Rules of Vengeance (51 page)

“You know,” said the president, catching his breath, “it occurs to me that there is a sudden opening that requires filling. Would you have an interest in assuming the directorship of the FSB?”

Igor Ivanov swallowed. “It would be an honor.”

   The call came at 6 a.m. Eastern Standard Time. Alone in his bed, Frank Connor took the cell phone from beneath his pillow and studied the incoming number. At once he sat up, wide awake. “Yeah,” he said. “What is it?”

“It’s me,” responded Igor Ivanov. “I’m in.”

   It was close to sunset when the battered pickup arrived. Before the dust could settle, a half-dozen children ran from mud huts and sturdy stone dwellings and surrounded the truck. Massoud, the village’s three-legged mongrel, led the charge, barking madly and baring his teeth. Once Massoud had belonged to the United States Army, but the soldiers left him behind after a grenade claimed his leg and the valley was no longer friendly.

None of the twenty or so men seated around the communal fire made a move toward the truck. They continued to chew on naswar, the sticky brown powder blended from tobacco and opium, while keeping their eyes glued to the goat slow-roasting over the flames. It was their first meat in a week, and a good meal took precedence over a visit. No one of importance arrived at dusk and without prior warning.

Only Khan, the village elder, rose to greet the tall stranger who jumped from the rear of the truck. The visitor was dressed in native clothing, with the region’s white scarf bound around his head. A coarse black beard flecked with gray covered much of his face, yet even in the failing light one could not help but notice his dark, searching eyes. Over his shoulder, he carried a leather bag, and he approached with respect.

“Who are you?” asked Khan in Pashto, one Afghan to another.

“A doctor.”

Khan recognized the accent at once, but hid his surprise. It had been more than a year since the crusaders dared venture so far south. It would take only a word to have the man executed. Yet, there was something in his regard that begged attention. “What is your name, my friend?”

“Jonathan.”

Khan shook the visitor’s hand and held it in his grasp long enough to know that the man was good and to be trusted.

“My granddaughter is ill, Dr. Jonathan,” said Khan. “Can you help?”

Jonathan Ransom looked at the mud huts and the open fire and the faces of the children raised to him in expectation. High on the mountain, the sun’s dying rays cast a calming purple light over the rugged landscape. He was home.

“I will try.”

   As always, I am indebted to a great many people for their efforts and assistance in bringing this book to life.

First, I would like to thank Detective Superintendent Charlie McMurdie of the London Metropolitan Police.

Also, at New Scotland Yard, I would like to thank Detective Chief Inspector Chris Nolan.

Other assistance in London was given by David Cleak and Ken Lax-ton, as well as by a former member of MI5, who wishes to remain nameless. Or else!

Thanks to my friend Thomas Sloan for making the introductions.

Back Stateside, my thanks to Dr. Doug Fischer, Special Agent with the California Department of Justice; to Dr. Andrew Kuchin at the Center for Strategic and International Studies, for his expertise in all matters Russian; and to Dr. Jon Shafqat, for his medical expertise and subsequent close reading of the manuscript. And to Tom Rouse at Qualcomm, who helped me take apart a cell phone and explain what was inside.

A certain individual gave tremendously of his time to offer a primer on the nuclear energy industry. I came away convinced that nuclear energy offers us a safe, sustainable, and clean path to energy independence. For the many hours we spent together, and the umpteen cups of Starbucks hot chocolate, I’m grateful.

At Doubleday, I offer my heartfelt thanks to every member of the
Rules
team: Bill Thomas, John Pitts, Todd Doughty, John Fontana, Alison Rich, Bette Alexander, and especially to my brilliant editor, Stacy Creamer. And now is a good time to welcome my new editor, Jason Kaufman. Last but not least, a special nod to the one and only Steve Rubin. It’s a privilege to work with such a tremendous group of professionals.

I reserve a special thanks for my agent, Richard Pine, and his talented and hardworking colleagues at Inkwell Management, notably Michael Carlisle, Elisa Petrini, Masie Cochran, and Charlie Olsen. Over the years, our relationship has grown from professional to personal. Inkwell is family. Richard, you’re my brother.

On a personal note, I’d like to thank the team at the Body Refinery in Encinitas, California, especially my trainer, Michael Barbanti, who goes the extra mile to find new and imaginative ways for me to work off my creative anxieties.
Res firma, mitescere nescit
.

Finally, I would like to give a “shout-out” to my family, who inspire me to give it my best day in, day out: to Noelle and Katja, who I love more every day, and to my wife, Sue, who is always my first and best critic.

   This book is dedicated to James F. Sloan. I got to know Jim while researching
The Devil’s Banker
. Back then, Jim headed up the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network (FinCEN). He and his team pulled out the stops to illustrate the varied ways and methods used to track terrorist finances. When I met with Jim in his office, I sensed right away that I was in the presence of an extraordinary individual. Jim possesses the quiet confidence and steely competence of the born leader. Prior to working at FinCEN, he put in over twenty years with the Secret Service, retiring as Special Agent-in-Charge of the Baltimore office. I’ll never forget the smile on his face when he showed me the photograph of him driving the Popemobile during John Paul II’s visit to the United States in 1979. The Irish Catholic boy from Springfield, Massachusetts, had made good!

Over the years, I never stopped in D.C. without paying Jim a visit. I followed his career ever upward as he left FinCEN and joined the Coast Guard as their first civilian Deputy Commandant for Intelligence. In that time he had several opportunities to leave government service for the far richer fields of private security. He turned them down, feeling (rightly) that he could make a greater contribution to the country and to our society by continuing to serve in the government.

Two years ago, Jim contracted ALS, better known as “Lou Gehrig’s Disease.” It was a bitter and incomprehensible blow. This was not supposed to happen to a healthy, vital man who had so much left to accomplish, so very much to live for. My initial reaction was disbelief and sadness. Then, I got mad. How dare this disease strike a man who exemplifies the best in the human spirit?

At this printing, Jim continues his valiant battle against this terrible illness. He is weakened in body, but not in mind. That same confidence, charisma, and steadfastness that I observed when we first met hasn’t deserted him.

It never will.