Chapter Sixteen
Monday, February 29, 1988
Islamabad
“Of course there’s a goddamn mole,” Johnson said. “You don’t seriously think that the Russians timed an attack on an obscure, tiny village with two gunships just at that precise moment by coincidence, do you?”
He stared across the table at Jameson, who shifted in his chair.
“Who, then?” the deputy station chief asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Johnson said, glancing at Jayne, who was sitting next to him. “I don’t even know which side it’s coming from. It could be someone in Javed’s unit who the Russians have recruited—like they have done in so many muj groups. Or . . . ” He let his voice tail off.
“Or it could be someone in the Agency, or MI6 for that matter,” Jayne said, finishing his sentence for him. Johnson nodded. It was best to get the
