Protect and defend (36 page)

Rapp decided that giving the man sodium pentothal had been a mistake. He stood and looked down at Abbas. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” Abbas replied with tear-filled eyes.

Rapp thought about telling the man the virgins didn’t exist, and even if they did he would undoubtedly be on an express elevator to hell, in which case his penis wouldn’t matter, but he decided it wasn’t worth it. It was time to call Ashani again and put more pressure on him. He left the interrogation trailer and went back to the office trailer, where Dumond, Stilwell, and Ridley were holed up in the conference room working the phones and computers. Rapp felt a wave of hopelessness. They were not making anywhere near enough progress.

He looked across the room at Stilwell and asked, “Anything new?”

“Yeah. Come here and look at this photo.”

Rapp walked around the conference table and looked at the computer screen. On it was the photo of Kennedy that President Amatullah had shown during his speech.

Stilwell clicked on the wall behind Kennedy and zoomed in on that part of the photo. “They’re holding her underground, and I’m pretty sure she’s in the city. This type of limestone is quarried near the river. You can find it in cellars all over the city, but it’s predominantly found in the old section of the West Bank.”

Rapp studied the photo. Bands of green and black mold streaked the rocks closest to the floor, and white clumps of calcification could be seen near the corner. “He’s making mistakes.”

“How so?”

“Terrorism 101, cover the walls with sheets, so you don’t give up clues like this.” Rapp felt a glimmer of hope. “He’s someplace he wasn’t planning on, and my guess is, he’s short on people too.”

“Really,” Stilwell said with feigned surprise. “You only killed about twenty of his men this morning.”

Rapp ignored the comment and said, “Make copies of this section of wall and get it to all the military units. Also, track down any local stonemasons and see if they can give us a better idea of where this might be.”

Moving on to Dumond, Rapp asked, “Any luck with Ashani’s cell phone number?”

“Nothing. The only thing we came up with today was the call you made to him, and a call he made to his wife.”

“Shit.” Rapp ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Is the NSA giving you everything you need?”

“And then some. With all the drones up in the air and the satellites overhead we’re picking up so much stuff, the translators are having a hard time keeping pace. If we had a sample of Mukhtar’s voice it would help.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Rapp grabbed his cell phone and scrolled back a couple of calls until he found the one he was looking for.

With the blessing of Amatullah, Ashani had rushed back to the Ministry of Intelligence. He had told Amatullah it was not wise to conduct such a risky operation from the Presidential Palace. Ashani now sat at his desk with the piece of paper Amatullah had given him resting squarely in the middle of his leather desk pad. Next to it was a small index card with the number and e-mail address Rapp had given him. Across the room, sitting atop a credenza, a TV replayed the speech of the American president.

Ashani watched at first with his usual analytical detachment. He did not know a great deal about President Alexander, but he had a general feel for the man’s speaking style. Like most politicians, he talked a lot, and when he talked about Iran, Ashani’s people made sure he received a DVD of the speech. He could tell from the first line of this speech that Alexander was not going to roll over.

By the time Alexander got to the part about the
Yusef
sinking the
Sabalan,
Ashani feared the worse. It all came back to him now. The knowing glances between the generals at the Presidential Palace during Amatullah’s speech, Amatullah ordering Mukhtar to accompany him to Mosul—it was all a deception, and the madman actually thought he was going to get away with it.

As the American president continued to lay out the facts, Ashani grew increasingly anxious. What path were these supposed leaders leading them down? Then the photo of Ali Abbas appeared on the screen along with those of the two Iranian Republican Guardsmen. Right when Ashani thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, the president showed a photo of him and Mukhtar arriving together in Mosul.

Ashani was so distraught he almost missed the closing part of President Alexander’s speech. As it was, the ultimatum couldn’t have been more clear. Ashani thought of Alexander’s words yet again.
I am giving the Iranian government two hours and not a minute longer. If Director Kennedy is not released within that time, I will order offensive operations to begin against the Iranian military and the country’s leadership.

Ashani knew with a discomforting level of certainty that the very office he was sitting in would be decimated by the first wave of cruise missiles. Before he could even attempt to think what his next move would be, his office door burst open. His deputy minister for covert activities wanted to know why he had not been consulted. Within seconds, the deputy minister in charge of Hezbollah was in front of his desk demanding to know the same.

Ashani attempted to explain to them that he had also been kept in the dark. It was obvious from the looks on their faces, though, that they did not believe him. Then the phones began to ring and ring; office phones, cell phones, secure phones—every single phone he had. His wife reached him on his personal cell phone after trying to get past his secretary. She was in a panic and wanted to know if she should load up the girls and leave the city. Ashani told her to stay put and tried to reassure her. Before getting off the phone he promised he would call within the hour.

Then he kicked everyone out of his office, told his secretary to hold all calls, and closed and locked the door. After a moment’s hesitation he decided to ring Ayatollah Najar’s private line. For the third time in as many hours he was told by his assistant that Najar was unavailable. Ashani hung up the phone and began to wonder if Najar and the Supreme Leader being out of the capital hadn’t been planned. What if they had given Amatullah their blessing?

The possibility shook Ashani’s faith in the leaders of his country. What if they had all been in on this plot from the beginning? What if they had knowingly sent him to meet Kennedy, knowing full well that she would be kidnapped? Ashani stared down at the list of phone numbers on one piece of paper, and Rapp’s information on the other. With one phone call he could defuse the entire situation. If for a second he thought that either Amatullah or Mukhtar possessed the ability to do what was right, he wouldn’t even think about passing along this information, but he had his doubts. In the end, Amatullah was likely too much of a narcissist to risk the full might of the U.S. armed forces, but he might be able to convince himself that their planes would never find him. In the end, America would never invade. They had neither the troops or the stomach for what would be a very costly battle on both sides.

But Mukhtar was an entirely different matter, a true believer, with a martyr complex. Mukhtar could not be counted on to turn Kennedy over. Since their close call at Isfahan, the man seemed hell-bent on plunging the region into conflict. He had made it abundantly clear that Iran had not sacrificed enough blood in the war against the Jews and the Americans. Ashani decided Mukhtar could not be trusted.

Would he be committing treason, or would it be an act of patriotism? Ashani believed the American president when he said if Kennedy was not returned safely in less than two hours he would declare war. Despite the bravado of the generals and admirals, every Iranian pilot who took to the sky would be downed, and those planes that stayed on the ground would be blown to bits. Every ship and sub foolish enough to try to engage one of the mighty strike groups would be sent to the bottom of the Persian Gulf. It would be recorded as the most lopsided naval engagement perhaps in history. Thousands would die, and that was before the Americans turned their bombs on the civilian leadership.

Ashani shook his head at the heartbreaking thought of all the chaos and destruction. The loss of life. And for what? So a group of men could say that they refused to back down. Ashani knew the nonsense had to stop.

He picked up the list of numbers that Amatullah had given him, as well as Rapp’s information and moved his chair over to his computer. He quickly composed an e-mail to Rapp listing all of the numbers. Even the two that had been used. Afraid he’d lose his nerve, Ashani hit the send key. He then grabbed his satellite phone and dialed Rapp’s number. After a few rings a man answered on the other end.

Ashani recognized Rapp’s voice. “I just sent you an e-mail. It contains a list of numbers that I was given so I could reach the man you are looking for. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“The first two numbers have already been used. I am going to call the third one in two minutes. Is that enough time for you to make the proper arrangements?”

“Yes.”

“Good. There’s one more thing.”

“I’m listening.”

Ashani glanced nervously at his door, half expecting it to be kicked in at any moment. “I want to be clear that I had nothing to do with this. I am acting on my own right now.”

“Why?”

“Out of respect for our mutual friend, and my hope that we can avoid further bloodshed.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

Ashani set the phone down and looked at his watch. He was only halfway there. In two minutes time there would be no turning back.

Rapp paced anxiously behind Dumond, as the younger man worked feverishly to make sure everything was in place. The eavesdropping assets in, around, and over Mosul comprised an all-encompassing net. The mobile phone networks were tapped, as were the fiber optic lines running in and out of the city. Keyhole and Voyager satellites circled far overhead in geosynchronized orbit snapping images and sucking every desired signal from the air. Predator drones hovered above to provide real-time imaging as well as radio intercepts. There wasn’t a call made in the city that wasn’t intercepted.

The complicated part lay in sifting the valuable calls from the 99.999 percent of them that were absolutely worthless. To do that normally required the deciphering of the signal and then the translation and analysis of the conversation. The National Security Agency in Fort Meade, Maryland, accomplished this by employing complex voice recognition software and more sheer computing power than any other entity in the world. So much information was collected that the analysts at the NSA were the modern-day equivalent of the prospectors who worked the rivers and streams of the California Gold Rush. Except in this case, intel intercepts were like produce in a grocery store. Each bit of information came with a “best if used by date.” Provided that Minister Ashani had really given them the numbers that Mukhtar would use, all of these hurdles could be avoided.

Dumond pounded on his keyboard with a final few strokes and then pushed his chair back, removing his headset. He looked over his shoulder at Rapp and said, “It’s all set to go. We’re at the top of the list on every system. The numbers are programmed in. The second they go active we’ll be able to isolate them.” Dumond pointed at the screen on the far left and said, “The two numbers that you said were already used…We’re mining the records right now, to see which towers relayed the most recent calls.”

“What about the third number?” Rapp asked. “If he has the phone turned on, can’t we pick it up?”

“He doesn’t even have to turn it on.”

“I know,” Rapp said with frustration in his voice. “Now’s not the time to get technical with me.”

“Sorry. We’re searching for it right now. As you know, it’s standard field practice to turn these on sparingly. It greatly reduces the risk of being tagged.”

“I know, but ten phones is excessive.”

“He’s probably just switching out SIM cards.”

“Marcus,” Rapp shot him a cautionary look, “I’m well aware of how it works. Can we please focus on what is important and stop talking about semantics.”

Dumond nodded quickly and swore at himself for being so stupid. He’d known Rapp for a long time. Had worked with him on a lot of operations. Kennedy was like family to Rapp. The stress of this situation understandably had shortened his already short fuse.

Dumond pointed at the middle screen, which had a map of the greater Mosul metropolitan area. “These red dots represent mobile phone towers.”

Rapp noted that there was easily more than a hundred dots on the screen.

“Now if Mukhtar is using a satellite phone,” Dumond continued, “he’ll bypass these towers and the big bird up in space will get him.”

“Do you have Ashani’s voice programmed into recognition software?”

“Yep,” Dumond pointed at the third screen. “It’s all set to go. As soon as he comes online. I’ll have verification for you in ten seconds or less.”

“And Mukhtar?”

“We have no known samples, but we’ll be able to use this print and run it against everything we have in the archives.”

“How long will that take?”

“Even if we prioritize it, the search might take weeks. We’re talking about a lot of phone calls.”

“There’s got to be a way to speed it up.”

“If we get lucky and find a hit, we can narrow the search to a specific time frame and region. That would help.”

The door to the trailer opened and General Gifford entered with two other officers. All three were in full battle gear with sidearms strapped to their right thighs.

Gifford took off his helmet and said, “Mitch, Stan called me and said you guys might be close to finding a location.”

“That’s right, General.”

“How good is the intel?”

“We have Mukhtar’s mobile phone number, and we expect him to be receiving a call any minute.”

“We’ve got a hit on one of the previous numbers,” Dumond announced excitedly. He pointed at the middle screen. “This tower about ten miles east of town. My guess is he was traveling on this road right here.”