“Very clever,” al-Omari said. “But enough with speeches. You want something.”
“Of course,” Nassar responded. “Your recent attack on Saudi Arabia would have destroyed the country’s oil supply and with it the country itself. This was unwise. We have unparalleled military, intelligence, and financial resources. In fact, I think you recently enjoyed the fruits of the latter through the efforts of Prince bin Musaid.”
“You were behind that?”
“Did you really think that an idiot like bin Musaid could have initiated something like that on his own? I have an extensive network of royals and wealthy private citizens sympathetic to your cause. And I’m willing to coordinate their efforts to help you.”
“The king will discover what you’re doing and execute you.”
“The king will do nothing but die.”
“You’ll kill him?”
Nassar shook his head. “The years are doing it for me.”
“And what do you want in return?”
“That’s something for me and Mullah Halabi to discuss face-to-face.”
Nassar opened the suitcase, enjoying the general’s expression when he saw the euros stacked inside. “I’d like you to deliver my request for a meeting along with this gift.”
“And if I refuse?”
On the surface it seemed like an odd question from a man in his position, but it was expected. He would reasonably see Nassar as a threat—as a man with far greater training, intellect, and resources than he himself had. And while taking the general’s place might become necessary in the future, it made sense to allay al-Omari’s fears for the time being.
“I believe that you and I can work very effectively together, General. Me from Saudi Arabia and you at Mullah Halabi’s side.”
CHAPTER 13
Langley
Virginia
U.S.A.
RAPP pulled into the underground parking lot at CIA headquarters and briefly slammed the Charger’s accelerator to the floor. The engine was powerful enough to shove him back into the racing seat but incapable of drowning out Radiohead’s new album. He would never admit it to Craig Bailer, but the car actually had been worth the wait. The sound system was as good as any he’d ever heard, the armor’s reduction in weight was immediately noticeable, and the annoying turbo lag was gone. Finding something to complain about was going to be a challenge.
He blasted by a few startled men in business suits before slamming on the stellar brakes and turning onto a ramp that led deeper into the garage. As was his custom, he passed by his assigned space and selected one at random. State-of-the-art armor or no, there was no way in hell he was going to park in a space with his name stenciled on it.
He jogged across the asphalt and slipped into a private elevator, leaning against the back wall as it ferried him to the seventh floor. Normally he avoided Langley like the plague, but Mike Nash was pretty much glued to his office these days. He’d become Irene Kennedy’s go-to for dealing with Congress and the press, making it difficult for him to stray far from the Beltway for more than a few hours at a time. Besides, if Rapp had stayed home, he would have gotten roped into talking to Claudia about Coleman’s job.
*
“I hear the Iraq op went off without too many problems,” the former Marine said when Rapp entered his office.
Rapp dropped into a chair and put his feet up on Nash’s desk. “But not so much Rabat.”
“Yeah. Mas is back stateside, but he’s lying low. Scott and I both told him you’re over it, but he won’t listen. He needs to hear it from you.”
Nash was forever playing the diplomat. In this case, though, he was probably right.
“I’ll call him on my way home.”
That seemed to satisfy him and he pulled a folder from his drawer. The purpose of this meeting wasn’t to talk about Joe Maslick but to find a temporary replacement for Coleman on the ops side. Rapp wasn’t particularly optimistic, but it was something he was going to have to face. Sitting around and hoping for Coleman to miraculously heal wasn’t working out.
“I think we’ve put together some solid candidates,” Nash said. The hint of nervousness in his voice suggested that he wasn’t sure Rapp would agree.
“Go ahead.”
“Let’s kick it off with Gary Fielder.”
“The guy with brain damage?”
“It’s not brain damage, Mitch. He has a congenital neurological condition that makes it impossible for him to feel fear. It’s a thing. People have written papers about it.”
“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?”