Free Bloodmoney by David Ignatius Page B

all over the Internet?”
    “Nothing. With respect, sir, don’t do anything. If these people issue a statement, have the State Department deny it. The agency will tell you that you have to brief Congress. My humble advice is that you should ignore them. This program is covered under the National Security Act. You have a legal opinion that says so. The congressional leadership has signed off on it. End of story.”
    “Did the Paks screw us? Is this their hit?”
    “Don’t know yet, but it’s quite possible. This is what they do.”
    “The president is nervous. He asked me a few hours ago in the Oval if this Karachi thing was going to blow up. I said no, sir. Hunker down. It will go away. That’s right, isn’t it?”
    “Totally right. It’s contained.”
    “These crazy fuckers still want to kill us, don’t they? These Pakistanis and Waziris and whatever the hell else. Why do they hate us so much? We’re trying to give them money, for god’s sake. We’re trying to make them happy. What the hell is wrong with them?”
    “I don’t know, sir. I keep asking my sources that. They keep giving me new names to contact. Eventually we’ll get it right. Money talks.”
    Yazdi couldn’t disagree with the efficacy of cash. It was one of his life rules. But still, he wanted to understand why this mission had gone off the rails.
    “How did the bad guys make your man? I thought he was super-deep cover and all that.”
    “It was a lucky shot, probably. If there’s a hole, we’ll plug it, don’t worry. I’ve put someone reliable on it.”
    “Not a SWAT team, for Christ’s sake. That’s all we need is a bunch of people snooping around.”
    “Not a team, a discreet investigator. But you will have to turn off the CIA director, if he comes knocking. Because he’ll want to tell Congress, and then it’s out for sure, and we’re all screwed.”
    “What else? I gotta go.”
    “That’s it. Just keeping you informed. Not to worry. Tell the president we have it under control.”
    “Reassurance from you guys, that will scare the shit out of him. You need to come back here and see me soon, and remind me what the fuck you’re doing. Can you do that?”
    “Yes, sir. I can come in the next week. I will send you a date and you tell me if it works.”
    “One more thing, just so I don’t have nightmares. There’s no USG money here. Nothing that could bite us. It’s all clean.”
    “Yes, sir. It’s self-contained financially, no government funds in or out. No paper trail, here or in D.C., all offshore.”
    “Well, that’s something, at least. No more fuckups, please.”
    “HUA, sir,” said Gertz. It was military-speak for “heard, understood, acknowledged.” But he was talking to himself. The chief of staff had scurried off to other business.

WANA, SOUTH WAZIRISTAN

    “Lund te char” is a pungent curse in the Punjabi dialect. It means, literally, “hop on my dick,” or as an American would say, “Fuck off.” That had been the CIA’s message to Lieutenant General Mohammed Malik with this business in Karachi, and he did not like it. Nobody wants to be embarrassed in public, but there is a special sting when a man’s honor is his most precious possession. So it particularly wounded the general that a previously unknown unit of American intelligence had sent an operative into his country, without authority, and then had gone to such trouble to conceal it.
    It was an insult. The ISI chief had considered whether he should do something to hurt the Americans back. That would have been easy enough to arrange, for there were so many ways the Americans, tied down by their expeditionary wars and short of breath, depended on their Pakistani allies.
    But General Malik was not a rash or vindictive man. And the more he considered the situation, the more it seemed to him that before seeking to punish the Americans, he needed to understand better what they were doing. He needed to understand, in particular, how this new