Vince Flynn - Extreme Measures

Rapp played dumb and offered, “Maybe he was working for Mossad. Maybe one of my contacts over there called me and asked me to check in on him.”

Ciresi nodded. “I like the way you think.”

“You see,” Smith said, “we’re not here to bust your balls or take away your thunder. But we have a problem. At least two of the guys you have are American citizens, and while I personally couldn’t give a shit if you dangled them off the roof by their ankles and threatened to drop them on their heads, as an officer of the court I cannot condone such behavior.”

“If we were to witness such behavior,” Ciresi added, “we would be duty-bound to report it.”

Rapp was liking these guys more and more. “So how would you guys like to proceed?”

“Where are you in your interview phase?”

“One of them is starting to talk. It took a little prodding.”

Both men shook their heads, and Smith said, “Too much information, Mr. Rapp.”

“I could use a little more time with him. To make sure he isn’t lying to me.”

“Which one is it?” Ciresi asked.

“Aabad bin Baaz.”

“He has dual citizenship.” Ciresi frowned

“How much more time?” Smith asked.

“An hour would be nice.”

The two men shot each other an uncomfortable look. Smith said, “We can’t give you an hour.”

Rapp was about to find out how much time they would give him when one of the female analysts in the bullpen let loose a scream. A rumble of shock spread across the big gymnasium-sized space, and analysts began to stand and point at the big screen. Rapp looked up at the big board but couldn’t figure out what was going on. All he saw were the three TV feeds and casualty tally.

He raced over to the Operations Officer’s perch and said, “Dave, what the hell just happened?”

Paulson was feverishly working one of his keyboards. The big screen went from four separate shots to one complete picture. As Paulson reached for his mouse, he said to Rapp, “I think we just had a latent explosion.”

“Which location?”

“The Monocle. Hold on a second, I’m rewinding it.”

The cloud of dust on the big screen began to retreat as if a giant vacuum cleaner was sucking it out of the air, except when the tape was rewound far enough, there was a blue sedan at the epicenter. The tape now began to play forward in super-slow motion, frame by painful frame.

Rapp looked at all the emergency workers in the immediate vicinity of the explosion. There were dozens, plus he knew the original bombs had used ball bearings to increase kill ratio. Any civilian within a half mile stood the risk of getting hit. The ones that were lined up at the barricades would drop like Confederate soldiers making the final charge at Gettysburg. Rapp could taste the bile in his throat. He’d seen the same thing done in Beirut, Tel Aviv, Baghdad, and Kandahar. Of all the tricks of the terrorist trade, he considered this to be lowest. To set up a bomb designed to intentionally target those who rush to the aid of others showed just how little these people cared for innocent life.

“What just happened?” Smith asked.

With barely contained rage, Rapp said, “Another bomb just went off.”

“Where?”

Rapp told them and then put his hand on Paulson’s shoulder and said, “Pull everybody out at the other two scenes, ASAP! Get on the horn and alert all levels, and get the bomb units in there to make sure these areas are cleared! That was supposed to have been taken care of right away.” Rapp stared up at the chaos on the big board. They had practiced all this before. He had warned the people at Homeland that the terrorists would try something like this.

“There might be more?” Smith asked.

“We don’t know. That’s the problem.” Almost as an afterthought, Rapp looked up toward the conference room and said, “But I think I know where I could find out.”

Smith and Ciresi looked at each other and came to an agreement without exchanging words.

Ciresi looked at his watch and said, “We should go downstairs and get a cup of coffee,” Ciresi said.

“Good idea.” Smith handed Rapp his business card and said, “My mobile number is on there. Traffic is really bad out there. When the prisoners arrive, please give me a call.”

Rapp nodded slowly and then said, “Will do.”

KARIM sat in the backseat of the Town Car, directly behind Hakim. It seemed to him that his friend was in a rather glum mood, considering how successful the day had been. He was used to being the one who brooded in an angry-faced silence, and found it rather uncomfortable when the shoe was on the other foot. He did not like his normally upbeat friend casting a pall over their victory. Karim wanted to clear the air, but there were only a few minutes before they got to the facility. There would be plenty of time after the attack, but they would not be alone. Ahmed would be with them.

Ahmed was the only one Karim would let live. They were close enough now to use radios, so Karim toggled the button and said, “Thomas, how does everything look?”

Four seconds later the radio crackled and a voice said, “Good. More people are arriving every minute.”

Karim frowned and wondered if security was being increased. He would normally never ask such a question on an open channel, but at this point there wasn’t much the Americans could do to stop them. “Has security increased?”

“A few more people are out patrolling the grounds, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Good. We will see you shortly.” Karim set the radio on the seat next to him and looked at Hakim’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “The RV is ready?”

“Yes.”

Karim thought of the plan. With any luck they would be in Canada by tomorrow afternoon. An RV loaded with provisions was waiting for them at a pole barn in Ashburn not more than twenty minutes up the road. “And how far can we make it before we have to stop for gas?”

“Iowa.” Hakim offered him nothing more.

Karim was sick of his friend’s pouting. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me. You are like my brother. I know when something is bothering you. Tell me. I want to hear it.”

“You have changed.” Hakim hit the turn signal and took a left onto Dolley Madison Boulevard.

“We all change as we grow older.”

“Not always for the better.”

“I am not sure I like your implication,” Karim said.

“And I know for a fact that I do not like how you have brainwashed these young men.”

“I have brainwashed no one. These men are great warriors who are about to give their lives in the greatest struggle of our time,” Karim said with absolute sincerity. “Do not demean them.”

“I am not demeaning them. I am demeaning you. You have embraced this cult of death where you gleefully offer up the lives of others. And for what? To satisfy your own…” Hakim shook his head and stopped short of finishing his thought.

“Say it!” Karim demanded.

“I don’t want to.”

“Say it. I order you to tell me.”

Hakim looked back in the mirror at his childhood friend. “We have always been equals. I see that is no longer the case.”

“We are equals, but not in the middle of an operation. There can be only one commander.”

“There are only two of us in this car. Just two friends who grew up together. One of us seems to have forgotten that.”

“And one of us,” Karim shot back, “has grown soft with all his travels.”

“Soft,” Hakim repeated the accusation. “I would rather grow soft than carelessly waste the lives of others.”

Karim’s jaw tightened. “I care about these men more than you will ever know.”