“No.”
“That’s it? No? Gary’s a solid operator with years of combat experience.”
“I can anticipate what a brave soldier will do in a given situation,” Rapp said. “But someone who can’t even conceptualize fear? Unpredictable.”
“But—”
“Move on.”
“Fine. You don’t want Gary, forget Gary. Anthony Staton.”
“How old is that guy?”
“Not as old as Scott.”
“Weren’t his hips shot?”
“Got a replacement. You’re still due for a knee.”
Rapp shook his head. “I’ve got nothing but respect for Tony, but you’ve picked the only guy on the planet who’s full of more lead than me.”
“I figured you’d say that, but it was worth a shot. Pun intended. Here’s an out-of-the-box one. The Japanese said they’d lend us Yoshi. Don’t tell me that guy isn’t solid.”
“He eats nails,” Rapp agreed. “But I can only understand about half of what he says and that goes to ten percent when he’s on a radio.”
Nash let out a long breath and shuffled through the folder for a few seconds. “So, I’m not going to be able to sell you Chet Washington.”
“No.”
“Or Seth.”
“Hell no.”
“Brandon Tra—”
“No.”
Nash closed the file. “I get the feeling you’re doing this to me on purpose.”
“If Scott’s replacement fucks up, you’ll be fine. But I’ll be dead.”
“Okay. Fair enough. What would you say if I told you I have an operator who’s so good that even you’d steer around him if you had the chance. Rudimentary Arabic, but pretty well-connected in the region. And as a bonus, he’s easy to get along with and speaks fluent Russian.”
“I’d say you have my attention.”
“Grisha Azarov.”
Rapp just stared at him, not sure he’d heard right. “You want me to replace Scott with the man who did this to him?”
Nash held his hands up in a plea for peace. “Not my idea, Mitch. That name came straight from Scott. He’s worried about you and he’s worried about his guys. Figures Azarov’s the best.”
“So that’s all you’ve got?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Rapp pushed himself straighter in his chair. “Maslick’s a good man. His first command was a little rocky, but none of us could say ours went much better. He’ll get his feet under him.”
“He’s going to quit, Mitch. I’m telling you, if you put him in charge again, he’s going to walk.”
“I’ll talk to him. What about logistics?”
“We haven’t worked on it.”
“What do you mean? Why not?”
“You already know the answer to that, man. Scott wants Claudia. Irene wants Claudia. And Claudia wants Claudia. You might be picking up a pattern here. A certain name that keeps coming up?”
“She isn’t getting involved.”
“Then we’ve just managed to get absolutely nowhere.”
“I’ll convince Mas to take the ops job and you’ll get me some names for logistics.”
“I’d rather not, Mitch. If I do, Claudia’s going to find out and then she’s going to tell my wife and I’m going to catch hell.”
Rapp started for the door. “I don’t give a shit what you’d rather not do and I don’t give a shit what Irene thinks. You and Scott have forty-eight hours to get me that list.”
CHAPTER 14
The White House
Washington, D.C.
U.S.A.
WHEN Irene Kennedy entered the Oval Office, President Alexander was looking through the window at the sunlit landscape beyond. Normally he would have turned to greet her, displaying the southern hospitality that he was famous for. Today he didn’t acknowledge her at all.
For a politician, Alexander was a surprisingly reasonable and honorable man. His opponents tried to use his good looks and dimpled, million-dollar smile to paint him as naïve and weak. Those accusations couldn’t be further from the truth. He was an extremely intelligent and pragmatic man who cared deeply about his country. Like everyone in his position, he occasionally did the wrong thing for political reasons, but at least he did it reluctantly and with a strong grasp of the consequences.
The American people would be shocked to know that their affable leader’s greatest flaw wasn’t naïveté or weakness. It was rage. Instead of brief flashes of anger or occasional sarcasm to blow off steam, he bottled it up and eventually exploded. Kennedy had never spoken directly to the man about it, but the topic had once come up at a cocktail party she’d attended with the president’s aging mother. According to her, he’d been that way since he was a toddler.
Kennedy took a seat in front of his desk. As always, a steaming cup of tea was waiting for her on a side table. “Good afternoon, Mr. President.”
He didn’t respond, undoubtedly preoccupied with the meeting he was about to host. Of all the problems he had to deal with, Saudi Arabia was perhaps the one he despised most. It was a country with sufficient resources to provide prosperous lives for its citizens and be a force for good throughout the region. Instead, those resources had been used to enrich a handful of monarchs and to promote the cycle of violence and misery that the Middle East was currently mired in. There were enough horrifying problems facing the world without having to spend blood and treasure trying to deal with the self-inflicted ones.
When the president finally took a seat, he wore the relaxed smile the world was so familiar with. “Irene. A rare pleasure. You seem to be sending Mike Nash to deal with us politicians these days.”
Alexander was fond of ribbing the people who worked for him, but there was always a serious side to his jokes. A response was always required and it was best if it was an honest one.
“He’s good at it, sir.”
Alexander nodded. “Watch out for him, Irene. I don’t think he wants your chair, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one day he’s sitting in mine.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly. It wasn’t something she’d ever considered, but now that she thought about it, Alexander was right. He always was when it came to politics.
“I’m certain I’d enjoy working for him almost as much as I’ve enjoyed working for you.”
That was her subtle dig. Alexander hated to be patronized.
“Stop buttering me up, Irene. I already feel like a turkey about to get shoved in the oven.”
She reached for her tea, relieved that the level of tension had diminished slightly.
“Did you hear that the ambassador’s begged off?” Alexander said. “Some bullshit story about having food poisoning. So we’re just getting Nassar.”
“I’m not entirely surprised, sir. Calling an emergency meeting with no clear agenda is going to worry King Faisal and he’s aware that Ambassador Alawwad is . . .” Her voice faded for a moment. “. . . less than capable.”
“He’s a mental defective. But my understanding is that Aali Nassar isn’t. What do we know about him?”
“He’s a former army officer with a significant amount of combat experience. He was educated at Oxford as part of a scholarship program King Faisal put into place for the exceptional children of working-class Saudis. In his early thirties, he moved from the military to Saudi intelligence, where he’s enjoyed a distinguished career, culminating with him replacing Prince Khaled as the head of the General Intelligence Directorate.”
“Religious?”
“He had a strict Muslim upbringing and gives every impression of maintaining those beliefs. Having said that, he’s also practical and ambitious. So it’s hard to determine how much of his religious conviction is real and how much is just a reflection of what’s expected.”
“Another politician in the
making.”
“Possibly.”
Alexander leaned back in his chair and appraised her for a moment. “I’m suspicious about them suddenly flying Nassar in for this meeting. Do they know about Prince bin Musaid’s visit to Morocco? Do they suspect that we tracked him there?”
“I don’t think we should jump to conclusions,” Kennedy said. “Right now, all evidence suggests that King Faisal has lived up to his post-9/11 agreement with us. We’re not seeing any pattern of government-sponsored terrorism or support coming from the royal family.”
“Until now.”
“Yes, sir. But Prince bin Musaid is hardly a member of the power elite. I’d categorize him more as a black sheep.”
“So a disgruntled little prick who doesn’t think he’s getting his due is lashing out.”
“Until we have evidence to the contrary, it makes sense to assume that’s the case.”
“You’re always the voice of reason, Irene. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I’ve always been an optimist, sir.”
He actually laughed at that. The levity didn’t last long though. His secretary poked her head in and announced the arrival of Aali Nassar.
“Send him in.”
Kennedy had never been in the same room with the Saudi but now she had to admit that he was an impressive figure. Probably six foot two, with the square shoulders and narrow waist of a soldier despite being in his early sixties. His beard was dark and neatly trimmed, topped with close-cropped hair graying at the temples. He smiled politely and reached for the president’s hand.
“It’s a great honor, sir. Please allow me to apologize on behalf of Ambassador Alawwad for his absence. He’s quite ill.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“That won’t be necessary. Your country’s excellent medical personnel have things well in hand.” His accent was more British than Middle Eastern—the result of his years studying in England.
When Alexander released his hand, Nassar turned toward Kennedy. “Dr. Kennedy. After speaking so many times on the telephone, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
“I’m glad you happened to be coming our way, Director Nassar.”
His dark eyes flashed almost imperceptibly at her words. They both knew very well that the timing of his trip was no accident.
“Have a seat,” Alexander said. Nassar selected a leather wingback chair and watched silently as Kennedy and the president took up positions adjacent.
“I don’t see any reason to beat around the bush,” Alexander said. “We have information that Prince Talal bin Musaid recently went to Morocco to provide a million U.S. dollars in cash to an ISIS representative.”
Kennedy watched the man’s reaction carefully. For a moment there was none at all. Clearly he was calculating how to respond. The question was whether he had been aware of bin Musaid’s actions or if this was a complete surprise. To his credit, she was unable to determine that from his expression.
“I’m sorry, Mr. President, but I find that difficult to believe. Who gave you this information?”
“We had a team there with orders to capture the man delivering the payment.”
“Are you saying you have the prince in custody?”
It was a surprising question. Obviously, Nassar would know if the king’s nephew had disappeared in Morocco. In light of that, it came off as a bit of a taunt. The president didn’t react, so maybe Kennedy was in luck. Maybe he missed it.
“Our team was concerned that taking him could create an international incident and made the decision to stand down.”
“Then I don’t understand. Is this just speculation? Because our government and our royalty are as dedicated to the war on terrorism as anyone in the world. And that war has been extremely effective.”
“Like your recent operation against General al-Omari?”
That quashed her hope that Alexander had missed Nassar’s provocation.
“Our operation went flawlessly,” Nassar responded. “Unfortunately, al-Omari wasn’t there.”
Alexander turned toward her. “Is that our understanding, Irene?”
This was a dangerous and unnecessary game of brinksmanship—one she didn’t want to be dragged into. “The intelligence on the general’s location was accurate.”
“And yet I was there,” Nassar countered. “It seems likely that your intelligence was flawed. I think we would both agree that this is hardly uncommon where the Middle East is concerned.”
He hadn’t bothered to veil that insult.
“Certainty is difficult to come by,” she said before the president could rejoin the conversation. The anger was visible in his eyes and he needed a moment to gain control of it.
“I believe that your accusation against Prince bin Musaid is an example of that lack of certainty,” Nassar said. “Who were these witnesses? Private contractors in your employ? These men are little more than mercenaries and as such have very little credibility. Do you have any actual evidence to present?”
“We have a photograph,” she said.
“Really? And is this photograph conclusive?”
It was clear that no photograph would be considered conclusive by this man. Certainly not one taken through a scope in marginal light.
“Director Nassar,” Kennedy said, grateful that the president was allowing her to lead. “Incontrovertible proof may not be available, but this isn’t a trial. We’re allies. This is hardly something we would want to keep from you. It’s possible that he’s funding another attack on your own country.”
“Frankly, I find that insulting.”
“Be that as it may, it appears that he was using an embassy vehicle and embassy bodyguards to take him to the meeting. We can provide you with times and routes. I don’t think it will be difficult for you to corroborate what we’re telling you.”
“The fact that the prince might have been in Morocco and might have taken a car out is hardly going to corroborate this outrageous and unsubstantiated accusation. Who was it that he was supposed to be meeting?”
“A man with a history of handling ISIS’s financial matters.”
“And is he in custody? Can he corroborate your story?”
“He is not,” Kennedy said, unwilling to reveal that they’d turned Hayk Alghani.
“Then I’m not sure why I was even called into this meeting.”
The president had finally reached his limit and Kennedy winced at the violence with which he threw himself forward in his chair. “First of all, you weren’t called to this meeting. Alawwad was. And second, you’re well aware of our agreement that your government will not aid or tolerate the aiding of extremist groups.”
“And in return, you are to support us and our efforts to stamp out threats to the monarchy. To be frank, we’ve begun to question your continued commitment. Your support of Israel, your overtures toward Iran, your increased focus on—”
“I think you may be overstating what was promised by my predecessor,” Alexander said, barely holding his anger in check. “We agreed to keep the extent of your government’s complicity in 9/11 quiet and help you keep it from happening again. Not that we were going to become your servants on the world stage. Despite Saudi Arabia having the third largest defense budget in the world, Norway has flown more sorties against ISIS than you have. And every time they—or we—do, you quietly talk about the Christian Crusaders pounding at your gates. And we tolerate it. But if your royals are starting to get directly involved in terrorism again, that’s crossing the line.”
“It seems, then, that neither of us has an ideal partner in this relationship, Mr. President. But, as imperfect as it is, it is a relationship that will persist. If all the facts surrounding 9/11 were to come out, it would unquestionably be very damaging to my country. But I think the American people would be less concerned wi
th our actions than your government’s efforts to keep those actions secret from them. And while you didn’t forge this agreement, you would very quickly become the face of it.”
The president seemed frozen and Kennedy had no idea what he was going to do. She’d never witnessed a foreign bureaucrat openly threaten the President of the United States.
It was clear that there was no way to deescalate the situation. The only course of action she could come up with was to counter Nassar’s unprecedented move with one of her own.
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Director,” she said, unilaterally ending the president’s meeting. “I’m certain that you’ll handle this matter with the thoroughness you’re known for.”
When Alexander didn’t stand, Nassar just nodded in his direction and made his way to the exit. Kennedy half expected Alexander to explode when the soundproof door clicked shut, but he just sat there. She took a seat in the chair that Nassar had just abandoned, hoping to erase some of the memory of his presence.
A very long minute passed before Alexander spoke. “Did he just tell me to go fuck myself?”
“I think you’re overreacting, sir. I—”
“You’re patronizing me again, Irene. And this time I’m not laughing.”
“Sir, please hear me out. Director Nassar isn’t a diplomat. He’s a soldier and a spy who’s stepped into a very difficult situation. The Middle East is imploding, King Faisal is dying, and—”
“The Middle East is imploding because those Saudi sons of bitches have been pumping up religious fundamentalism to hide the fact that they’re robbing their people blind. And when they aren’t busy with that, they’re doing everything they can to tank oil prices in an effort to wipe out our energy industry—”
“But that isn’t Director Nassar’s doing. It—”
“I’m not done! We don’t want to forget that Saudi women have virtually no rights and that the government still executes people for witchcraft. Our relationship has always been a stain on our moral authority and dignity, but it was necessary. Is it still?”
She remembered that Mitch Rapp had recently asked something very similar.