Now the truly dangerous game started. How much to say? He needed to draw the man into conversation, but it would only take one slip to guarantee a summary beheading.
“They said that we’ve taken fissile material from Pakistan’s missiles.”
“How many?”
“They believe six.”
“So they know of all of them,” the general muttered. “Do they know anything of our plan?”
“They believe that we’re building nuclear weapons and that we’re going to smuggle them into the United States.”
“Fools. How I would love to see the look on the American president’s face when he learns the truth.”
What truth?
“Yes, sir.”
“The nurse who examined you said that none of your injuries are life threatening. You will recover. But, I’m afraid, not quickly enough to play a role in our operation. I’m sorry.”
The expression of deep disappointment that settled on Rapp’s swollen face wasn’t entirely manufactured. It was unlikely that anyone knew where he was or even if he was still alive. With no way to communicate with the outside world, he had no choice but to handle this himself. And that wasn’t something that was going to happen from the bleachers.
“Please, General. I’m already healing. Test me. I can still carry out my part.”
“I admire your devotion, Eric. And you’re right. You will heal and play an important role in spreading God’s law across the world. But not over the course of the next three days.”
So now Rapp had a time frame, but no plan. And still no way to tell anyone even if he did.
“Sir, I beg you-”
“No,” the soldier said, displaying a hint of anger at having his orders questioned.
There was nothing Rapp could do but bow his head submissively.
“I’m truly sorry we can’t use you in this, Eric. But there are more ways than one to reward your courage and devotion.”
CHAPTER 33
RAPP stayed a pace behind the unnamed general as they started up a street occupied by only a few armed men posted on corners. The Iraqi glanced up at the hazy sky and Rapp emulated the familiar tic. People in this region had a well-founded fear of American drones and he now shared it. Standing too close to this piece of shit created the very real danger that he might be vaporized by someone he was on a first-name basis with. Fortunately, the winds had picked up to the point that U.S. drones would be grounded and satellites would be blinded by blowing sand.
The general turned down a bombed-out alley and Rapp followed, glancing back at the man who had rousted him from his bed earlier that day. The three of them were now alone in the narrow corridor, obscured by walls rising up on either side and the howl of the wind. It would be so easy. A quick turn on his heel followed by a throat strike. The general, lost in his own thoughts, wouldn’t notice anything until Rapp clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him into one of the collapsing buildings around them.
How long until he was discovered, though? Generals might occasionally stroll through the streets with only a single guard, but their schedules were always tight. It was unlikely that much more than a few minutes would pass before someone came looking. Nowhere near long enough to get any actionable intelligence. And then there was still the problem of getting word out to someone in a position to take that action.
Rapp heard the mob before he saw it. Cheers, loud enough to drown out the wind, rose and fell in an unpredictable rhythm. Less than two minutes later, they entered a large plaza containing a gathering that, under clear skies, would have been immediately targeted by the U.S. There were probably two hundred men, almost all pumping assault rifles in the air. At the north end of the square was a raised stage, hastily constructed of wood planks. And on that stage stood a man holding two girls.
One was probably sixteen and the other no more than thirteen. Both had been stripped naked and looked nearly catatonic. They’d spent their postadolescent lives covered from head to toe and under the watchful eye of their families. Now everyone they knew was dead and they found themselves exposed and alone. Livestock in a sex slave auction.
“If one of these pleases you, you’re welcome to her,” the general said. “But I’ll warn you. Neither is a virgin.”
That explained the bruises that were becoming increasingly evident as they approached through the parting crowd. The girls were being sold for the second or third time by masters who had become bored with them.
A winner in the bidding emerged and leapt onstage. After a careful accounting of his payment, he dragged off the younger of the two girls while the auctioneer tried to drum up enthusiasm for the older one.
Rapp had seen a great deal in his time, but this was something new. As twisted as al Qaeda was, it had a goal, a rationalization for that goal, and a strategy to achieve it. The same could be said for Hamas and Hezbollah. ISIS wasn’t playing to win. Their only goal was to leave nothing but scorched earth when they were finally destroyed.
He felt his rage building as he looked at the faces of the men around him. Their bodies pressed against his and his anger quickly grew to the very edge of his control. He turned toward a terrorist dressed entirely in black and fixed his gaze on the AK-47 slung over his shoulder. It looked well maintained and there were spare magazines affixed to the man’s belt. How many of these pricks could he kill before he himself went down? Twenty? Fifty? A hundred?
The general stopped and threw an arm around Rapp’s shoulders. The sudden weight of it pulled him from his violent fantasy, forcing him back into the present. The older girl was finally carried offstage as another was forced up the stairs. Unlike the two before her, she was wearing a chador. A little mystery to whip up the crowd.
In an impressive piece of showmanship, the auctioneer grabbed her and tore off the chador in one deft motion. The mob erupted, but then settled down when they discovered she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt underneath.
“She’s a bit old,” the general commented. “Her family allowed her to go to university instead of marrying. But it’s been confirmed that she’s a virgin and I think you’ll agree that she’s quite beautiful.”
They were now standing only about ten feet from the base of the stage, and there was no denying it. She had long black hair and flawless skin, with eyes that held less terror than Rapp would have expected under the circumstances.
“Do you want to see more?” the auctioneer shouted.
The cheers that rose up were powerful enough that they reverberated in Rapp’s chest.
The man grabbed the front of the young woman’s shirt and was going to rip it off when she jammed a thumb in his eye. And not just a little bit. She drove it in nearly to her knuckle.
The crowd fell into a stunned silence and Rapp fought back a smile as the auctioneer let out a high-pitched scream. Two men charged up the steps and grabbed the woman, whose thrashing was accompanied by an impressive string of obscenities in at least five distinct languages.
The auctioneer managed to get hold of himself and shouted something unintelligible to a man near the base of the stage. A moment later, he was scurrying up the stairs with a gas can clutched to his chest. The partially blinded man grabbed it and took the cap off. When he started lurching toward the captive woman, Rapp pointed and shouted over the noise. “I’ll take her.”
The general looked over at him and grinned. “Spirited women! I agree.”
He pulled his sidearm and fired into the air, stopping the advancing man in his tracks. All attention was now on them.
“This is our American brother Eric Jesem,” he yelled. “The man who was tortured by Mitch Rapp but said nothing!”
This time the whoops of the mob were accompanied by sporadic automatic fire. The general held up his hands for silence. “He wants this woman and we will grant his request. A reward for his courage and his devotion to jihad.”