The kid behind him took the top off the water container and started drinking again, glugging loudly in an effort to regain his attention. Teenagers. They were the same the world over.
Rapp glanced through the windshield, confirming that he couldn’t be seen by the men who had taken shelter at the back of the cave. Behind him, Mihran was in clear view but completely consumed by his computer screen, waiting for a signal that one of the primary teams was in trouble.
The boy tapped him on the shoulder, holding up the water and making a show of putting the lid back on. In response, Rapp grabbed the handle of a jack and swung it full force into the side of his head. His lifeless body hit the sand with a muffled thud and Rapp stuffed it under the vehicle before picking up the fallen container and draining a third of it.
A quick search of the weapons bag turned up several handguns and a collection of spare magazines. Rapp passed over a Kel-Tec P11 and a Ruger SR9-neither was a weapon he favored, particularly in these conditions. The Sig Sauer P226 he found at the bottom, though, was another matter.
He started around the front of the vehicle and after a few moments spotted the three men huddled at the back of the cave. He would have preferred to get in close, but without a silencer, there was no way to make this stealthy. Mihran would hear it and Rapp wasn’t sure how he’d react. Better to not be too far away.
By the time he’d closed to within fifteen yards, all eyes were on him. Over the endless hours in the car, he’d become reasonably satisfied that Mihran wasn’t armed but had no idea whether these men were. Now he was going to get a chance to find out.
Rapp slid the P226 from his waistband and extended it, watching the men’s reactions carefully. The one on the far left dove to the ground while the one next to him crouched and began sprinting along the back of the cave. The remaining one stood his ground and reached behind him with his right hand. Rapp put him down first, hitting him in the side of the head and sending him toppling backward into the rock face. Next was the running man. His head was hidden by the angle so Rapp went for his lower back, severing his spine and dropping him into the sand. He wasn’t dead, instead screaming in pain while trying to drag himself away, paralyzed below the waist.
The last man was still just lying on the ground, frozen by a combination of terror and confusion. He was staring up with wide eyes and Rapp put a bullet between them before running toward the mouth of the cave.
As he’d expected, Mihran was in a full sprint, angling toward the truck and the weapons it contained. When he saw Rapp on an intercept path, he reversed course, scooping up his laptop and heading out into the desert.
The Arab wasn’t particularly fast and Rapp was content to give chase, closing from behind. When Mihran tried to open the laptop, though, Rapp stopped and lined up the P226’s sights. He squeezed off a round, hitting the man in the ass and sending him rolling down a short slope to his right. The Toughbook flew from his grip and landed a few yards away. Hopefully, it would live up to its branding.
“What are you doing?” he yelled as Rapp approached. “You swore your allegiance to God!”
“Changed my mind,” Rapp said, crouching next to the laptop and opening it. Still running and still logged in.
He stood and walked over to the man, aiming the pistol at his terrified face.
“Stop! What do you want? Information? I can give it to you.”
“Go ahead.”
“If I do, will you let me go?”
“No.”
These ISIS pricks were fundamentally different than the al Qaeda operatives he’d spent much of his life fighting. Beyond having somewhat hazy goals, they lacked a consistent level of personal commitment. They fed off each other, working themselves into a frenzy using the energy of the mob. Cut off from that, many seemed small and weak.
“I want-” he started but then went silent when Rapp slammed a foot into his side.
A number of the man’s ribs collapsed and Rapp just stood there watching him writhe in pain. What he really saw, though, was Laleh. The expression of terror when Mustafa’s man began dragging her out of Jesem’s apartment. And the relief when Rapp leveled his weapon at her.
He was only vaguely aware of the man’s screams and couldn’t be certain when they finally stopped. Eventually, Rapp took a step back, breathing hard and looking down at Mihran’s broken neck, shattered skull, and open eyes caked with sand.
Finally, Rapp returned to the laptop, kneeling next to it and starting the process of linking to the CIA’s mainframe. The security was extensive and the connection was spotty-probably due to dust interfering with the satellite connection. After a solid ten minutes, he managed to initiate a software download and route a call to Kennedy’s office.
“Hello?”
“Jamie!” Rapp shouted. “Can you hear me?”
There was a long delay before she came back on. “Mitch? Is that you?”
“Connect me to Irene.”
“Trans”-she dropped out for a moment-“now.”
Kennedy’s voice came on a moment later. “Mitch! Are you all right? Where are you?”
“Fine. About a hundred miles east of Riyadh.”
“That puts you right in the middle of the Saudi’s main oil-producing region,” she said, though her words were difficult to decipher. “We were right.”
“Yeah. Look, I’m downloading software that will allow Marcus to take control of this computer. At a minimum, it’s tracking one of the teams that ISIS has in Saudi Arabia. I’m guessing it will have the capability of tracking all six once they go active.”
“Marcus is on his way to my office now.”
“What do the Saudis know, Irene?”
“I told them I had a man inside ISIS and that there was a potential nuclear threat, but I didn’t give them any more details than that. Their special operations group is on alert and waiting for a target.”
“Do they have anyone who can get to me?”
No answer.
“Irene!”
“I can do you one better,” she said, coming back on. “I sent Fred Mason to Riyadh in case you needed an extraction. He and his copilot have been sleeping in their helicopter since they got there. Give me your coordinates. The weather looks bad, but I’ll see if I can get him in the air.”
CHAPTER 50
RIYADH
SAUDI ARABIA
A VIOLENT gust slammed into the chopper when it was only ten feet off the ground, sending it toward a series of aircraft lined up on the tarmac. Rapp braced himself as the pilot barely missed some Saudi asshole’s Learjet and set the bird down with a surprising lack of drama.
“Thanks for the ride, Fred,” Rapp said before removing his helmet and going for the open door.
“No problem,” Mason shouted over the sound of the rotors. “Between this and Pakistan, Irene’s gonna send my daughter to grad school.”
Rapp jumped out, clutching the Toughbook he’d taken from Mihran. Ahead, a white SUV was barreling toward him on the runway.
It lurched to a stop a few yards away and a young man in the uniform of a spec ops officer exited. He took a few steps but then stopped short. The abruptness of it seemed odd, but then Rapp remembered what he must look like. The battered face had been bad enough, but now the bottom of Eric Jesem’s pants were splattered with the story of Mihran’s last moments on earth. In fact, there was still a dried piece of his scalp, complete with hair, stuck to the top of Rapp’s boot. In retrospect, he probably should have scraped that off.
“Mr. Rapp?” the man said, sounding a bit uncertain. Undoubtedly, he’d heard endless stories about the CIA operative and what he saw before him didn’t match the image he’d built up in his mind.
“Take me to King Faisal,” Rapp said in Arabic, passing by the young officer and climbing into the back of the SUV.