Enemy at the Gates

by Vince Flynn

  The president didn’t respond, instead shrugging in a way that was an unequivocal confession. And why not? He was the most powerful man in the world and Nash worked for him—not Irene Kennedy or Mitch Rapp. And certainly not Nicholas Ward. Cook was well within his rights to give the Saudis whatever intelligence he saw fit and could deny any knowledge of what they would do with it.

  It likely wouldn’t be necessary, though. In the America of today, values and principles had been replaced by partisanship. The Cooks owned the White House, both chambers of Congress, and more than half the voting public. They could molest children in the Rose Garden if they wanted to. Their followers would not only accept it, they’d figure out a way to make it the other party’s fault. The Cooks were all but untouchable and it was now crystal clear that it wasn’t enough. They’d continue to consolidate their power by any means possible. And, as near as Nash could tell, there was nothing to stop them.

  “David Chism should have died in the jungle,” the president said finally. “But Rapp interfered. Not ideal, but the Saudis recalibrated. After that, everything seemed to be going to plan. Until now. I’m told that Bashir Isa is one of the buffers between the Saudi government and Gideon Auma. The man who worked directly with Auma—Muhammad Singh—is already dead. Saudi intelligence was in the process of dealing with Isa to clean up their loose ends when Rapp intervened. He killed two Saudi agents at Isa’s house and then helped him escape. The GID is tracking them, but so far they’ve come up empty.”

  Nash barely heard. He hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours a night since Rapp, Coleman, and his men disappeared. Not only had they been friends and comrades in arms, but many had been his neighbors. Their houses now stood like mausoleums in the remote subdivision. Accusing him every time he passed.

  Maggie took his insomnia and creeping depression for grief. But that’s because she didn’t know what he’d allowed himself to be dragged into. And she never would despite the fact that, in many ways, he’d done it for her. For their children. With or without Nicholas Ward, the world was changing. The wealthy and powerful were rising and leaving everyone else behind. When the gate finally slammed shut, it needed to be behind them, not in their faces.

  “Mike?” Catherine said. “Where do we stand.”

  He looked up at her, not bothering to hide his horror at the situation. It was a little late for that now.

  “How did Mitch find out about Bashir Isa?” he asked.

  “We don’t know,” Cook said. “The Saudis’ facial recognition system only ID’d Rapp a few hours ago. They’re working on it.”

  Again, Nash paused to think. Almost a minute passed in silence before he spoke again. “Best-case scenario, Mitch somehow identified the Saudi’s direct contact with Auma—Muhammad Singh, right? And that led to Isa, who he went after to see if he had information that might help him get Ward back. I assume he came up short, though. Isa would have no need to know. And if that’s the case, he’s at a dead end unless he wants to go after the head of Saudi intelligence or the prince. Possible, but a big ask even for Mitch Rapp.”

  “If that’s the best-case scenario, what’s the worst case?” Catherine Cook asked.

  Nash rubbed his hands together. “Worst case? That Irene and Mitch know the information on Ward came from the CIA and everything we’re seeing—the video, the ransom negotiations—is theater. Scott has Ward and Chism on ice somewhere and Mitch is on a mole hunt.”

  A mole hunt, he reminded himself, that would eventually lead directly to his door.

  “How likely do you think that is?” Catherine asked.

  “I don’t know. But it could explain why we still haven’t gotten any specific ransom demands from Auma yet.”

  “Do you think you could have made a mistake accessing Ward’s files?” Cook said. “That you could have revealed yourself?”

  Nash glared at the man. “Maybe you should ask your people at the NSA. I just answered their questions about our system and did what they told me.”

  “If that came off as an accusation, it wasn’t intentional,” Cook said. “Look, I think it’s time for everyone to put their cards on the table. As far as we’re concerned, the rarest commodity in this world is smart, loyal people. And you’ve proved to be both. We don’t leave our allies twisting in the wind. Ever. So, if you want, I’ll have my people write up a press release saying that Irene Kennedy is out. That’d make you acting director and then we’ll do what’s necessary to make the position permanent.”

  Nash stood and began pacing. “It may not be enough.”

  “Why not? Kennedy trusts you as much as anyone to protect her from the baggage she’s carrying from her time running the Agency. For my part, I’ll send her off to a seven-figure think tank job with glowing speeches and a Medal of Freedom. If your worst-case scenario is the one that’s playing out, she’ll have to tell you everything about Ward and her mole hunt on the way out. Then all you have to do is find a satisfactory scapegoat.”

  Nash shook his head. “It won’t be that easy. If Nicholas Ward’s alive, she won’t take a seven-figure think tank job. She’ll take an eight-figure job as his head of security. And the first thing she’s going to want to know is who’s after him. Some anonymous fall guy from the tech department isn’t going to fool her. And it sure as hell isn’t going to fool Mitch.”

  “Maybe,” Catherine said. “But as destructive as a war with them could be, we have the resources to fight it. In fact, you could go so far as to say we have all the resources to fight it.”

  Nash continued wandering at random through the room, trying to wrap his mind around the sea change in his reality. He’d spent the last week being eaten alive by the deaths of his friends and the realization that he’d had a hand in it. Second chances were a rare thing in his business and they never came without a cost. In this case, likely a heavy one.

  “Right now, what we need is information. We need to know what Irene knows.”

  “How can we accomplish that?” the president said.

  “I have some ideas.”

  “And if your worst-case scenario turns out to be the reality?”

  He began to feel the same sense of disassociation that he experienced in combat. The creeping numbness that kept him from thinking about death or family or future. That had allowed him to go to a country where he’d never been and kill people he’d never met at the behest of a politician he didn’t vote for.

  “Then we deal with it.”

  43

  SOUTHWESTERN UGANDA

  “MY jailer returns. Successful trip?”

  Ward was in his usual spot, rocked back in a chair with his feet on the unlit outdoor fireplace. Temperatures had risen into the eighties, forcing him to set up in a sliver of shade cast by the chimney. He was reading a dog-eared paperback from the lodge’s used book exchange since any devices with an ability to connect outside were being carefully controlled. He tossed it on the hearth as Rapp settled into a chair.

  “You have enemies in high places, Nick.”

  “I could have told you that and saved you the trip. Did you get the information you needed to plug the CIA’s leak? If so, I think I’d like to end our relationship. Obviously, David and I owe you our lives and I plan to make a wire transfer to your friend Claudia that will demonstrate that gratitude. Then we can shake hands and go our separate ways.”

  “What about Scott?” Rapp said, evading the question.

  “I’ve been impressed by him and his men. They’re all very professional and once they’re away from your influence, probably pretty easy to work with. I’m hoping to put together some kind of retainer deal with them.”

  Rapp smiled. “I know you don’t like me much, Nick, but the feeling’s not mutual. You think I’m working just for my own account here, but that’s not true. I’ve done everything I can to keep you out of harm’s way.”

  “You’ve done everything you can to keep me out of harm’s way as long as it doesn’t interfere with your mole hunt,” Ward corre
cted. “And the truth is that I don’t dislike you, Mitch. I just don’t trust you.”

  Rapp put his feet on the hearth and gazed out over the landscape. “Trust is a hard word to define. At this level, it gets mixed up with motivation. I trust that you want to save the world and that you don’t want to get nailed to one of Gideon Auma’s crosses. You can trust that I want that mole’s head on my front gate and to protect my country. And we can both trust that the other is going to chase those interests hard. In the world we live in, those are the building blocks of a productive relationship.”

  “In the world you live in.”

  “Quit busting my balls, Nick. You and David are alive. Your research team will have a safe working environment going forward and you’ve eliminated one of the most brutal terrorists on the planet. When the president of Uganda finds out what you’ve done, you won’t be able to get arrested in this country. Take the win.”

  “Mitch Rapp. Employee of the Month,” Ward said.

  “Tell me about someone who’s done more for you in less time. Hell, maybe you should cut me in for ten percent of your stock price increases when you miraculously come back from the dead.”

  “That’d make you richer than your brother.”

  Rapp grinned, savoring the thought for a moment. “You can’t imagine how bad that would chap his ass.”

  “So, we can make it public that David and I are safe?”

  “Give me a few more days.”

  Ward sighed quietly. “It’s always a few more days, isn’t it, Mitch? You can’t keep me here forever. You have armed men, but eventually you’re going to have to use them. If you expect me to just sit here for the next year watching everything I’ve built collapse, you might want to shoot me now.”

  He fell silent and stared Rapp directly in the eye, proving to be one of the few people on the planet who was able to.

  “Fuck it,” Rapp sighed, scooting his chair closer to Ward and leaning into the man. “The Saudi government was behind the first attack on Chism. When it didn’t work, they decided to take it to the next level. They got information on you from a CIA mole with a very high level of access and used it to plan the attack on your compound. Gideon Auma’s orders were that Chism was to be killed.”

  “And me?”

  “They left it up to him. But if you did survive, they made it clear that there shouldn’t be enough of you left to be of much good to anyone.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you really need to ask?”

  “I’m a threat to the oil industry, which is the source of their wealth, and the medical industry, which they see as their escape hatch. But the truth is that it’s not just them, Mitch. I’m looking to disrupt industries that a lot of powerful people rely on to stay powerful. This may be what my future looks like, unfortunately.”

  “If that’s the case, then it seems like you’d want to know who this mole is just as much as I do.”

  Ward nodded, taking in what he’d heard with an expression that was almost completely opaque.

  “I appreciate the honesty, Mitch. But I’m going to ask you for a little more. Do you have anything solid to pursue? Because if not, it’s going to be time for David and me to take our chances. I understand that it’s a dangerous world, but we’ll have to figure out how to mitigate those dangers as best we can and move forward. It’s true that I’ll eventually make my money back, but David’s research is in real jeopardy. If he can’t get to his test subjects soon, his timeline could be set back years.”

  “I don’t have as much as I hoped I would at this point,” Rapp admitted. “Basically, the written plan Auma was given for the attack, his phone, and two more phones from the man the Saudis used as a liaison. Another from that liaison’s boss. I need to figure out a way to get them to Irene and see if she can do anything with them.”

  Ward’s dead expression suddenly came to life. “Phones?”

  “Don’t get too excited. One’s a personal phone so I doubt there’s going to be anything interesting on it. Plus, it’s full of concrete.”

  Ward opened his mouth to speak, but Rapp held up a hand, silencing him. “Don’t ask.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Three burner phones. One has a little cement on it, but the design kept it protected enough that it probably still works.”

  “Tell me how people in your business use burners.”

  Rapp shrugged. “Not much to tell. They’re phones without GPS capability bought with cash so they don’t have a name attached to them. We try to keep things compartmentalized, so we generally have a separate one for every operation. And we only call other burners—so anonymous phones calling anonymous phones from ambiguous locations. That means there’s really no practical way to trace them to the owner.”

  “Marcus Dumond told you that?”

  “You know Marcus?”

  “I know of him.”

  “Are you saying he’s wrong?”

  “Not entirely.”

  “What do you mean by entirely?”

  “Governments have a lot of restrictions—both legal and with penetration into foreign countries or private companies that aren’t inclined to cooperate. My situation’s more… flexible.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “That I might be able to put a name to those burners.”

  Rapp’s initial reaction was to call bullshit on the man. But the fact that he’d literally made a trillion dollars in technology suggested it might be worth hearing him out.

  “How?”

  “I’m not a rival government or intelligence agency. And I own interests in telecom and Internet companies all over the world. There’s a pretty robust system for cooperation in place. If not, your cell wouldn’t work when you cross borders.”

  “So, you think you can do better than the Agency on this?”

  “Absolutely. Plus, it solves some other problems. You’re concerned about communicating with Irene because those lines of communication could be compromised, right? Now, not only do you have to communicate with her, you have to physically deliver phones to her that she’ll then have to hand over to your technology people. Keeping all that compartmentalized will be impossible. Particularly when she has to get warrants and ask for the cooperation of the Saudi government.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “We send them to my assistant with instructions. She already knows I’m alive and she can get the phones in the hands of people your mole wouldn’t have access to.”

  44

  CIA HEADQUARTERS

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  USA

  “IRENE?” Mike Nash stuck his head into her office. “You wanted to see me?”

  She waved him inside and he dropped into one of the chairs in front of her desk.

  “You look terrible,” she said.

  He let out a slightly bitter laugh. “Thanks a lot. You do, too.”

  “I guess neither of us has slept much since Mitch and the others went missing.”

  He just looked down at the floor.

  “Well, you’ll be happy to hear I have some good news, Mike.”

  He kept his eyes locked on the carpet. Of course, he already knew what her news was. He’d told the Saudi government to send Kennedy the photos of Rapp that had been taken in Saudi Arabia. She would have received them about an hour ago.

  Kennedy slid an eight-by-ten across her blotter and he picked it up, furrowing his brow as he looked down at the now-familiar image. He had to play this extremely cool. Irene Kennedy was the queen of the lying game. One nervous foot tap, out-of-character comment, or errant bead of sweat and all their history together wouldn’t mean shit. The alarms in the back of her mind would explode.

  “What is this?”

  “That was taken five days ago at Riyadh airport.”

  Nash furrowed his brow a little deeper. He’d spent a fair amount of time considering how to react when this moment came. “That’s impossible!” was the obvious go-to. But would he really say th
at? Where Mitch Rapp was concerned, everything was possible.

  “Son of a bitch,” he decided on, letting a fair amount of anger slip into his voice. “He’s been alive all this time? He just left us twisting in the wind?”

  “So it would seem.” He could feel her eyes on him but didn’t look up.

  “What about the guys?”

  “Unknown.”

  Finally, he met her gaze. “He hasn’t been in contact with you?”

  “No.”

  Truth? A lie? He was here to find out what she knew, but that was never easy. The likelihood that Mitch hadn’t found some way to let her know he was alive seemed far-fetched. The main question remained, though. Had Rapp stumbled onto Isa’s involvement and gone after him in an attempt to figure out where Nicholas Ward was being held? Or was this another one of Kennedy’s elaborate games? If she discovered someone mucking around in her mainframe, she’d be laser focused on finding out who and how. But faking the kidnapping of one of the most important men in the world? That was a pretty bold move for a woman who had lost her power base in the White House. Unfortunately, bold moves were something she and Mitch were known for.

  “The Saudis suspect him of killing a mid-level operative named Bashir Isa and two of his associates,” she continued. “They found his body in the desert and the other two in his house.”

  “Do we have any idea where Mitch is now?”

  “My counterpart at the GID believes he got on a private jet outside of Riyadh two days ago and headed toward Africa.”

  “Not home, I assume.”

  She shook her head.

  “Can we trace the jet?”

  “No. It seems to have been conjured from thin air and then disappeared back into it.”

  He chewed his lower lip and looked down at the photograph again. Best to meet Kennedy’s eye as little as possible.

  “Thoughts?” she said.

  “You don’t need my help on this one, Irene. Appearing and disappearing jets without any Agency involvement? That has Claudia’s name written all over it. Have you talked to her?”