The Survivor by Vince Flynn Page A

devices in Durrani’s home, and he’d allowed no one—not even his personal assistant, Kabir Gadai—to listen to them. In the intelligence business, the control of knowledge was all.
    While there was a great deal of interesting information on the tapes, this brief passage was by far the most critical. When he’d first heard it, he’d thought Rickman’s threat was entirely credible and immediately began looking into law firms the man could have used. Now he had confirmation that his investigation had been worthwhile. That very morning Taj had received proof that Rickman was telling Durrani the truth about his “insurance policy.”
    The ISI’s network had picked up chatter about an email Rickman sent to the FSB exposing a high-level agent stationed in Istanbul. This had been confirmed by a rendition attempt thwarted by Mitch Rapp that left two Russians dead. Most critically, the email had been sent after Rickman’s death.
    Taj smiled thinly. It was hard not to appreciate the man’s brilliance. From beyond the grave, he would set fire after fire, running Kennedy and her people ragged. It was a plan that had gotten off to a rousing start. Even if that whore prostrated herself in front of the director of the FSB, the already tense relations between America and Russia would further worsen. There was little doubt that plans for reprisals were in the works at the Kremlin.
    It was tempting to just let Rickman’s strategy play out. To sit on the sidelines and watch the CIA blow itself apart. Tempting, but impossible.
    Rickman’s plan for revenge against his former employer wasakin to an IED—powerful, but indiscriminate. If Taj could possess the information—particularly if he could do so without Kennedy knowing—it could be transformed from an explosive to a scalpel. With it, he would not only ferret out every traitor in his own government, but co-opt the Americans’ entire network. Under the threat of exposure, he could quietly turn the CIA’s most sensitive assets and monitor or kill the others. Critical spies they believed to be loyal would in fact be working for the ISI. They would provide him with an endless stream of information about U.S. intelligence efforts while feeding back a carefully formulated mix of truth and lies. He wouldn’t just blind the world’s most powerful spy agency, he would enslave it.
    Kabir Gadai was personally leading the team trying to track the law firm Rickman had spoken of but the task had proved difficult. The CIA man hid his activities with incredible care and also created countless false trails, each of which had to be diligently followed. Now that he was dead, though, Rickman’s maze had stopped expanding. The picture began to clear.
    There was a knock on the door, and Taj took off his headphones before closing the laptop on his desk.
    â€œCome.”
    Kabir Gadai strode in and closed the door behind him. Most people were unaware that they were second cousins, and looking at them would offer no hint of the relationship. Gadai was good-looking, well dressed, and outwardly accomplished. He was truly devoted to his three gifted sons and portrayed the necessary fondness for his daughter. His wife was beautiful and charming but, more important, willing to overlook his extramarital affairs in return for a life of privilege. It was an immoral lifestyle that Taj had learned to tolerate in light of Gadai’s competence and loyalty.
    Of course, like all men, Gadai had weaknesses. While his infidelity was problematic, his egocentric need for those around him to be aware of his accomplishments was far worse. Taj excused it as the exuberance of youth, but until Gadai matured, he would have to be watched with extra care.
    â€œDoyou have news about Rickman’s attorney?”
    They had traced the Sitting Bull information dump to the general area of Rome, but that left hundreds of individual firms to