not far from the Golden Triangle – and when I was first startingoutinthisbusiness–IhadonlybeeninBerlinforamonth–Ifoundmyselfwasheduponits shore.NothingdistinguishedKhunYuamfromtheotherhill-tribevillages,exceptthatfiveclicksout in the jungle stood a series of grim cinder-block buildings surrounded by guard towers and an electricfence.
    OfficiallyarelaypostfortheGlobalPositioningSystem,itwasinfactaCIAblackprison,partof