Vince Flynn - Protect And Defend

“I don’t know.”

Rapp flipped through a couple more photos and stopped on a head shot of the mystery man. The digital photo had been cropped and blown up. The quality wasn’t perfect, but it was still easy to make out the man’s features. He had a dark brown beard and even though he was wearing sunglasses there was something vaguely familiar about him. Rapp continued going through the shots and stopped on the second to last one. It showed the mystery man climbing into a police SUV that was bracketed by two police pickup trucks, both with.50-caliber machine guns mounted to the roofs.

Rapp quickly shuffled back to the best photo of the mystery man and handed Ridley the rest of the stack. “Charlie’s in the Situation Room with the president, right?”

“Yes.”

“Get on the horn with him and tell him we’re ninety percent sure Iran is behind the kidnapping of Irene.”

“Ninety percent?” Ridley questioned. “We haven’t even verified that this Tahmineh is who he says he is.”

“That’s why I didn’t say one hundred. Trust me, Rob, we need to get the National Security Council talking about this. If it is Iran, it’ll take them half a day to figure out who the hell to even call.” Rapp began moving toward the door. “Irene doesn’t have that kind of time.”

Rapp went straight back to Tahmineh’s cell. He threw open the steel door, walked right up to the seated and handcuffed man, and thrust the photo in his face. “Who is this guy?”

The Iranian’s eyes were literally bugging out of his head and he was sweating profusely. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!” Rapp screamed.

“I mean I don’t know his name. I don’t know him. I saw him for the first time today.”

Rapp felt his jaw tighten. Through clenched teeth, he asked, “When and where?”

“It was this morning. Right before the attack. We had been moved into position before dawn and were waiting. He showed up maybe an hour before the attack and took over.”

“Is he special forces?”

“No.” The prisoner frantically shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“He gave Captain Dadarshi orders?”

“Yes.”

“Was he from the Ministry of Intelligence?”

“I don’t know,” the man pleaded.

Rapp eyed him. There were no signs that he was being anything less than truthful. “You have no idea who the man is?”

“No.”

It would stand to reason that the mystery man worked for Ashani, and it would also stand to reason that a lowly corporal would have no idea who the man was. Rapp did not want to try to figure out his next move in front of the prisoner. He left the cell without saying another word and closed and locked the door. He began pacing up and down the hall while the torture track played as background noise. His mind turned the facts over and over, looking at each bit of information from every angle he could think of. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it earlier.

Rapp snatched the two-way radio from his hip. He hit the talk button and said, “Rob, get me a number for Minister Ashani.”

The helicopter ride from Mosul to the border had taken just twenty minutes. The Air Force had a relatively small Dassault Falcon 10 waiting to take him to Tehran. For most of the hour-and-ten-minute flight Ashani made notes to himself. They were cryptic so as to protect him if somehow they should fall into the wrong hands, which was doubtful since he planned to destroy them as soon as he got to his office. He’d hesitated even making the notes, but he wanted to organize his thoughts and be very clear about what Kennedy had offered on behalf of the U.S. government.

There was another reason he had opened the notepad. Ashani wanted to make a list of objections, or more precisely a list of who would object. There were more than a few people in Tehran whose power would evaporate if peace was made with America. It would make no difference that the American offer made complete sense. President Amatullah would do everything in his power to make sure the offer was rejected. That was why Ashani had opted not to call the president during his brief border stop. He needed to talk to Najar first. As head of the Guardian Council he could influence many people if he was persuaded. If Amatullah found out first, he would find some way to have his P. R. machine kill the offer before it was ever seriously considered.

Shortly after the plane landed in Tehran, Ashani looked out the window and got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. In addition to his normal car and driver there were two additional vehicles and another eight armed men. Ashani looked at his security chief, Rahad Tehrani, who had the same look of concern on his face.

“Stay here,” Tehrani said, “and I will see what the problem is.”

Ashani glanced out the window and watched his security chief approach the group of men. At that precise moment he realized he had forgotten to turn his cell phone on upon landing. Ashani hit the power button and watched the color screen come to life. A picture of a spinning globe flashed on the screen before it changed to a list of icons and then the phone started to beep as it retrieved voice mails first and then e-mails. After a few seconds the beeping stopped, and Ashani saw that he had eight voice mail messages and twenty-three new e-mails. The amount was not unheard-of, but it was a bit high. He was about to begin scrolling through the e-mails, when the phone began ringing. The readout on the phone would tell him only that the information on the person who was calling was unavailable.

Ashani pressed the talk button and said, “Hello?”

“Minister Ashani?” the caller said in English.

“Yes.”

“This is Mitch Rapp. I work for Director Kennedy. Do you know who I am?”

Ashani glanced nervously out the window and said as casually as he could, “I’m afraid everyone in our line of work is aware of your reputation.”

“Good. Then you’ll know how serious I am when I tell you that I’m going to kill you.”

“Excuse me?” Ashani said in genuine surprise.

“I know what you’ve been up to. If Director Kennedy is not released in the next hour, I’m coming after you. And if, as you say, everyone in our line of work is aware of my reputation, then you know I will succeed. I will hunt your ass down and kill you, and no level of security will stop me.”

“Mr. Rapp, I can assure you that I have no idea what you are talking about, and I do not take kindly to your threats.”

“What are you going to do…take out a fatwa on me? Well, let me tell you something. I’m not some defenseless author who’s going to go into hiding because you thin-skinned little pricks decide I’ve offended Islam. I bite back, and I’m going to hunt down every single one of you fuckers that had anything to do with this.”

Ashani was literally speechless. He was all too well aware of Mitch Rapp’s abilities. On at least two occasions the American operative had sneaked into Iran. Both times his targets were terrorists who had traveled to Iran in an attempt to avoid the reach of the U.S. government. Both men were extremely well protected, and neither had survived his run-in with Rapp.

Despite his dry throat and trembling hands, Ashani attempted to sound calm. “Mr. Rapp, I have no idea what you are talking about and, as I said, I do not appreciate being threatened.”

“Well, you’ll have to excuse my poor manners, but in light of the fact that my boss has been kidnapped and her entire security detail killed, I really don’t give a shit what you appreciate and don’t appreciate.”

Ashani’s mind was swimming. All he could think to say was, “In Mosul?”

“No, in Paris! Of course in Mosul.”