Vince Flynn: Protect And Defend

Both Amatullah and General Zarif glanced at General Sulaimani and took a half a step away. The leader of the Quds Force found himself deserted. He looked at his two coconspirators and shook his head in disgust. With his chin help high he said, “I am proud of what I have done. It is time to stop running from the Americans. The men aboard the Sabalan will be remembered as martyrs for the cause.”

“And so will you,” Najar said as he drew a pistol from under his robes. He pointed it at the general’s face and squeezed the trigger of the.357 revolver. The large-caliber bullet blew chunks of brain and flesh against the white plaster wall, and General Sulaimani’s lifeless body slumped to the floor. Before anyone had time to react to the shock of what had just happened, Najar turned back to Amatullah and yelled, “And now on to the issue of the kidnapping of the director of the CIA.”

Ashani noticed that the Supreme Leader’s bodyguards had all drawn their weapons.

“Who,” Najar shouted, “was the fool who came up with this plan?”

Ashani’s ears were ringing as he watched Amatullah squirm. The man’s eyes were desperately darting around the room in what looked like a plea for help. Amatullah then locked eyes with Ashani and slowly raised his right hand. Ashani sat in horror as he realized Amatullah was pointing at him. Before Ashani could defend himself, Amatullah said, “It was Minister Ashani’s idea. I only found out about it in the last hour.”

“Liar,” Ashani shouted as he rose out of his chair.

“Sit,” Najar commanded in an authoritative voice. He turned back to Amatullah and asked, “What proof do you have?”

Amatullah seemed momentarily stymied and then he said, “He brought Mukhtar with him on his trip to Mosul. They have been conspiring for a way to get back at the Americans after they were almost killed at Isfahan.”

“He accompanied me on your orders,” Ashani yelled back and then looked to Najar. “Ahmed, you know I would never do something so foolish.”

Najar nodded in agreement and then looked back to Amatullah. “That is hardly proof.”

Amatullah appeared to struggle for a moment to come up with something else and then his face lit up. “He showed me a piece of paper with ten numbers that he is using to stay in contact with Mukhtar. And he has a phone. I saw it on him only an hour ago. Search him,” Amatullah ordered. “I tell you he has it on him.”

Ashani’s fear showed on his face. The phone and the list of numbers were in fact on him. “You gave me the list and the phone when we were in your office.” Ashani looked at Najar for help.

“Empty your pockets,” Najar ordered as he walked around the table.

“That is why I have been trying to call you,” Ashani pleaded. “To tell you about this and try to defuse the situation before it is too late.”

“Empty your pockets!”

Ashani did as he was told. He placed the phone on the table and slowly unfolded the sheet of paper and set it next to the phone.

A gloating Amatullah smiled and said, “I told you he had them.”

Ashani watched as Najar raised his gun and pointed it at him.

Najar looked extremely disappointed. He pulled the hammer back on his revolver and said, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

With a sad shake of his head Ashani looked back at Najar and said, “In all the years we worked with each other, have you ever known me to be so careless with operational information? Have you ever known me to write it down in such a straightforward, careless manner?” Ashani gestured to the piece of paper and looked at the numbers written in black ink. After a second his shoulders shook, and he began to laugh.

“I fail to see the humor,” Najar said, deadpan with the pistol still pointed at Ashani’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Ashani said, still laughing, “but that isn’t my handwriting.” He looked up slowly from the paper and pointed across the room at Amatullah. “It is his.”

Najar grabbed both the phone and the piece of paper. He walked around the table and handed them to Amatullah. “Call Mukhtar right now, and tell him to release Director Kennedy.”

Amatullah did not move fast enough, so Najar pointed his gun at his head and said simply, “I am going to count to five.”

Rapp sat in the back of the blue Chevy Caprice with Stilwell. One of Stilwell’s Kurds was driving, and another one was literally and figuratively riding shotgun, with a twelve-gauge Mossberg in his lap. The other five Kurds were following in the beat-up Ford Crown Victoria. The two vehicles topped 90 mph as they screamed north on the main road from the airport back to the heart of the old downtown, a mere five miles away. Two Predator drones patrolled high overhead offering continuous coverage of the Great Mosque and the tangled neighborhood that it dominated. They had a little more than an hour before the afternoon call to prayer. Stilwell made it clear that they needed to get in and out before the men started to file into the mosque. If they didn’t, there was a good chance they would be torn to shreds by the mob.

General Gifford and his staff were busy repositioning units so they could create a buffer zone around the Great Mosque by sealing off the streets. The catch was to wait until the last possible minute so that they wouldn’t tip off the terrorists and rouse the neighborhood. Rapp would let them know as soon as he was inside the mosque, and then the units would move into final position, setting up a one-block perimeter in every direction. The locals would be told that there was credible intelligence that Sunni insurgents were going to attempt a car bombing during evening prayer. This would allow the army to control the neighborhood and hopefully drive down attendance for afternoon prayer.

An Iraqi army mechanized company was also being mobilized at their base eleven miles away, but they were not told why. The last thing Rapp wanted was a leak that would tip Mukhtar off that they were coming. It was decided that if things got out of control the Iraqi army unit would be called in to secure the mosque itself. Contingencies were being put into place for a helicopter evacuation and medical personnel were put on high alert.

All of this was background noise to Rapp. He knew the contingencies were important, but he couldn’t get his mind off Mukhtar’s words. “Tell him the videotape he requested is taking more time than I anticipated. The actress is not cooperating…I think if I employ some harsher methods she will perform.”

The good news was that Kennedy was alive. The bad news was that harsher methods meant brutal torture. Contingencies took time to put into place. Rapp didn’t have the patience to wait for everything to be perfect, and if American forces were shy about entering the mosque, Rapp had no such qualms. In fact, thanks to Stilwell, Rapp was wearing the perfect solution to their problem.

Stilwell’s clerical robes, vest, and turban fit Rapp almost perfectly. He even had a pair of nonprescription glasses to make Rapp look more learned and less threatening. Under his gold silk vest, Rapp was wearing a level-three body armor. A secure Motorola radio was clipped to his belt and was in sync wirelessly with a tiny ear bud that provided communications with Dumond, Stilwell, Ridley, and General Gifford. His.45-caliber Glock was in a paddle holster on his left hip, and his 9mm was in a paddle holster on his right hip-both had suppressors attached. He had four backup magazines for each gun.

Rapp sat silently in the back of the sedan and listened to Dumond relay an update.

“The fourth number just went active, Mitch.”

“Location?” Rapp asked as the vehicle got off the highway and headed into the old section of the West Bank. Shortly after the call between Mukhtar and Ashani ended, the signal on Mukhtar’s phone went dead. That had been almost ten minutes ago.