Extreme Measures

by Vince Flynn

  “No, my friend, it will come down to more than just this, but we cannot control everything. At some point we must make our leap of faith.” Hakim could see his friend’s agitation. The eyes darting from left to right, focusing on nothing. His breathing becoming quick and shallow. “Would you rather try to fly into the country with all your weapons?”

  Karim did not answer.

  “You wanted me to find a way to get us into America with all the weapons and your detonators. There is no easy way, my friend, and you knew that going in. At some point we must put our faith in Allah and move forward.” Hakim reached out and grabbed him by both shoulders. “Look me in the eye. Take a deep breath. Trust me to get you through this part of your journey. We are so close. America lies just beyond the horizon. When the sun comes up, I will have you there.”

  “But what about…?”

  Hakim cut him off, saying, “Now is not the time to hesitate…to question. Now is the time to act. Remember, you have always told me that victory favors the brave. Now is our moment to be brave. Trust me. Get in your boat and follow me. I will lead you on this leg of your crusade, and I will not fail you.”

  CHAPTER 35

  ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

  NASH parked his minivan next to a beat-up Ford Taurus and walked into the Safeway Food and Drug. He grabbed a cart and began to amble through the produce section. The only thing he really needed was milk for Charlie, but he had other reasons to be at the store. He grabbed a half dozen bananas, two large grapefruits, and a cantaloupe. A few aisles down he grabbed some peanut butter because he’d learned in the past that they could never have enough peanut butter. In the next aisle he saw the guy he was looking for waiting for him in front of the taco shells. His blond hair was poking out from under his Washington Nationals baseball hat.

  Nash pulled up beside him and looked back down the aisle to make sure the other shoppers were out of earshot. Keeping his eyes on the taco shells, Nash said, “How are you, buddy?”

  “Better than you.” The man was about the same size as Nash, although maybe a little thinner and a decade older.

  “No doubt,” Nash said as he remembered Monday night was taco night. He took a box just in case.

  “How are the kids?”

  “Good.”

  “Charlie?” he asked as he read the back of a box.

  “He uttered his godfather’s favorite word this morning.”

  The man turned his head and looked at Nash. “You fucking kidding me?”

  “I wish I was.”

  “That’s great.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Nash said seriously bothered. “He’s only a year old.”

  Scott Coleman began laughing silently to himself. He’d known Nash for a little more than seven years and they’d grown very close. Coleman had been the one who brought Nash to the attention of Rapp. That was back when they were running around the mountains of Afghanistan having the time of their lives hunting Taliban and al-Qaeda. Now the pussies were hiding on the other side of the border and the Pakistanis wouldn’t let them come over and finish the job.

  Smiling and talking out of the side of his mouth, Coleman said, “You need to lighten up, buddy. I’ve told you before, the key to this shit is to never take it too seriously. The moment you do that, you lose your edge, you lose your nerve, and then you’re going to fuck up.”

  Nash had heard the lecture many times before. Coleman, almost ten years his senior, was a former SEAL, and had been running his own security and consulting firm in D.C. since just before the attacks. The deluge of money that had been pumped into security firms had made him a wealthy man, but not as wealthy as he could have been. Coleman made the conscious decision to stay small. He had no interest in running a big company and managing hundreds of people.

  Nash asked him, “You read the paper this morning?”

  “Yeah.” Coleman grabbed a box of shells, set them in his cart, and started moving. “You’d better hope those pricks on the Hill don’t dig too deep, or you’re fucked.”

  “I just left a hearing with the Intel folks. It was a real joy.”

  “Any idea how this Commie reporter got his info?”

  Nash turned the corner and grabbed a bag of Doritos. “I have a short list.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “In a moment. This reporter…Joe Barreiro…you have any problem setting up passive surveillance on him?”

  Coleman scanned the next aisle and said, “Nope.”

  “Good. Check the nearby pay phones first and then the e-mails. You still have your back door into the Post’s server?”

  Coleman laughed.

  “What?” Nash asked wondering what he’d done wrong now.

  “Look at you. All grown up and telling me how to do my job.”

  Nash looked embarrassed. Maybe even a little beaten. “Sorry, I know you know what you’re doing. This is more for me, so I can just cross it off my list.”

  “Fair enough. I don’t want you to burn out.”

  “Scour his hard drive as well as his editor’s, and check the people who sit by him just to make sure. And his kids…don’t forget to look at their phones.”

  “If you give me the list of suspects it’ll be quicker,” Coleman offered.

  “Let me think about it,” Nash said, his eyes narrowing.

  “If they’ve met face-to-face, I can look at the cell tower records and find out if they overlapped at all in the last month.”

  Nash thought about it for a moment, weighed the pros and cons, and decided he really didn’t give a shit. He needed to unload some of this stuff, and who better to trust than Coleman. In a voice barely above a whisper he said, “Glen Adams.”

  Coleman nodded slowly at first and then more enthusiastically. “It figures. The fucking narcissist. He’d hate anyone who was good at your job. He wasn’t worth shit back when he was operations.”

  Nash agreed and said, “I need you to move quickly. I need to know how much they know and how they know it.”

  “I’ll get on it tonight. You going to be around for Rory’s game on Saturday?”

  Coleman was referring to Nash’s fourteen-year-old son. “If I’m not in jail.”

  “Come on…don’t be so morose. Your one-year-old son is well on his way to mastering the greatest word in the English language.”

  Nash smiled. Thought of Charlie dropping the F-bomb at the breakfast table. The look of absolute horror on his wife’s face. “I’ll tell you the story about it some time over a beer. It’s pretty funny. If you’re in the neighborhood this week, stop by for a drink.”

  “I don’t know, things are pretty crazy and now you want me to get on this…”

  “Maggie and the kids would love to see you.”

  Without missing a beat, Coleman said, “I know Maggie would.”

  “Why are all you SEALs such pigs?”

  “Oh, and you Marines are such a dignified lot.”

  Nash grinned. “We are charming bastards, aren’t we?”

  “You look good in your dress blues, but that’s about it.” Coleman turned down the next aisle and over his shoulder said, “Keep your dobber up.”

  Great, Nash thought as he stared at Coleman wheeling his cart down the aisle. Just what I need, another reminder about last night.

  CHAPTER 36

  DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

  THE Gulfstream G500 dropped through the clouds at 6,100 feet; the hydraulic landing gear whirled into the down position and then locked with a slight thud that woke Rapp from what had been an unusually deep sleep. He turned his head to the right and lifted the shade on the window. Thousands of lights greeted him. Of all of the airports the world over this one was probably the most familiar to him. It had been built before he was born. They’d stuck it out here where the edge of Fairfax County met up with Loudoun County. Back then it had been nothing more than farmland and horses. Now it was built up with highways, roads, parking lots, malls, businesses, hotels, apartments, and housing developments. Urban s
prawl at its finest.

  Rapp watched the cars driving up and down Sully Road past the old plantation, and as he had done so many times before, he felt a tinge of envy. He wondered what it would be like to switch places with them. To lead a life not knowing the things he knew. What it would be like to wake up and kiss his wife and kids good-bye and just go into an office like so many of the friends he’d grown up with. He never dwelled on it for more than a few seconds, and he never felt even remotely sorry for himself. The truth was he loved what he did. It had taken him many years to come to that realization, and more than a few hardships, but it had finally sunk in.

  Strangely, it was the murder of his wife and unborn child that had finally got him to admit it. Not at first, of course. They had placed a bomb in his house out on the Chesapeake Bay that had been meant for him. Once again, he had cheated death, but this time paid for it with the loss of the woman he loved and the child he so badly wanted to meet and hold and raise and be a father to. He thought of that blissful, brief time that they’d had together after she’d told him she was pregnant. It was only a week, but he could still taste the emotions as if it were all happening at this very moment.

  Lovely Anna, with her emerald green eyes, had taken on a radiance that made her look like something out of a dream. He’d have never thought she could be any more beautiful, but somehow the pregnancy had done it. Her already flawless skin glowed and her eyes sparkled with even more life than normal. She was filled with excitement, and was all the more elated knowing that this was something her rough-and-tumble husband so badly wanted. To give him the ultimate gift of a child, she knew, would be the final piece of leverage to get him to walk away from his dangerous profession. She had said to him once after making love that he’d given enough to his country. He’d been shot, stabbed, hunted, and tortured, and it was time for him to let go. To let someone else step into the breach and fight the battle.

  For all of her liberal leanings, Anna was not a head-in-the-sand liberal. She’d seen firsthand what these fanatics were like, and she never for a moment questioned the fact that when you stripped it all away her husband’s job was to hunt them down and kill them before they had the chance to incite more hatred and kill more innocent people. She’d never admitted it to him, but he knew now that she had been secretly proud of what he did. Her brother had confided to him after her death that Anna thought him the most noble man she had ever met.

  After she’d been taken unexpectedly from him, his immediate reaction was predictable. He took his pain and anger and devastating anguish and he stuffed it deep down into the furnace of his belly and he used it to fuel his hunt for those who were responsible. He methodically tracked them down and got his vengeance. Two of them he had allowed to live. The reasons were complicated, but he knew ultimately it was what Anna would have wanted. With the retribution taken care of and reality staring him straight in the face, his entire world had then came crashing down around him. His moral compass, his sense of right and wrong, had been demagnetized and he found himself awash in a sea of guilt and self-recrimination.

  Having spent his life so sure of himself and his actions he took the only avenue that made any sense to him. He simply walked away. No one knew where he was for more than six months. Not his brother, not even his handlers at Langley. When he reappeared he was a changed man. Broken, but not shattered, he was more aware of his faults. More understanding of his shortcomings and how they would affect his job. In the end he would blame himself forever for thinking he could have a normal life, and he carried with him the guilt of her death every day. A quick prayer to her every morning and every night apologizing for getting her involved in his nasty world. Sometimes he would admit to himself that she was a willing participant. As strong-willed as anyone he had ever met, no one ever talked her into doing anything she didn’t want to do. She came along because she loved him, and in the end that was the one glorious thing that brought him solace, a bit of happiness, and even an occasional smile to his face. She believed in what he did and she loved him.

  It had taken him somewhere between a year and half to two years to get to that point, and when he did, it was as if the wound magically began to heal. Not all the way, of course. There was still a scar that ran deep and wide, but at least it wasn’t being torn open every day as he rode a sea of guilt, anger, and self-pity. He would never be entirely whole again, but he had his confidence back. His sense of purpose was restored and he was far wiser than he’d been before the tragedy.

  There was also something else. It was an awkward thing for a man who was well into his second decade of living a life of secrecy, most of it operating alone, in foreign countries for months at a time. A life of deceiving everyone around him, even his fellow countrymen. Rapp now felt a massive sense of responsibility for setting things right. He had confided only in Kennedy about the first part. Because of his job and its solitary nature, Rapp had been trained to survive by thinking of himself first and foremost. But now he looked around at people like Mike Nash and his family and he realized what was at stake. In a suddenly immediate sense, Rapp felt the need to protect these people and set things right.

  In the waning light of the attacks that had briefly awakened America to the threat of Islamic radical fundamentalism, the politicians had gone back to their old ways. They had turned on the very people they had asked to secure the country from attack. It always amazed Rapp that these were the very same people who in the year following 9/11 repeatedly asked the CIA if their measures of interrogation were tough enough. Now they were denying ever saying such things. They were on the attack. They smelled an opportunity and sooner or later they were going to begin destroying the lives of the men and women who Rapp now felt responsible for. Good men and women who had sacrificed for their country when their country needed them most. And now an ungrateful Senate and House of Representatives were circling like sharks looking for an opportunity to boost their political fortunes into a still higher orbit.

  The plane floated downward and gently set down on the runway. Ridley woke up on landing and after stretching for a second pulled out his phone and began checking messages. Rapp continued to look out the window as they continued past the big terminal toward the private aviation section, where Langley kept a hangar. As they pulled parallel to the hangar he noticed a couple of police squad cars and another half dozen government sedans. Langley liked to keep as low a profile as possible, so this was not the normal welcoming party for a couple of spooks coming back from Afghanistan. Ridley was too pre-occupied with his messages to notice and Rapp decided not to bother him.

  When the plane finally stopped, Rapp grabbed his bag and thanked the crew member and the pilots as he headed out the hatch. There on the tarmac were nine men and one woman. Rapp could tell they were Feds without having to ask. They all had that “uptight, take-themselves-too-seriously” look on their faces.

  One of the agents stepped forward with a piece of paper in his hand and said, “Are you Mitch Rapp?”

  Rapp considered a smart-ass comment, but decided against it. “Yep.”

  “I have an arrest warrant for you. Would you please drop your bag, lay down on the pavement, and place your hands above your head.”

  Rapp looked at the man incredulously. “I’ll tell you what. You show me which car you’d like me to ride in, and I’ll mosey on over with you…we’ll toss my bag in the trunk, and I’ll get in the backseat.”

  The agent moved his right hand to the hilt of his pistol. “I’m not going to say this again. Drop your bag…”

  Before the agent could finish his sentence, Ridley’s head popped out of the plane and he yelled, “What in the hell is going on here?”

  The agent’s eyes darted from Ridley to Rapp and then back to Ridley. “Sir, I have an arrest warrant in my possession for this man right here. I’ll need you to step aside.”

  Ridley charged down the steps, past Rapp, and to within three feet of the agent. “FBI?” Ridley barked.

  The man was half a
head taller than Ridley. He looked down at him and said, “Don’t make me use force.”

  “Don’t give me a reason to kick your ass off my property, junior. I’m the deputy director of the Clandestine Service out at Langley and you are standing on my turf. So before you put one of my people under arrest you are going to explain to me just what in the hell is going on.”

  The agent took a half a step back and said, “I’m only doing my job, sir. I have been ordered to place that man,” he pointed at Rapp, “under arrest. I wasn’t told why, I was simply told to do it.”

  “Who at the Justice Department?”

  “Wade Kline.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Let me see the arrest warrant.” Ridley stuck out his hand, the agent hesitated, and Ridley said, “You want me to call Director Powel?”

  The agent didn’t like the sound of that, so he handed over the warrant.

  Ridley unfolded it, gave it a quick read, and handed it back to the agent. “You know who this is?” Ridley pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Rapp.

  The agent shook his head.

  Ridley stepped in closer and lowered his voice so only the agent could hear him. “He’s a damn American hero, and this,” Ridley snatched the warrant out of the agent’s hand and waved it around, “is a bunch of PC bullshit. Now, I can’t stop you from arresting him, but I’ll tell you right now, Special Agent whatever the fuck your name is, if you make him lay down on this tarmac like some common criminal I will fucking ruin your career. I will call in every favor the bureau owes me to make sure your fucking ass ends up in Yemen searching cargo containers for next three years. So what’s it going to be?”

  The agent took a long moment to consider his options and then finally said, “He’s one of your boys?”

  “He ain’t my boy. About the only two people he answers to in this town are the director of the CIA and the president, and he doesn’t even answer to them most of the time.”