Vince Flynn - American Assassin

Sayyed finished buttoning the fresh white shirt that Ali had fetched for him and then put on his suit coat. He heard footsteps coming down the hall and turned to see Radih standing in the open doorway.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. How are our neighbors across the street?”

“Nothing new. We estimate they have between thirty and fifty men.”

“And us?”

“Thirty-two.”

Sayyed nodded, and thought the number enough to handle a problem should one arise. Changing subjects, he said, “You have heard about this new American? The one who is staying at the Shady Cedar?”

Radih nodded. “Two of my men have been following him this morning.” He held up a two-way radio. “They have sent me regular updates. They say the man is a fool.”

“A fool?” Sayyed said, finding the word an interesting choice.

“He is wandering around the streets, asking merchants for information about kidnapped Americans and mentioning your name. He’s handing out money and telling people where he is staying. Telling them he is here to negotiate their release.”

Sayyed was not surprised that his name was being mentioned. Chief Haddad had told him everything. The fact that Petrosian was sticking his nose into their business did not surprise him. He had known when he sent the chief into the Bourj to grab the two Americans that there would be repercussions. That was why he had to pay Haddad such an outrageous sum.

Sayyed could tell something was bothering Radih, so he asked, “What is wrong?”

“I am worried that some other faction will grab him. In fact, I will be amazed if he makes it to lunch, and if someone else gets him…” He made a pained expression and a clicking noise.

“It could complicate our negotiations.”

“Yes.”

Haddad had told Sayyed that the new American was young, inexperienced, and very nervous. Radih was right. If one of the other factions grabbed him, they would try to ransom him, which would make things more complicated, especially if he wanted to complete the entire transaction today. There was another angle that he had just considered, but could not share with the others. If the Americans were serious about bidding, they were likely to drive the price far beyond what he was hoping to get. In the end it was unlikely that Mughniyah and Badredeen would agree to hand them back to the U.S. government, but it was worth a try. The smart thing to do was to take this new variable out of play and see what the Americans were willing to offer. “Why don’t you pick him up, but be very careful. You know how sneaky the Americans can be. Take him someplace first and strip him down. Make sure he isn’t carrying any tracking devices. Then bring him here and show him the rabid dog in the basement… find out how serious they are about making an offer.”

“You are not seriously considering handing them back to the Americans?”

Maybe not, but Sayyed was at a minimum willing to consider his options. America was a very wealthy country. Maybe they could make up all of their lost funds and then some. Sayyed could put himself back on the road to a life of opulence. Knowing how unhinged Radih was about the American, Sayyed knew he would have to keep these thoughts to himself. “No, I am not, but I would like to see if the Americans can help drive the price up a bit.”

Radih stared at him for a moment and said, “You should let me kill him. Remove all temptation.”

Can I trust Radih with these prisoners today? was the question Sayyed asked himself yet again. It would be nice if he could convince Mughniyah to come keep an eye on things, but he wanted to be part of the negotiations at the airport. Sayyed understood his colleague’s anger, but he could not understand his persistence. The man simply did not understand what was at stake here today. He supposed a great deal of it was due to his youth. He could crawl back to Sabra and Shatila and rely on his black market trades and the payoffs he received from all of the impoverished refugees. He had many years ahead of him and many opportunities to rebuild his wealth and he did not have to answer to Damascus for missing funds. Still, none of these points would matter to him. His judgment was clouded by his hatred. Normally, he would chastise Radih or humiliate him, but not this time. They just needed to get through today and then things would return to normal. He decided on a more mature approach. Not wanting to argue with him, he said, “I understand your anger, but you are better than this, Abu.”

Radih shook his head. “I do not think so. My heart is filled with nothing but hatred for this man. I will not sleep until I have killed him.”

“And that is understandable, but you must take comfort in the fact he will die a thousand deaths at the hands of whoever buys him today. He will experience more pain than we can even begin to imagine.”

“None of that matters to me. I must kill him with my own hand.”

A compromise occurred to Sayyed, one that he would never have to honor, but one that might be enough to keep Radih from ruining their chances of refilling their coffers. “I promise you, Abu, that whoever buys him today, I will make the transaction contingent on the other party agreeing that when they are done with Mr. Sherman you will be given the honor of killing him.” Sayyed watched the Palestinian turn this idea over in his hate-filled mind. He could see that he was not quite convinced, so he said, “And I will allow you to spend some time with him today, so he can be taught a proper lesson before he leaves.”

A thin smile creased Radih’s lips and he said, “I would like that very much.”

“Good,” Sayyed said, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Now go get this other American, and make sure no one is following you. Bring him back here and we will see what he has to say, and then I will give you some time to take out your frustrations on Mr. Sherman.”

RAPP sat on the edge of the hotel room’s bed, tapping his foot. It was ten-oh-nine in the morning, and he was having a hell of a time trying to calm his nerves. All he’d brought along was a small duffel bag that Ridley had helped him pack. Petrosian had come back to the safe house after his dinner with the police chief to go over the plan. He was not optimistic that Rapp would succeed, but agreed that doing nothing was a worse alternative. So, shortly before midnight, Rapp was shuttled from Petrosian’s armor-plated sedan to the Beirut police chief’s four-door Peugeot. Rapp was not thrilled about the idea at first, but when Petrosian explained that the chief was eager to make amends for his lack of judgment the day before, Rapp went along with it. Petrosian also knew that the chief would tell the right people that another CIA man had shown up and was looking to negotiate the release of his colleagues.

They made it through the checkpoint fine, but Rapp had to resist the urge to shoot the smug little turd of a police chief and both of his men. It would have sent a nice message, but ultimately the wrong one, considering his final objectives. And besides, he had a role to play, so as they neared the hotel Rapp fired off one anxious, paranoid question after another. The chief did his best to calm his guest, but Rapp played the inconsolable nervous wreck better than he could have hoped.

They reached the Shady Cedar Hotel at twenty minutes past midnight. Ridley had handpicked the hotel because it was smack dab in the middle of Indian country. All three men escorted Rapp into the lobby. The chief asked to have a private word with the manager, and the two men disappeared behind the closed door of the small office behind the reception desk. The other two policemen stood chain-smoking by the door, while Rapp stood at the front desk and did his best to look nervous as hell, which was no easy thing considering the fact that he really wanted to kick down the door and pistol-whip the double-dealing police chief.