Vince Flynn - Order to Kill

They pulled up in front of a peeling door and stepped out into the heat. Along the line of vehicles, Chutani’s men did the same, keeping their weapons out of sight. Rapp followed Shirani into a tiny office that stank of the chemicals used on the factory floor. The man standing behind the only desk was wearing the collared shirt and bland tie of a factory manager, but neither was effective in disguising his military background. He gave a crisp salute and pressed a button beneath the desk, unlocking a door at the back.

The shop floor probably would have looked pretty authentic if it weren’t for the warheads lying in various states of disassembly. Further, Rapp’s eye immediately picked out a series of seams in the concrete floor that undoubtedly hid operational nukes. If he had to guess, probably installed on Shaheen 1A ballistic missiles.

The engineers working on the warheads stopped and turned, a few attempting awkward salutes. A man whose uniform designated him an army major hurried toward them, stopping short a few feet away and firing off a somewhat crisper salute than the academics under his command.

“Welcome to Bhakkar, sir.”

“Where do we stand with the investigation into the missing fissile material, Major?”

“We have confirmation that these are the only five,” he said, glancing at Rapp but not daring to ask questions. “The remainder of the arsenal has been examined, with the exception of the one in the Americans’ possession.”

Shirani nodded. “It’s in a vehicle outside. Send a detail to retrieve it.”

“Right away, sir. What else can I do for you? We weren’t given your agenda. Are you here to see the American prisoner?”

Rapp’s eyebrows rose slightly, while the general’s expression darkened. He hadn’t mentioned anything about a prisoner and apparently hadn’t expected his subordinate to bring up the subject. It was one of the problems that accompanied a reputation for volatility and brutality. Having everyone falling over themselves to anticipate your next demand could backfire.

“Of course we’re here to see the prisoner, you idiot!” Shirani said, trying to cover. “Now, where is he?”

The major hurried toward the back of the building with Rapp and the general following. They stopped in front of a steel door and Rapp stood quietly as the increasingly anxious soldier tried to get the latch unstuck.

“We’re in the process of interrogating him,” he said, finally freeing the rusted handle. “But so far he’s said very little. We know he’s American from his accent and he’s identified himself as a member of ISIS.

“That will be all, Major.”

“Yes, sir. Let me know if I or any of my men can be of assistance.”

Rapp watched him go before turning his gaze on Shirani.

“I forgot to mention him,” the general blurted, anxious to avert further wrath from the CIA man. “Under the circumstances, I think-”

“Shut up,” Rapp said. “All I want to hear from you is where you captured this man.”

“An ISIS group tried to hijack a truck containing one of our warheads on the road between Naal and Khuzdar. We had an army unit training nearby and they managed to capture this man as he was trying to escape.”

“The others got away?”

“Two were killed, but otherwise, yes.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Rapp saw Joe Maslick come around the corner and head their way.

“Get back to your engineers and tell them we’re going to be expecting a full report on their findings. And this time I suggest you don’t leave anything out.”

“It was a mistake!” Shirani insisted.

“Get out of my sight.”

Maslick skirted the wall as the general hurried past him.

“Give me a sitrep,” Rapp said when his man was within earshot.

“We’re solid. Everyone working in this place is regular army but their security procedures are shit. They’ve got four armed guys patrolling the fence line but everyone else is working under their cover as factory workers. Their weapons are all secured in an armory under the building. I’ve spread Chutani’s men around the facility and on the perimeter. Sidearms only but that’ll be plenty to take the place. If it has to go down, it’ll probably take less than two minutes and we could conceivably get out of it with no casualties.”

“Good,” Rapp said and then pointed through the partially open door. “Now there’s someone I think we need to meet.”

They went inside and Maslick shut the door behind them before taking a position behind a lone man shackled to a chair.

“Looks like you’ve had better days,” Rapp said.

The man raised his head, revealing a pulverized face partially hidden by a beard similar to the one Rapp wore.

“You’re… You’re American?” he said, saliva and blood rolling from his swollen lips as he spoke.

“Yeah.”

“Are you from the embassy?”

“Not exactly.”

“You’re here to take me home?”

“I don’t know. Who are you?”

He didn’t answer, but Rapp had a pretty good idea. The accent was middle-America but he had black hair and a dark complexion. A second-generation immigrant from somewhere in the Middle East.

Rapp would never understand how foreign parents-largely grateful for everything America had given them-could raise children like the man sitting in front of him. How someone brought up in a good neighborhood by moderate Muslims turned to radicalism. What was it about living in a free, prosperous, safe society that chapped their asses so bad?

“Look, you sound like you want to go home, but I don’t know where that is. American accents are easy to fake. I’m not sure you’re really my problem.”

He stared at Rapp through blackened eyes for a good thirty seconds, but finally spoke. “I’m from Durango. In Colorado.”

“You got a name?”

“Eric Jesem. You can look it up. Now take me home.”

“Home? You joined ISIS. This is your home.”

“I’m an American citizen!” he shouted, but the effort caused him to cough uncontrollably. His evident agony suggested he had a few broken ribs to go with the bruises on his face. “I… I have rights!”

“What about the rights of the women and children you and your friends have raped and killed?”

“They live in the new caliphate. Under God’s law.”

“But you don’t,” Rapp said. “Is that what you’re telling me? They live under God’s law but you get yours from Thomas Jefferson?”

“Take me back to the States! I know my rights. I get my day in court.”

“Why don’t we try it this way. You tell me everything you know and if it’s useful, we’ll get you to an American hospital.”

“Bullshit. I don’t have to talk to you. I don’t have to incriminate myself. It’s in our fucking Christian constitution.”

“Look around you, Eric. Where do you think you are? Does this look like a Colorado police station?”

“I serve the one true God.”

Rapp switched to Arabic. “You butcher your way through civilian populations.”

Jesem just stared blankly at him.

“Are you kidding me?” Rapp said, switching back to English. “You’re sitting there lecturing me about Islam and your parents didn’t even teach you to speak its language?”

“You have to take me home! I’m an American citizen.”

“Sure. I’ll just run you back to Denver so you can get some great medical care and do a little skiing before you get back to your genocide.”

“No,” he said, starting to sound a little less certain of his position.

“No what? You don’t ski?”

“I just…” Tears started to flow, mixing with the dried blood on his cheeks. “I just want to go home.”

“Don’t you dare start crying about missing America. I will fucking yank your dick off and feed it to you.”