Vince Flynn - Extreme Measures

This time it was different in several ways. The most obvious was that Langley knew what they were doing. In Chaman they were operating on their own without a net. This was a victory they could share with the Hill. It was something the politicians could celebrate. They had captured a few people as important as al-Haq, but none of them had ever willingly cooperated. He had to work to squeeze every drop out of them, and even then the information they provided had to be treated with suspicion. Al-Haq was coming over without a fight. Sure, there had been a few threats, but no one had laid a hand on him.

Nash’s boss, Rob Ridley, was thrilled. He had given Nash the green light to proceed, while he got Kennedy to sign off on it and provide some type of legal assurance to al-Haq. Nash told Ridley of his idea to get al-Haq to go public. Get him to tell the world how al-Qaeda and the Taliban had strayed from the path. Ridley loved it. “If they could find a way to get his family out,” Nash told him, “I think he would do it in a heartbeat.”

“One success at a time,” had been Ridley’s comment before he congratulated Nash and told him he’d get back to him within the hour. Nash hung up the phone and checked his watch. He’d been gone less than five minutes. He didn’t want to rush this, didn’t want to seem too eager. He paced back and forth in the small office, calming himself and thinking of how he would play his hand when he went back into the room. He still had all the cards, and while he had General Dostum around, he should use him for leverage. Nash decided he’d push al-Haq a bit harder. He thought the earliest they’d have the assurance from Kennedy would be an hour. Probably two.

Nash thought of ways to push him. Tell him the big hitters in D.C. didn’t believe him, he thought to himself. Tell him the other two cells had been debriefed and hadn’t said a word about a third cell. That was a lie, of course. They had, and there was other disturbing stuff floating around out there, murmurs on the World Wide Web that something big was coming. Nash believed al-Haq, but for now he would make him think the deal was in jeopardy.

Nash checked his watch again and took a couple of deep breaths to try and ease off the natural high he was on. He yanked open the office door, set his jaw in a more grim position, and started down the hallway. As he stepped into the big observation room, he found himself staring at the backs of a group of men who were not supposed to be there. Up on one of the screens Rapp was yelling at a couple of MPs.

Nash turned nervously to his right and found Marcus Dumond, the young CIA hacker, looking like he was about to crawl under the desk.

Just then he heard General Garrison, the base commander, growl, “Did he just say Secretary of Defense England?”

“He did, sir,” the younger officer next to him replied.

“You’d better be right about this, Leland. If that man isn’t CIA and you get me in hot water with the secretary of defense, you are going to be shoveling shit for the rest of your tour.”

Nash felt his stomach turn, and thought to himself, These guys could screw this thing up real quick. How in the hell are we going to talk our way out of this? The very next thing he thought of was damage control. Dumond had been recording the sessions. The last thing they needed to do was hand over proof of their crimes.

Everyone else in the room was so intent on the TV showing the interrogation room that Nash saw an opportunity. He looked down at Dumond, pointed at his small external drive, and then jerked his head toward the hallway behind him. Dumond nodded, grabbed the drive, and quietly stood. As he passed by Nash, the general must have noticed the movement, because he began to turn around. Nash stepped forward quickly to block the general’s view and distract him.

In a booming voice Nash announced, “What in the hell is going on here?”

ONCE the MPs were gone and the door was closed, Rapp turned and looked at his prisoner. What he saw pissed him off to the point of wanting to drive his fist through Haggani’s face – shove the cartilage behind his nose up into his brain and kill the bastard right on the spot. He felt the camera on his back, though, and knew he was already in enough trouble. Choking the man… he might be able to talk his way out of. Killing him… not a chance. He thought of Nash and Dumond. What was going on out there? Had Dumond been quick enough to erase his interrogation of Haggani and smart enough to save Nash’s with al-Haq, and just what in the hell was the base commander doing up and about? The guy was supposed to be an anal-retentive freak about his sleep.

“What is wrong?” Haggani asked in a mocking tone. “Are you in trouble?”

Rapp glanced at him for only a second. Just long enough to register the smug look on his face. He clenched his fists and told himself not to do it. He walked to the far side of the room, where one of his men, Joe Maslick, was leaning against the wall. Maslick was an inch taller than Rapp and tipped the scales at 220 pounds. He was too big for most undercover operations, but perfect for something like this, where intimidation and presence were more important. Rapp knew how sensitive the room’s recording devices were, and since he had no idea if Dumond had turned them off, he decided to be extra careful. He pointed back at the prisoner and then cupped both hands over Maslick’s left ear.

In a voice barely louder than a whisper, Rapp said, “I’m going out first. If I can talk our way out of this, great, but if I can’t, and you see me get up in that general’s face, I want you to get our people out of here. Grab Dostum, get back to the plane, and get the hell off this base. Mike and I will deal with the fallout.”

Maslick cupped his hands over Rapp’s ear and whispered, “We can overpower these guys.”

Rapp knew this was the approach Maslick would take. The man did not know the meaning of the word retreat . Slugging their way out would be a short-term solution that would only make things worse. “No way,” he whispered, “that’ll just buy us a little time and then the shit will really come down. Trust me – you get everyone out of here, and I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m not leaving you behind to take the fall.”

“You are,” Rapp said firmly, “and don’t worry about it. I’ve got plenty of favors I can call in. Just get everyone out of here. End of discussion.”

Rapp and Maslick walked across the room. As they passed Haggani, the terrorist began laughing.

“Leaving so soon.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

“No, you won’t.”

Rapp stopped and looked down at the prisoner. There was a definite change in the way Haggani met his stare. Gone was the rage and bravado, the stubborn defiance. It was replaced by something very different; something that embarrassed Rapp on a level he didn’t think possible. It was contempt; scorn for an opponent deemed unworthy.

“This is why you will never beat us,” Haggani said in a voice that was simple and matter-of-fact; one warrior to another. “You are not tough enough. Your country is too divided… too concerned with the rights of your enemies.”

“Don’t confuse me with those people back in Washington. I’m not done with you. Not by a long shot.”

Rapp led Maslick out of the interrogation room and down the short hall to the observation room. As he reached for the doorknob he reminded himself that these air force guys respected men who took charge. Unlike the civilian world, where leadership was a fluid concept, in the military there was very little gray. Rank ruled the day and there was only one man on the other side of the door who could beat the two black eagles on Rapp’s collar. He thought of General Garrison, the base commander. He’d skimmed the man’s personnel file on the flight over, and now he was cursing himself for not paying closer attention. He had a few vague recollections of him. He was an Air Force Academy grad and on the young side for a brigadier general, which meant he was either really good at his job, really lucky, or a really good kiss-ass. Whatever the answer, Rapp supposed it didn’t matter, since his only chance was to meet this thing head-on. He’d bluff them long enough to get the others out of there and then come clean, or at least partially clean.