Local time – 6:45pm, Sunday 17th June, 2011.
Islamabad, Pakistan.
‘Are you sure machine working sir?’
‘It’s working better than you are!’ Daniel snapped back at his driver.
He was watching the dot that represented Alex North on his tracking software once again turn around and head in another random direction. He had initially been pleased to see that she and her bodyguards had turned off the motorway, as this gave him a chance to catch up. But since then, the ditsy blonde had been taking him and his driver on a wild goose chase around the frustratingly disorganised streets of Rawalpindi and Daniel felt ready to lose his temper. The only explanation was that they had worked out they were being tailed, and were trying to lose him. The stupidity of this situation was that they could never lose him. While they were moronic enough to be using the iPad with Ryan Kitchener’s SIM card, they could be tracked anywhere and everywhere they went. If they really wanted to lose him, they would have to turn the iPad off, and that’s what Daniel worried they were going to inadvertently do. He hated being outsmarted. But even worse was being accidentally outsmarted by cretins who had no idea what they were doing.
‘Can’t you drive any faster? We’re never going to get close at this rate,’ Daniel barked at the annoyed looking man next to him. The driver stabbed his index finger at the traffic in front of them.
‘I blocked by this. I go as fast as they do.’
Daniel pulled his hand down his face, ready to explode. And, typically, at the worst possible time for his nerves, his phone started ringing. He took a deep breath before he answered his boss’s call.
‘I’ve almost got them. I can see where they are, I’m probably ten minutes from crossing their path.’
‘Good. Keep me updated. I told you earlier this was vital. But it’s just become positively critical. Things here are snowballing forward much quicker than anticipated. You will hear for yourself shortly, POTUS has been removed and this has brought a number of our initiatives to a head. But we can’t risk acting until your job is done. Do you understand?’
‘Yes. I underst... ’ Daniel heard his boss hang up before he had acknowledged receipt of his message. The man Daniel respected for his controlled aggression was more agitated than Daniel had ever known him to be. And his agitation coiled itself around Daniel’s hand, as if it was contagious through the phone.
‘Fuck.’ Daniel spat at the dot in front of him. It was now moving even faster away, as if it could sense him getting closer. His phone rang again, and he cursed, expecting another call from his boss. But this time it was a researcher from the office.
‘Please tell me something good.’
‘We’ve got a name for one of your faces.’
‘And?’
‘It’s the tall, thin one. Joshua Petterson. Born in Massachusetts, married, 43 years old. Nothing all that noteworthy, except the Agency tells me he has applied to join their ranks on five occasions. Smart guy, but never made it. He also runs a 9/11 conspiracy blog, where he seems to take out his angst at being rejected by the establishment.’
‘Great. There’s only one thing worse than a spy. And that’s a wannabe spy. Any news on the CIA face who planted the car bomb?’
‘We don’t think he’s CIA. Not unless he’s brand new.’
‘Then who the hell is he?’
‘We’re working on it.’
Daniel hung up and focused again on his dot. At least one of Alex North’s companions was a waste of space. He didn’t much care to worry about who the others were, as either way, they were all up shit creek.