Vince Flynn: Protect And Defend

But Mukhtar was an entirely different matter, a true believer, with a martyr complex. Mukhtar could not be counted on to turn Kennedy over. Since their close call at Isfahan, the man seemed hell-bent on plunging the region into conflict. He had made it abundantly clear that Iran had not sacrificed enough blood in the war against the Jews and the Americans. Ashani decided Mukhtar could not be trusted.

Would he be committing treason, or would it be an act of patriotism? Ashani believed the American president when he said if Kennedy was not returned safely in less than two hours he would declare war. Despite the bravado of the generals and admirals, every Iranian pilot who took to the sky would be downed, and those planes that stayed on the ground would be blown to bits. Every ship and sub foolish enough to try to engage one of the mighty strike groups would be sent to the bottom of the Persian Gulf. It would be recorded as the most lopsided naval engagement perhaps in history. Thousands would die, and that was before the Americans turned their bombs on the civilian leadership.

Ashani shook his head at the heartbreaking thought of all the chaos and destruction. The loss of life. And for what? So a group of men could say that they refused to back down. Ashani knew the nonsense had to stop.

He picked up the list of numbers that Amatullah had given him, as well as Rapp’s information and moved his chair over to his computer. He quickly composed an e-mail to Rapp listing all of the numbers. Even the two that had been used. Afraid he’d lose his nerve, Ashani hit the send key. He then grabbed his satellite phone and dialed Rapp’s number. After a few rings a man answered on the other end.

Ashani recognized Rapp’s voice. “I just sent you an e-mail. It contains a list of numbers that I was given so I could reach the man you are looking for. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“The first two numbers have already been used. I am going to call the third one in two minutes. Is that enough time for you to make the proper arrangements?”

“Yes.”

“Good. There’s one more thing.”

“I’m listening.”

Ashani glanced nervously at his door, half expecting it to be kicked in at any moment. “I want to be clear that I had nothing to do with this. I am acting on my own right now.”

“Why?”

“Out of respect for our mutual friend, and my hope that we can avoid further bloodshed.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

Ashani set the phone down and looked at his watch. He was only halfway there. In two minutes time there would be no turning back.

Rapp paced anxiously behind Dumond, as the younger man worked feverishly to make sure everything was in place. The eavesdropping assets in, around, and over Mosul comprised an all-encompassing net. The mobile phone networks were tapped, as were the fiber optic lines running in and out of the city. Keyhole and Voyager satellites circled far overhead in geosynchronized orbit snapping images and sucking every desired signal from the air. Predator drones hovered above to provide real-time imaging as well as radio intercepts. There wasn’t a call made in the city that wasn’t intercepted.

The complicated part lay in sifting the valuable calls from the 99.999 percent of them that were absolutely worthless. To do that normally required the deciphering of the signal and then the translation and analysis of the conversation. The National Security Agency in Fort Meade, Maryland, accomplished this by employing complex voice recognition software and more sheer computing power than any other entity in the world. So much information was collected that the analysts at the NSA were the modern-day equivalent of the prospectors who worked the rivers and streams of the California Gold Rush. Except in this case, intel intercepts were like produce in a grocery store. Each bit of information came with a “best if used by date.” Provided that Minister Ashani had really given them the numbers that Mukhtar would use, all of these hurdles could be avoided.

Dumond pounded on his keyboard with a final few strokes and then pushed his chair back, removing his headset. He looked over his shoulder at Rapp and said, “It’s all set to go. We’re at the top of the list on every system. The numbers are programmed in. The second they go active we’ll be able to isolate them.” Dumond pointed at the screen on the far left and said, “The two numbers that you said were already used…We’re mining the records right now, to see which towers relayed the most recent calls.”

“What about the third number?” Rapp asked. “If he has the phone turned on, can’t we pick it up?”

“He doesn’t even have to turn it on.”

“I know,” Rapp said with frustration in his voice. “Now’s not the time to get technical with me.”

“Sorry. We’re searching for it right now. As you know, it’s standard field practice to turn these on sparingly. It greatly reduces the risk of being tagged.”

“I know, but ten phones is excessive.”

“He’s probably just switching out SIM cards.”

“Marcus,” Rapp shot him a cautionary look, “I’m well aware of how it works. Can we please focus on what is important and stop talking about semantics.”

Dumond nodded quickly and swore at himself for being so stupid. He’d known Rapp for a long time. Had worked with him on a lot of operations. Kennedy was like family to Rapp. The stress of this situation understandably had shortened his already short fuse.

Dumond pointed at the middle screen, which had a map of the greater Mosul metropolitan area. “These red dots represent mobile phone towers.”

Rapp noted that there was easily more than a hundred dots on the screen.

“Now if Mukhtar is using a satellite phone,” Dumond continued, “he’ll bypass these towers and the big bird up in space will get him.”

“Do you have Ashani’s voice programmed into recognition software?”

“Yep,” Dumond pointed at the third screen. “It’s all set to go. As soon as he comes online. I’ll have verification for you in ten seconds or less.”

“And Mukhtar?”

“We have no known samples, but we’ll be able to use this print and run it against everything we have in the archives.”

“How long will that take?”

“Even if we prioritize it, the search might take weeks. We’re talking about a lot of phone calls.”

“There’s got to be a way to speed it up.”

“If we get lucky and find a hit, we can narrow the search to a specific time frame and region. That would help.”

The door to the trailer opened and General Gifford entered with two other officers. All three were in full battle gear with sidearms strapped to their right thighs.

Gifford took off his helmet and said, “Mitch, Stan called me and said you guys might be close to finding a location.”

“That’s right, General.”

“How good is the intel?”

“We have Mukhtar’s mobile phone number, and we expect him to be receiving a call any minute.”

“We’ve got a hit on one of the previous numbers,” Dumond announced excitedly. He pointed at the middle screen. “This tower about ten miles east of town. My guess is he was traveling on this road right here.”

General Gifford hurried around the table and looked at the screen. “That’s Highway Two.”

“Hold on,” Dummond said, “the second number just came in.” He pointed to a tower near the Tigris. “This one was made after the first.”

Rapp looked at the new location and then checked the spot on the map where the ambush had taken place. “Based on the calls it looks like they tried to take her out of the city and then ended up coming back.”