Vince Flynn - Protect And Defend

“That’s assuming she’s still with this Mukhtar fellow,” Gifford said.

Rapp considered his point for a moment and said, “I don’t think he’d take his eyes off her.”

“The third number’s up.”

Rapp leaned over Dumond’s shoulder and looked as he pointed the same tower near the Tigris. “Stan,” Rapp yelled, “get in here!”

A moment later Stilwell emerged from his office and joined Rapp and Gifford. Rapp pointed at the middle screen. “Is this the part of town you were thinking of when you were talking about the stone in the photo?”

“It’s exactly where I was thinking.”

Gifford grumbled, “That’s the heart of Indian country.”

“Yeah,” Stilwell agreed. “Shiite central.”

“The streets are really narrow,” Gifford said with a wary expression. “We’ve had more than a few patrols ambushed in there.”

Rapp noticed Dumond touch his headset and then watched him reach for his mouse. After a single click a man talking in Farsi came over the speakers resting on the table. Rapp immediately knew the voice belonged to Ashani. Only he and Stilwell spoke Farsi.

“Ali, is that you?”

There was an unnerving pause and then another voice said, “Cyrus, you sound different.”

“That must be Mukhtar,” Rapp said to Dumond.

“I’m on it.”

From the speakers came, “I was asked by our friend to call and see if there was anything you might need. He is stuck in a very important meeting.”

“There is much that I need.” The man they assumed was Mukhtar made no attempt to hide his irritation. “Things are not progressing the way we had planned, and I have only a handful of men to assist me.”

“Can I send you some help? I have men in the area.”

There was a sigh followed by silence and then, “At the moment, I fear it would only draw more suspicion.”

“Then what can I do to help?”

Dumond announced, “We’ve got him.” He clicked the mouse and the middle screen zoomed in on a four block area of downtown Mosul. A blinking red dot marked the location of the call.

“Nothing at the moment,” Mukhtar replied.

“Our friend would like a progress report,” Ashani stated.

There was another long pause and then, “Tell him the videotape he requested is taking more time than I anticipated. The actress is not cooperating.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I think if I employ some harsher methods, she will perform.”

Rapp’s gut twisted upon hearing the words. He pointed to the screen and asked Stilwell, “Where is that?”

“That’s the Great Mosque.”

“Oh shit,” Gifford moaned.

“What’s the problem?” Rapp asked.

“We can’t go in there.”

“What do you mean, you can’t go in there?” asked an irritated Rapp.

“The city would explode in violence.”

Rapp heard Ashani warning Mukhtar not to harm the actress. The words caused him to put aside what Gifford had just said and focus on Ashani and Mukhtar’s conversation.

“I have come too far to fail,” Mukhtar said. “I will do whatever it takes to succeed. Tell our friend I will have the tape for him within the hour.”

The call went dead. Rapp immediately told Dumond to get him a live overhead shot from one of the Predators. He then turned to Gifford. “You can’t go in there, or you won’t?”

“If the president tells me to go in there, I will go in, but I’m telling you, if American military forces surround and enter the holiest mosque in Mosul we will incite an all-out rebellion in the city and possibly the country.”

“He’s right, Mitch,” Stilwell said.

Rapp didn’t like it, but he knew they were right. “Then we need to go in low profile.”

“That’s fine, but the Great Mosque has some pretty serious security.”

“Local militia.”

“Basically.”

As Rapp struggled to find a solution he was reminded of something he saw in Stilwell’s office. “How well do your Kurds know this area?”

“Like the back of their hands.”

“All right, tell them we’re moving in five minutes, and tell them to bring everything they have.”

Only minutes after concluding his forced conversation with Mukhtar, Ashani was informed via intercom that Ayatollah Najar was holding on line one. Ashani greeted his old mentor with a mix of relief and panic. Before he could say a word, Najar ordered him to get to the Presidential Palace immediately for a meeting of the Supreme Security Council. Ashani found his friend’s brevity very unsettling, but after a moment he concurred that in the wake of the American president’s speech, it could simply be that Najar was in a rush to get a handle on the situation.

Five minutes later Ashani was in President Amatullah’s conference room with all but a few members of the Security Council. They were all waiting for the arrival of Najar and, they assumed, the Supreme Leader. While they waited, Ashani paid close attention to Amatullah. At present, he was standing in the corner talking with General Zarif and General Suleimani. All three men looked worried, but then again everyone in the room looked worried. Ashani tried yet again to figure out how far-reaching this plot was. Did Ayatollah Najar and the Supreme Leader know, or were they simply duped? Did they leave the city to distance themselves from any accusations should the plan fail or did they simply travel to Isfahan to offer aid to the families of those lost?

Ashani desperately wanted to believe that Najar was incapable of such foolish and deceitful behavior, but the man had been avoiding his calls all morning, and if Ashani had to guess why, it was because he was not prepared to answer any difficult questions. Nonetheless, here they were, on the brink of war, and a meaningful discussion of the facts had yet to take place. Something that had to happen if there was any hope of releasing Kennedy before the deadline.

Ashani had no doubt Amatullah and his cronies would argue that the Americans were making empty threats. That they would never attack. Ashani was actually listening to General Zarif parroting that very statement to President Amatullah when the door to the room burst open.

Ayatollah Najar strode into the room with six large men all wearing either dark blue or black suits. Ashani recognized several of them as belonging to the Supreme Leader’s security detail. Ashani expected the Supreme Leader to follow, but instead the last man closed the door and locked it. The already tense mood in the room worsened. Ashani shifted nervously in his seat and felt his throat tighten.

Najar walked straight for President Amatullah and the two generals who were still standing in huddled conversation. Najar adjusted his thick glasses and asked, “Which one of you ordered the sinking of the Sabalan ?”

Amatullah demurred and said, “I don’t know what you are talking…”

“Lies!” Najar screamed. “Lies! Lies! Lies! I am sick of the lies.”

The entire room was taken aback, but Amatullah quickly rebounded. With a dismissive half smile, he said, “I can assure you that I am not lying.”

“And I can assure you that the Supreme Leader is certain every word that comes out of your mouth is a lie,” Najar spat back. He turned his glare on the two generals and screamed, “Which one of you came up with the idea to sink the Sabalan ?”

Amatullah took a half step forward and said, “The Americans…”

“The Americans did nothing,” Najar snapped. “I know when I’m being lied to, and as much as it pains me, it was brutally obvious that President Alexander was telling the truth. You, on the other hand, have built your entire career out of lying, so I am left with only one conclusion. Now for the last time, which one of you ordered the sinking of the Sabalan ?”