by Vince Flynn
Louie thought his head was going to implode. “Five million dollars.” He was doing everything in his power to stay calm. He loved this woman standing before him. If he didn’t care for her, he would have simply chucked her over the wall and taken great joy in watching her head split open as it hit the rocks. “Why?”
“Our baby.”
“What does giving Mitch Rapp five million dollars have to do with our baby?” Louie’s voice started to rise.
“I wanted to try and make things right…and buy some time.”
“Buy some time.” Louie frowned. “How does this buy some time?”
“You know he’s going to come after us.”
“Let him,” Louie said in a quiet but angry voice.
Claudia shook her head. “You don’t mean that. This is not some normal man. We killed his wife. His pregnant wife. What would you do if some man killed me right now?” Claudia watched him intently for a moment. “We both know you would stop at nothing until you had killed him with your own bare hands. If Mitch Rapp finds us, he will kill us both.”
“And you think just because you gave him five million dollars he will forget about us?”
“No,” she said, “as I told you, it will only buy us some time.”
“Time?” he asked with a frown, still not comprehending what she was after.
Claudia placed his hand on her stomach and said, “I asked for nine months. I asked for him to spare our baby. I want to give birth to our child and hold it in my arms, and then whatever he does to us I will accept.” She sensed some understanding in Louie’s face. “That five million dollars isn’t even ours,” she said with disgust in her voice. “I never wanted the job, and we didn’t finish it. If I had it my way, we would give him all of the money.”
“We need that money,” Louie said in a surprisingly calm voice. He was just now comprehending the maternal forces that had been at play. Her words had stirred his own sense of paternity—a need to protect Claudia and their unborn child. He disagreed vehemently with what she had done, and how it may have exposed them, but there was no undoing it. Her motives had been pure.
Louie kissed her on the forehead and said, “I still love you.”
Claudia melted in his arms. “Thank you, darling.”
They stood there, not speaking, for several minutes and then Claudia said, “Let’s go back to bed.”
Louie shook his head. “No.”
“Why?” she asked, suddenly afraid that he would in fact leave her.
“We need to get out of here immediately. Pack your bags.”
66
RIYADH, SAUDI ARABIA
H is first reaction was to think they were being played, fed some fake information that would lead them on a wild-goose chase and waste a lot of time and resources. He also didn’t want to associate a single noble characteristic with his wife’s killers. In the face of all of that, though, there was the five million dollars sitting in an account under his name. There was also according to Kennedy a very heartfelt confession, apology, and plea written by this woman whom Rapp had seen throwing up on the side of the road near his house. Rapp had been through a lot over the years, experienced a lot of strange things, but this one left him shaking his head. It didn’t make any sense. If he had the time he could attempt to sort it out. He could analyze what he knew, investigate what he was unsure of, and ultimately decide what was subterfuge and what was the truth. He could gauge real intentions and weigh the possibility of an ingenious deception on the part of the real killer or killers. He told Kennedy to have Dumond empty all of Abel’s bank accounts and keep an eye on the banks. Rapp didn’t care how carefully the guy was hiding, when he found out eleven million dollars of his money was gone he would want some answers. In the meantime, though, Rapp needed to focus on reuniting a father and son.
Rapp arrived in the capital city of Riyadh as the call to noontime prayer was being sounded. Traffic was light, and then there was no traffic at all as shops were shuttered and closed and the streets were cleared. Kennedy had confirmed through a source on the ground in Riyadh that the father was where Rapp expected him to be. Saeed Ahmed Abdullah was a devout follower of the ultraradical Wahhabi sect of Islam. He had built countless mosques, orphanages, and religious schools all run by Western-hating Wahhabi clerics. Many Saudis follow the tenets of their faith when in the Kingdom, but as soon as they leave the country they partake in the forbidden fruits—gambling, booze, sometimes drugs, and especially sex. Not Saeed Ahmed Abdullah, though. He was different. He was a pious Muslim at all times. Not only did he pray five times a day, as was prescribed by his faith, but he did so in a mosque with the exception of the Isha, or nighttime prayer, that was said before going to bed.
Running a billion-dollar corporation was not easy. There were lots of demands on Saeed’s time, so to help ease that pressure, and stay connected to his faith, he had mosques built directly across the street from his home and his office. A report by the Jordanian Intelligence Service said he attended the Fajr, presunrise prayer, and the Maghrib, post-sunset prayer, at the mosque near his house. The Zuhr, or noontime prayer, was said at the mosque by his office as well as the Asr, or late afternoon prayer. The Jordanians had kept an eye on Saeed for some time. In addition to building mosques, schools, and orphanages, Saeed also liked to donate large sums of money to Hezbollah, Hamas, and several other Palestinian terrorist organizations that specialized in suicide bombings. The Jordanians did not like the Saudis pouring gas on a fire that they had been trying to put out for decades, so they tried their best to find out who was doing it and then pass the information on to sympathetic ears in the royal family and the U.S. government.
The suicide bombers and terrorists were bad enough, but on a certain level Rapp at least respected them for having the balls to do it themselves. Men like Saeed, however, who sat back and gave money to these zealots like it was some hobby, they were reprehensible. They knew exactly where their money was going. They knew they were funding suicide bombers who would get on buses and kill innocent men, women, and children, and worse, they were proud that they had a hand in it. Proud and blinded by the demented belief that they were doing God’s work.
Rapp clutched the steering wheel and drove on through the well-kept business district. His tears were long gone, dried up and replaced with a white hot anger that focused his sense of mission and purpose. For most people, seeking revenge for the murder of a loved one was an enticing, but ultimately impossible notion. Apprehension overtaking another life, no matter how guilty the person might be, would weigh heavily on most people. For Rapp there would be none of that. This was another day at the office, only quite a bit more personal. Over the last fifteen or so years he’d killed a lot of people. A few he’d pitied, but most he’d despised. They were men who clung to their arcane, sexist, and bigoted perversion of Islam while the rest of the world passed them by, men who believed in the nobility of suicide bombers, who wantonly killed tiny children.
Rapp had always avoided that, always done everything in his power to make sure that innocent people did not get caught up in the violence, but today would be a test. Men like Saeed always traveled in entourages, with cousins and nephews and assistants and servants and friends. How many of these men who surrounded Saeed were directly involved in the death of his wife, Rapp wasn’t sure, but it was likely that many if not all were complicit through their knowledge of the plan. Was that enough to execute them? Rapp had struggled with the question. These men were the enemy, after all. They were all Wahhabis who constantly called for jihad and cheered the beheadings of innocent civilian contractors in Iraq. Men who kept their wives locked up at home. Men who had probably cheered the death of Rapp’s wife. The thought of them celebrating the murder of his Anna tested all restraint. Rapp decided that he would visit upon these pious men the same type of ugly, brutal mayhem they so glibly sponsored.
He slowed the van and took a right turn. The van was the only vehicle on the street. The call to prayer could be heard thrumm
ing out its hypnotic beat in the midday heat. Rapp saw one man, coming toward him. He was wearing a white headdress held in place by a simple black rope and a white kaffiyeh. If the suit and tie was the uniform of the American businessman, this was the Saudi equivalent. The man had a black beard and was wearing dark sunglasses. He appeared to be in a hurry and several times looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was following him. Normally, this behavior would have caught Rapp’s attention, but it was easy to figure out why the man was acting this way. He was afraid he would be caught by the religious police, and chastised for not praying.
Rapp slowed as he neared the other end of the long block. The mosque and the headquarters of Abdullah Telecommunications stood out for no other reason than their size and location. The office building was a minimalist block of concrete, entirely forgettable if not for its sheer size. The mosque, however, was one of the most ornate Rapp had ever seen. Four towering minarets marked each corner and a massive gold dome dominated the center of the building. Rapp suspected that the gold was real. Up ahead, at the corner of the building, he noted a security camera aimed to cover the area around the front door.
Rapp went straight at the light and then took a left turn. He drove around the block twice and settled on a spot that was not covered by the security camera. It also was shaded and afforded a view of the mosque. He turned off the engine and climbed into the back to check on Waheed. Rapp sat him up and then leaned him against the side of the van. He pulled the blindfold off his face and in Arabic asked him how he was doing. Waheed told him he was thirsty. Rapp placed a hand under his bearded chin, tilted his head back, and gave him some water.
“Better?” Rapp asked.
Waheed nodded.
“Do you think you can walk?”
“I’m not sure.”
Rapp pulled open a blade and sliced the white plastic flex cuffs around Waheed’s ankles. He told him to move his legs around a bit and asked if he’d like another candy bar. Waheed nodded eagerly. Rapp took off the wrapper and let him hold it in his bound hands.
“We are parked next to your father’s office.” Rapp noted Waheed seemed surprised. “Your dad does not know the exchange is going to take place. Do you understand?”
Waheed nodded.
“There is a man out there who will have a gun on you at all times. If you do anything other than hug your father he will shoot you. We don’t want to make a big scene. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Rapp looked at his watch. There was no man with a gun of course, but Waheed would never know that. “Are you ready to take a walk?”
“Yes.”
Rapp cut the flex cuffs on Waheed’s wrists and said, “You know I’d just as soon kill you, so don’t do anything stupid.” With his knife still in hand Rapp acted as if he was straightening Waheed’s robes. His free hand slid between the folds and checked something on the Saudi’s vest. Rapp put the knife away and opened the back door. The mosque would begin to empty in a few minutes. He helped Waheed edge his way to the back tailgate. With his sunglasses, dark skin, robes, and black beard Rapp fit right in. He let Waheed sit there for twenty seconds, his feet resting on the ground. Rapp did not give him sunglasses. He wanted Saeed to recognize his son. Grabbing him under the arm, Rapp helped him to his feet. In the shade the heat wasn’t too bad and in fact Rapp hoped it would help speed the bloodflow to Waheed’s legs.
The first step was not good. Waheed’s legs buckled and Rapp had to move quickly to get under him so he didn’t drop to the pavement. Rapp stood him up against the back of the van, closing one of the rear cargo doors.
“Small steps,” Rapp said. He moved Waheed away from the van and closed the other door.
Waheed put one hand against the side of the van and started to walk while Rapp had a firm grip on his left side. He made it past the van to a palm tree and stopped there for a few seconds.
“Remember…nothing stupid.”
Waheed’s eyes were slowly adjusting to the light. “Why are you doing this?”
“Let’s just say the king likes your father and leave it at that.”
Waheed smiled, proud that his release had been secured by none other than the king of Saudi Arabia. This news seemed to give Waheed a much-needed boost in energy. They made it to the corner of the building. A security camera was mounted above their heads. Rapp wasn’t worried. Waheed stood up on his own for the first time. He looked across the street at the beautiful mosque has father had built and was overcome with emotion.
He started to weep and Rapp said, “Come on. There’ll be time for that later. Don’t fuck this thing up.”
Rapp led him around the corner. There was a fountain in front of the building ringed by stone benches. If for some reason Waheed was unable to stand, Rapp would leave him there and let the father come to him. They stood by the fountain for a minute. Rapp pulled out a bottle of water and gave the Saudi another drink.
“How do you feel?”
“Better.” He blinked repeatedly under the bright Saudi sky.
The front door to the mosque opened and two men appeared. “It won’t be long now,” Rapp said. “You are to stay on this side of the street. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“If you try to cross the street you will be shot. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Rapp thought he detected a faraway, drugged-out look in Waheed’s eyes. “What will happen if you cross the street?”
“I will be shot.”
“Good.” Several more men came out of the mosque. Rapp felt his pulse begin to quicken. He was carrying his silenced Glock 9mm, two extra clips, forty-nine rounds total, and the knife. Rapp felt Waheed begin to sway and he firmly grabbed hold of his bicep. “Do you need to sit?”
“No. I’m fine.” Waheed widened his stance.
There was now a constant stream of men coming out of the mosque. Rapp had only seen pictures of the father before, but even if he’d met him in person he wasn’t sure it would have done any good. All the headdresses, white robes, beards, and sunglasses made it difficult to get a good look at anyone. That was also why the security camera gave Rapp little concern. As Rapp had predicted, though, the father traveled with an entourage. Both doors were opened for him and he left the mosque with a man on each side and a procession of people following him. Rapp felt Waheed stiffen. He turned to see if there was recognition in his eyes. There was.
“Stay calm,” Rapp told him. “When he’s halfway across the street I will leave your side. That will be the signal for your people to release the hostage. If you take a step in any direction other than to greet your father you will be shot.”
“What hostage?” Waheed asked, suddenly confused over this new twist.
There was no hostage, but Rapp wanted to keep Waheed’s mind occupied. Speaking out of the side of his mouth Rapp said, “You don’t think I’d give you back without getting something in return, do you?”
The father spoke briefly with several people and then started across the street with a trail of at least a dozen men. Rapp stood his ground. If the father continued on a straight line, he would pass five feet to Rapp’s right. Rapp checked Waheed one last time. “Remember, no sudden moves. Once he’s all the way across the street and on the sidewalk you may go to him. Not a moment sooner.” The father was halfway across the street. Rapp stepped away from Waheed and said, “Good luck.” Under his breath he whispered, “I hope you and your father enjoy hell.”
Rapp had noted the slow pace of the father. He moved away from Waheed at a brisk pace, but not anything that would attract attention. Exactly four paces away, Rapp retrieved a remote detonator from his pocket. He glanced down at the remote and pressed the first button on the left. The bars lit up on the small screen, telling him the signal was good. The trickiest part about setting off a remotely detonated bomb was usually arming it. That was why he had waited until the last possible moment.
The plan was straightforward. Waheed and his father woul
d be killed in the favored manner of the terrorists they sponsored. Everything Rapp needed had been waiting for him when he landed in Qatar. A khaki-colored tactical vest, a ¼-inch sheet of C-4 plastic explosives, ball bearings, primer cord, a blasting cap, and remote detonator. The sheets of C-4 were made with a peel-and-stick side. The tactical vest had Velcro straps on the side and a solid front. There was a large pocket across the chest to hold a chicken plate, or ceramic breast shield designed to protect the heart during combat. Rapp had cut out three squares of C-4; two for the large lower pockets of the tactical vest and one to fit into the pocket where the chicken plate was supposed to go. He peeled off the wax paper backing on the C-4, pressed ball bearings into the dough like explosive sheets, put the sheets into the pockets, and then connected them with primer cord through the lining. Waheed was a walking claymore mine.
Rapp glanced over his shoulder after the tenth pace. The father was just stepping onto the curb. Rapp continued moving away from them. He looked straight ahead for a few seconds and then over his shoulder again. Waheed had his arms extended and his father stood frozen in shock at the sight of a son he thought dead. Waheed rushed forward and the two men embraced. Rapp was almost to the corner of the building; he watched father and son for a split second, the memory of his wife flashed across his mind, and then he turned away. The security camera was just ahead and above him.
Rapp kept his chin down. He glanced at the remote detonator in his right hand and then raised his left hand and extended his middle finger at the camera. Rapp pressed the button, and a thunderous explosion ripped through the warm, dry afternoon air. He never broke stride, never bothered to look back. He was already trying to decide how he would find Erich Abel, and how he would kill him.
67
MINISTRY OF ISLAMIC AFFAIRS, SAUDI ARABIA
N awaf Tayyib was not the type of man to obsess about his career. He believed in duty, loyalty, and success, all the things he had learned playing on the elite soccer teams of Saudi Arabia as a youth and then as a young man. These qualities along with his size and speed had carried him out of poverty and into the inner sanctum of one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, the very man he was going to see at this moment. Prince Muhammad bin Rashid was going to be very disappointed.