Chapter Nine
Monday, February 22, 1988
Islamabad
Watson leaned forward and propped his chin in his right hand, elbow fixed on the table, his gray-blue eyes locked onto Johnson’s. There was silence for at least fifteen seconds.
Johnson folded his arms and waited. It was one of Watson’s usual intimidatory techniques. Next would come the critical jab, normally laced with a dose of sarcasm. He was right.
“So, it’s fine to screw about for a while? There’s no rush, is there?” Watson said eventually. “Doesn’t really matter if the Appropriations Committee slashes the Afghanistan budget and we’re out of a job, does it?”
Johnson sighed inwardly. “All I’m saying is, going to some mountain village in the K-G Pass, over the border when we’re not meant to, and right in the likely line of fire of t
