Alex Berenson - The Midnight House

Table of Contents

ALSO BY ALEX BERENSON

The Silent Man

The Ghost War

The Faithful Spy

The Number (nonfiction)

G. P. PUTNAMS SONS
New York

G . P. PUTNAMS SONS
Publishers Since 1838
Published by the Penguin Group
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Copyright 2010 by Alex Berenson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Published simultaneously in Canada

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Berenson, Alex.
The midnight house / Alex Berenson.
p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-18526-1

1. Intelligence officersFiction. 2. TerroristsFiction. 3. United States.
Central Intelligence AgencyFiction. I. Title.
PS3602.E75146M
813.6dc22

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

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FOR THE MEN AND WOMEN OF CITY HARVEST,
WHO BRING FOOD TO THE HUNGRY

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to my family for their thoughtful criticism; to Neil, Ivan, Leslie, Tom, and everyone else at Putnam and Random House UK for all their hard work making these books real; to Heather and Matthew for their advice; to Larry and the Times for keeping me around, and to Deirdre for catching the mistakes even the copy editors miss. Most important, thanks to Jackie, my lovely wife, partner, and friend.

And, finally, thanks to every reader who came this far. John Wells wouldnt exist without you. As always, e-mail me with comments, suggestions, or criticism at alexberensonauthor@gmail.com. With the volume of e-mail Im now getting, I cant promise to respond to every note, but I pledge to read them all.

Then Moses lifted up his hand and struck the rock twice with his rod; and water came forth abundantly, and the congregation and their beasts drank.

Numbers 20:11

PROLOGUE

ISLAMABAD, PAKISTAN. JUNE 2008

T o the worst place in the world.

The worst place in the world.

George Fezcko and Dwayne Maggs raised their glasses and drank. The going-away party was over. One by one, the ops had said their good-byes and disappeared. Only Fezcko and Maggs were left. Fezcko, the guest of honor, leaving Pakistan after four years as deputy chief of station. And Maggs, his best friend at the agency.

The clock on the wall said 1:30, and theyd been drinking since dinner, but Fezcko felt solid. Maggs had gotten hold of a half-dozen Omaha steaks and two racks of ribs. The meat had soaked up most of the scotch in Fezckos belly.

Though not all. Fezcko put his head against the cool wood of the conference table and hummed tunelessly: We few, we ragged few, we motley crew... He trailed off. He couldnt remember the rest of the song, or even if there was a rest of the song.

Mtley Cre, Maggs said. Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap.

Thats AC/DC.

Marine recon, too.

Why does it always go back to the marines? By now everyone in this country knows youre a jarhead. All one hundred fifty million. Fezcko tapped Maggs on the forehead. Tattoo it right there. The few, the proud, the stupid.

You wish you coulda been a marine, Maggs said. Berkeley boy. You wouldnt have made it through the first week of basic. Eaten up and spat out.

Maggs was the stations director of security. He was short and wide and strong, arms as big as an average mans legs. Fezcko had thinning curly hair and wild black eyes. In college hed played bass for a band that had almost broken out. They shouldnt have gotten along. But they did.

A marine? I wish I coulda been Tom Brady.

The Islamic Republic of Pakistan. Land of the free, home of the suicide bomber. Bet you miss it already, Maggs said.

Whats not to miss? The earthquakes. The weather. The fifteen pounds I put on cause its too hot to run outside. Fezcko poked at the belly hed gained.

Cant blame Paki for that. That gym in the basement is pretty good. As youd know if you ever visited.

I like to run outside.

How about the women? Those beautiful Paki women.

Fezcko sipped his scotch. Black-and-blue with the ugly stick, he said. I never should have let Marci divorce me. Maybe if our security officers didnt lock us in the embassy all the time, maybe then wed find out what those burqas are hiding. Cant even go down the block to the Marriott for a going-away party. Its a Marriott, for Gods sake.

Indeed, because of the risk of terrorist attacks, the agency barred employees in Pakistan from gathering at hotels and restaurants. Maggs had refused to make an exception, even tonight.

Dont mind getting you killed, but theres got to be a reason, Maggs said. You know better than me, they aim for that Marriott once a month. I know who youre gonna miss. The army and the ISIthe Inter-Services Intelligence agency, the Pakistani secret police. Between them the two services more or less ran Pakistan.

The army and the ISI. The ISI and the army. Ill tell you something about the ISI and the army.

Yeah. Give me the speech. With feeling. Like I havent heard it a hundred times before.

The Egyptians, the Saudis, when they lie to you, they do it with a smile. Pour you tea, tell a story that takes an hour, and when theyre done youre about ready to fall for whatever theyre spinning. These guys, they just yell, like if I give you this nonsense at high volume it wont sound so ridiculous. They arent all bad, maybe, but most of em...

Remember when they won that cricket match and almost burned down Karachi?

Fezcko looked into his glass. You really think Pakis the worst place in the world?

Somalias bad.

Worse than this?

Hotter. And blacker.

You think you can say that just cause youre black? Insult your African cousins?

Maggs smirked. I can say it because Im a marine.

Lets drink to Somalia, then, Fezcko said. The even-worse worst place in the world.

Somalia. See you there.

Three years. Itll be like that movie with the French chick

I always knew you were gay, George

Fezcko struggled for the memory lurking in his alcohol-fogged brain. Ethan Hawke. Julie Something

Gayer by the second.

Before Sunrise, Fezcko said triumphantly.

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