Page 68

Durrani cracked a small smile. He had always found Rickman humorous. “It looks like they went too far.”
“It was the only way. I had to sell it.”
Durrani was dumbfounded. He knew the American was smart, but he had no idea he was so tough. “You are either the bravest man I know, or you are crazy. Which one is it?”
“A little bit of both, I suppose.” Rickman started to smile, but then had to stop because it hurt too much.
Durrani considered the bigger picture. He would have preferred not to cut this so close, but he was thankful that Rickman was alive. He had pulled off one of the greatest intelligence coups in the history of the world. “This is a great day.” He put his right hand on Rickman’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
Rickman moaned and Kassar said, “I think his shoulders were dislocated while they were tied above his head. I wouldn’t do that.”
Durrani withdrew his hand and said, “Has the doctor seen him?”
Kassar shook his head and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from his suit coat. He tapped one free and pointed the
unfiltered end at Rickman. “He won’t allow it.”
“What?”
“I said he won’t allow it.”
Durrani shot Kassar a scowl. He was the only person who worked for Durrani who even attempted to defy him. “I heard what you said. Why won’t he allow it?”
“Because he doesn’t trust our doctor. He thinks the fewer the people who see him the better.”
“But he needs medical attention.” Durrani looked at the broken man lying on the large bed. “We need to have a doctor look at you.”
“And then you will kill him.” Rickman shook his head slowly an inch to his left and then his right. “I will heal. Just let me rest.”
“Thank you,” Kassar said, “I will be the one who has to kill him, and I like Dr. Bhutani. He has stitched me up on several occasions . . . a very handy man to have around. I would prefer it if we could keep him.”
Durrani turned halfway and swatted the air with his arm, telling Kassar to leave. The impudent man took a long pull from his cigarette, shrugged, and then disappeared. Hovering over Rickman, Durrani said, “Are you taking anything for the pain?”
“Yes.” Rickman squirmed a bit in an effort to lift his head. “It’s not as bad as it looks . . . at least not compared to the beating I had to go through.”
“What can I get you?”
“Nothing. I just want to lie here.”
Durrani’s gaze narrowed. He had no great knowledge of medicine or the human anatomy, but he had been involved in plenty of interrogations. A good number of them had ended in death, and it wasn’t always because the heart gave out. There had been plenty of cases in which the subject died from infection. The infections were no surprise considering the squalor of the cells. Add to that the way the nervous system was assaulted and the lack of sleep, and it was no wonder the immune system crashed and the patient died. Durrani decided at that exact moment that he would have his doctor here within the hour. He was former Army and was cleared to work with the ISI. He was also sympathetic to the cause of Pakistani self-determination. There was always a risk, of course, but Durrani could have him killed later if there was a problem.
Rickman stifled a cough and asked, “What about Rapp?”
This was the one part Durrani had been dreading. Everything else had worked so well. “He escaped death, but do not worry. He has other problems.”
Rickman tried to sit up, but didn’t make it very far before a coughing fit ensued and he was forced to lie back down. Blood began to trickle from his mouth as he said, “I can’t believe this.”
“Calm down. Do not upset yourself.”
“I told you, Rapp absolutely had to be dealt with. It was the one part of the operation that couldn’t fail.”
“I know,” Durrani said, prepared to deflect, “but your assassin didn’t take the shot.”
“What do you mean?”
“He walked across the street to the clinic and surrendered himself to Rapp.”
“I don’t believe you.”