by Vince Flynn
The man’s memory was well known. He forgot nothing, which was a great advantage until he ended up in the hands of the enemy. It was very possible that Rickman knew the code names and directorates where many of these spies worked. He also knew what information had been passed along. A skilled interrogation team could take that information and over a month or so reconstruct the damage that had been done and come up with a small list of potential traitors.
Beyond the intelligence heads, Stofer had called to report that their case officers were getting deluged with extraction requests from their assets, men and women from all over Europe, the Middle East, and Southeast Asia, who had seen the coverage of the CIA clandestine officer breaking under the harsh interrogation. They were part of the game in the most real way. The Pakistani foreign minister’s residence was now surrounded by the Pakistani Army and it was reported that he was under house arrest. It was easy enough for these assets to imagine themselves in a similar situation, but for nearly all of them it would be much worse. They would be dragged from their houses, or more likely apartments, and thrown into a dark cell where they would be brutalized by men with gorilla-like forearms who reeked of cigarettes. It might sound a bit melodramatic, but for these lonely souls, who were on their own, the fear was well founded.
“Director Kennedy,” Ashan said, “on behalf of the ISI, I would like to say how sorry we are about Mr. Rickman, and if there is anything we can do to help, please ask.”
“Thank you, Nadeem. I’ve told you before, please call me Irene.”
“Of course. My apologies. I would like to assure you that we are using all of our contacts to find out who was responsible for this.”
“And how is that going?” Schneeman asked, his skepticism obvious.
Ashan had been hoping to have some piece of information to show that they were trying to cooperate. He was secretly hoping that they could lay this at the feet of the Taliban, but so far there was nothing. He did not blame the Americans. There was no denying the ISI’s involvement in the Mumbai massacre. The Americans had the recordings of the terrorists calling their ISI handler in Karachi, in the midst of the attack. Ashan reflected on that extremely uncomfortable meeting. His colleagues had spent the better part of an hour denying any involvement and then Director Kennedy put the ISI agent’s photo up on a big screen while she played the audio of the phone call.
The meeting was held at the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. Durrani was there as well, and had the gall to act enraged over the accusation. Kennedy let him bluster and cry foul play and when he was done with his performance she put more images up on the screen that showed the bank transfers to fund the operation as well as preliminary plans for the operation, which included a list of primary and secondary targets. The last photo was the most dramatic. It showed the ISI agent lying in a pool of his own blood, with a single bullet hole in his head.
Kennedy calmly turned to Durrani and said, “General, I’d appreciate it if rather than lie in the face of overwhelming evidence you simply kept your mouth shut, because the more you protest, the more I’m inclined to think you were directly involved in this.”
Their relationship with the CIA had been one of fits and starts. Ashan would get things moving on mutual cooperation and then Durrani and others would undermine the hard work of the Foreign Relations Wing. Over the years they had sat through innumerable meetings with their counterparts at Langley and had gotten to know them fairly well. Each side understood the other’s rosters of personnel-the power structure of the other, who ran which division or department and who outranked whom. There were others who did not attend these meetings but were known to the ISI by reputation or through surveillance. Mitch Rapp was one of those individuals.
Rapp attended the meeting after the Mumbai massacre, and although there were no formal introductions they all knew who he was. The fact that he sat immediately to Kennedy’s right was, in Ashan’s mind, a clear message. He spoke only once during the meeting. It was after Kennedy’s admonishment of Durrani and the general’s desperate gambit to deflect. Rather than heed Kennedy’s advice, Durrani continued to protest his department’s innocence and went so far as to say he was offended that Kennedy would dare make such accusations.
That was when they heard Rapp speak for the first and last time. “General, I don’t attend these meetings because I can’t deal with the bullshit. I’m not equipped to sit and listen to someone lie to my face. Especially someone who’s supposed to be an ally. We’re all professionals, and we all know what’s at stake. To a certain degree we will keep things from each other, but as allies there are some lines that we should never cross. That man up on the screen,” Rapp pointed at the photo of the dead Pakistani agent, Mawaan Rana. “We know he worked for your department and we know he helped fund and train the Islamic nut jobs that killed 164 people.” At that point Durrani tried to speak, but Rapp stopped him. “General, I’m not asking for you to confirm or deny what I just said. I don’t need you to, because I know it to be a fact. Not only do we have phone records and financial transactions, but your man Rana, confessed to me that he worked for the External Wing and that he was following official orders.”
Durrani scoffed at the accusation. “When did you speak to him?”
Rapp stared down the general and said, “Right before I put that bullet in his head.”
Rapp’s words were chilling. He didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting but he kept his predatory gaze locked on Durrani as he was going over in his mind a list of possible ways to kill the man. Ashan had never seen his friend so upset. Upon returning to Pakistan they pieced enough information together to confirm that Rapp’s claim was not false bravado. The message from the Americans was clear; if you continue to support terrorists in the mass killing of innocent civilians you, too might end up with a bullet in your head.
Ashan half expected Rapp to be here this morning and was secretly relieved that the assassin was elsewhere. “Irene, I can assure you that we are using all of our resources to find out who was behind this brazen attack.”
“I appreciate that, Nadeem. You know, of course, that the Taliban is at the top of our list.” She didn’t bother to share Rapp’s insight that the abduction was too precise to have been pulled off by the Taliban.
“As you know, I have had no dealings with them, but I have been promised that the right people are looking into the matter.”
The headache was starting a slow retreat, which came as a great relief. Kennedy considered Ashan’s remarks and then said, “Nadeem, you have been a fair partner, but there are others in the ISI who, despite our alliance, continue to work against us. This has never been acceptable, but with the abduction of Joe Rickman we have now moved into a dangerous new arena. If at any point I discover that the ISI had any hand in this, or that you are protecting the Taliban, I will be forced to react in a very serious way.”
Ashan digested her words and wondered if this was just another threat to cut off the billions of dollars in aid the Americans provided every year. “What type of reprisals are we talking about?” “An eye for an eye, Nadeem. Joe Rickman was an extremely valuable asset. Someone has launched a well-coordinated attack aimed at crippling my Clandestine Service. When I find out who was behind it, I will make them pay dearly. It might not happen immediately, but eventually, people will disappear. They will pay for this little gambit with their lives, and I will make it my goal in life to penetrate that organization and steal everything that is valuable to them, and then when I’m done, I will leave behind so much disinformation that it will sow seeds of dissent for decades to come. This organization will cease to be effective. It will be an organization afraid of its own shadows, and don’t doubt me for a second, Nadeem. I have the budget, the fortitude, and the talent to make this happen. So you can tell your cohorts like General Durrani that this is their last chance. I want Joe Rickman back, and I want him back in the next twenty-four hours or this is going to get extremely uncomfortable for everyone.”
Chapter 39
Jalalabad, Afghanistan
They weren’t going to take any undue chances this time with any green on blue attacks. That was the term that the military used to describe Afghan military or police who murdered coalition personnel. As the drawdown and eventual pullout neared, the problem was getting worse, and they all agreed that the best way to avoid it was to move on the house with overwhelming force. The Predator drone that had been tracking the movements of Commander Zahir was used to provide real-time imagery of the location and more important, they were able to go back and see how Zahir and his people deployed to the house nearly two hours ago. As far as the Joint Special Operation Command planners could tell, there were no surprises waiting for them. The intel supplied by the drone made it possible for the planners to expedite the mission. They coordinated with the Quick Reaction Force from the base in Jalalabad. A platoon from the Seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment, First Battalion, mounted up in eight MRAPs and rolled out the main gate as the first two assets from Bagram lifted into the air. Two of the big mine-resistant vehicles were outfitted with Mk 19 automatic grenade launchers, two more vehicles had. 50 caliber guns on the turret, and the remaining four all had remote-controlled 7.62mm miniguns.
It helped that the folks at JSOC had been running operations on a daily basis for more than a decade, many of them rapid deployments. There was a certain rhythm. The shooters and aircrews slept during the midmorning and into the afternoon while the ground crews made sure the birds were prepped for the evening’s missions. And there was always another mission in the works. The planners in the Joint Fusion Center tasked and retasked ops, shuffling the deck based on the input of the DOD and agencies like the CIA. Rickman was the top priority in-country, so other ops got kicked and the shooters and aircrews were roused early from their slumbers.
The two Apache attack helicopters arrived on station over the target house, providing more live tactical imaging. Five thousand feet above the Apaches, the command and control bird moved into position, now receiving live imaging from both the Apaches. In the back of the specially equipped Black Hawk, three men from JSOC monitored a bank of consoles. After the blocking force rolled into position at each end of the long street, the green light was given to the assault force.
Two Black Hawks came in fast, nose on tail, and flared up fifty feet above the street. They had considered landing, but the air boss decided that it was a little too tight, so the big black ropes were kicked out, two on each side of each chopper. The men began to slither down the ropes, ten from each chopper, moving off with haste to their prearranged positions. It took less than thirty seconds and then the aircrews pulled the pins and dropped the thick ropes to the ground. If all went well, they would be collected later. As the first two Black Hawks climbed into the late-morning air, a third Black Hawk began circling counterclockwise overhead at fifteen hundred feet off the ground. Two Delta Force snipers were strapped in, hanging out the portside door, providing overwatch for the operation. Each man carried a M110 7.62x51mm sniper rifle with a twenty-round magazine. In truth, the Apaches were mainly a show of force. In a neighborhood like this, the Apache’s M230 chain gun, 70mm rockets, and Hellfire missiles would likely bring about an unacceptable level of collateral damage. If anything popped up, the snipers flying overwatch would be called on first to deal with the threat.
Two Little Birds were the last part of the air element. They landed without hazard on the street in front of the house. A German shepherd and his handler jumped out of the first bird along with two bomb techs lugging their gear. Out of the second Little Bird came Coleman, Hayek and Rapp. Rapp and Coleman were suited up in full combat gear, having learned a very hard lesson only a few days earlier. While Coleman wore a boonie hat, Rapp’s head was covered with an integrated ballistic helmet at the insistence of Dr. Nathan.
They hadn’t bothered to inform Kennedy as she was tied up in a high-level meeting. Rapp didn’t want to raise anyone’s hopes until they were sure Zahir wasn’t jerking their chains. A quick comparison of the photos Zahir had sent compared to the video posted on the Internet looked legitimate. The trick had been getting Major Nathan to agree to Rapp’s release. The major ran Rapp through a series of tests, most of them involving balance. To the doctor’s surprise, his patient fared very well on the tests. Nathan still thought it was too early for Rapp to be up and moving around, let alone flying off on a mission that might involve more concussive blasts. The doctor never really agreed to release Rapp, but he was forced to reluctantly admit that he had no authority to keep Rapp against his will. He did add, however, that if Rapp left and came back wounded he would do his best to make sure he ignored his medical needs.
The metal gate was open and Zahir was waiting for them in the driveway. Rapp and Coleman paid him no attention and instead approached the commander for the assault team. “Chief,” Coleman said, “what’s the status?” “Perimeter is secure and the handler just sent in his dog.” The senior chief looked at the local cops. “They look pretty nervous.”
“Yeah, well, if twenty-one of our boys had just been greased two days ago we’d be pretty nervous, too.”
“Good point.”
“The dog have a camera?”
“Yep… handler’s looking at that, as well as the brains back at JSOC. When the big brains give us the go-ahead the bomb guys are going to send in their robot.”
Rapp asked, “How long is that going to take?”
“Twenty to thirty minutes.”
Rapp frowned. “I don’t want to wait that long.” He looked over at Zahir. “I’ve got a better idea.”
After the dog came back out they asked the handler if he had seen anything unusual. Other than the two dead bodies in the basement, everything looked pretty normal. While the bomb techs unpacked their equipment, Rapp told Hayek to stay put and approached Zahir with Coleman. “Commander, you and your men didn’t happen to find any booby traps while you were in there?”
Zahir was very unhappy that the Americans were playing this game with him. He shook his head and refused to speak.
“Good,” Rapp said, “so you’re willing to go back in with us and show us what you’ve found.”
Zahir nodded, waved for them to follow, and then marched past his men in and into the house.
“You sure about this?” Coleman asked.
Rapp figured he could spend the rest of his life worrying that there was a bomb around every corner or he could get back on this horse. “You read the report on Zahir. Suicide isn’t his deal. Too narcissistic. If he’s willing to walk in there, we’re safe.”
“I hope you’re right.” Coleman look over his shoulder, “Chief, we’re going in. When JSOC starts freaking out, tell them Mr. Cox made the call.” Having served in the military, Coleman didn’t want the guy getting reamed for something that wasn’t his fault. As he started walking, he called back, “You can still send in the robot if you want.” Zahir led them through the first floor.
“Anything worth seeing up here?” Rapp asked as they reached the stairwell.
“I’m sure you’re going to want to take this house apart piece by piece, but I didn’t see much.” Pointing down the staircase, Zahir said, “The important stuff is down there.”
Rapp had Zahir go first and followed him down the steps with his M-4 rifle pointed at Zahir’s back. Halfway down the stairs the stench hit them. Zahir pulled out a handkerchief and covered his mouth. At the bottom of the stairs was a table with a computer monitor, keyboard, and mouse. Zahir led them through the open door and the stench became almost unbearable. Rapp and Coleman were both covering their noses with gloved hands as they looked around the rectangular room.
The first thing Rapp noticed were the two bodies on the floor. They looked like the men in video. The sheets were covering the walls, and attached to one of the floor joists was a metal hook with a length of knotted rope.
“This one here,” Zahir pointed at the larger of the two men, “is Shahrukh Ahmad Wazir. He’s Taliban.”
“Yes.”
“And the other one?”
“I have no idea, but we will find out. Very likely he is Taliban as well.”
“God, it stinks down here,” Rapp said. “What is that smell? These guys don’t look like they’ve been dead long enough to smell like this.”
Zahir pointed at a puddle between the two bodies and a little closer to where they were standing. It was a rusty brown mixture. “That is blood and I think feces and I’m sure urine as well.” Zahir had seen many men shit themselves when interrogated, but he didn’t think now was a good time to offer this knowledge.
“What was the big ones’ name, again?” Coleman asked. He had his phone out and was about to send the name back to the Intel Fusion Center. Zahir spelled it for him and Coleman sent the message. If Zahir knew who he was, it was likely the name would pop up in one of their databases.
Rapp stepped around the putrid liquid to get a better look at the two men. They both had bruised knuckles and their hands were swollen. Just beyond the bodies were two rubber hoses, more evidence that this was the place where Rickman had been interrogated. He counted no fewer than four bullet holes in each man. The image of the dead bodyguards lined up in the safe house came back to him. This murder scene couldn’t have been more different. “Look at this,” Rapp said to Coleman. “Remember Rick’s four guys, each one with a single bullet hole.”
“Yeah,” Coleman said, “this was done by someone who was pissed off.” He turned around and looked at the other two walls. As far as he could tell they didn’t have any pockmarks from bullets. This wasn’t a gunfight, it was an execution.
Rapp noticed the video camera and tripod knocked over on the floor. They needed Hayek down here. Rapp reached up and grabbed the lip mike from the side of his helmet. He swung it down and hit the two-way button on his Motorola radio. “Sid, this is Harry, over.”