Through the window he could see the refueling truck as it approached his jet and the glow of the airport beyond. Individual lights were ringed with a distinct haze, and he blinked his eyes in an effort to clear them. It was no use. Sleep had been impossible since his meeting with the American president, and fatigue was starting to take its toll.
There was little question that his performance in the Oval Office had been stupid and careless. He’d allowed his hatred for Joshua Alexander and the country he represented to overpower his reason. What should have been a careful political denial had become a battle of wills between him and the man purported to be the most powerful in the world. The temptation to demonstrate his disdain and to watch the man sputter like an impotent fool had been too strong.
He told himself that there was nothing the president could do—that the economic and geopolitical ramifications of acting against Saudi Arabia would be too great. Kennedy would undoubtedly counsel her country’s leader that the meeting was an unimportant example of a bureaucrat untrained in the complexities of politics. And he would likely listen. But what about the more violent and volatile elements of the American government? Those led by Mitch Rapp?
Nassar had significantly increased Prince bin Musaid’s security, but Musaid was still an obvious target for the CIA and, as such, a potential liability. Would they be that bold? While bin Musaid was an idiot, he was the only living connection King Faisal had with the sister he’d favored above all others.
A man in overalls appeared in the jet’s open doorway and spoke briefly to one of Nassar’s security detail before disappearing again.
“Sir, the refueling hose has become jammed and they’re concerned it could cause a fire. We’re being asked to deplane until they can get the problem resolved.”
“How long?”
“It should be no more than a few minutes, but they’re unwilling to start the process of freeing the hose until the plane is empty.”
Nassar let out a frustrated breath but then started for the door. Getting delayed in West Africa wasn’t an option. He might still have time to take advantage of Alexander’s paralysis and get to Faisal before he was informed about what had happened. It wouldn’t be hard to soften the impact. The old fool trusted him.
Nassar followed his two security men across the tarmac to a small building along its edge. They were well away from the main terminal, and the darkness increased as they distanced themselves from the plane. It took a few seconds for his man to find the light switch, but once it was on he ushered Nassar inside.
It was little more than a shed full of rusting equipment and Nassar stopped just beyond the threshold. “This is unacceptable. Find me another place to wait. Clear out a gate in the—”
He fell silent when he saw a shadow move near the back. A moment later three men stepped into the harsh light of the overhead bulb. Nassar’s reaction time, honed by years in the Saudi special forces, had been dulled only slightly by age. In this instance, though, his confusion caused him to hesitate. It was clear that none of the men were local. Two were wearing desert fatigues and scarves wrapped around their faces, but he didn’t focus on them. It was the man in the center who captured his attention. He was Nassar’s height and weight, with the same neat hair and tight beard. Moreover, he was wearing a suit and a pair of aviator sunglasses that were identical to ones that Nassar had left in the plane.
The Saudi spun toward the still open door and was nearly through when one of his guards grabbed him from behind. Instead of protecting him, he slammed Nassar facedown on the greasy floorboards.
A blinding flash at the main terminal was followed by the rumble of an explosion and a burst of machine-gun fire. Again he found himself in the unusual position of being unable to decipher what was happening. Had his guard anticipated the blast and shoved him down to protect him? Or had he been betrayed?
The answer came a moment later when two of the men he’d seen at the back of the shed dropped on top of him. Outside, a vehicle with a mounted gun was coming their way, firing random bursts at aircraft as it passed. The man dressed like Nassar joined Nassar’s guards and started for the door.
“You’re working for the CIA!” he shouted after them. “Stop this now or your families will pay the price! I will—”
One of the men grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back, silencing him with a piece of tape. Flex-cuffs were looped around his wrists as he watched his guards run across the tarmac with his doppelg?nger, firing their handguns at the approaching truck. Another explosion rocked the terminal as they leapt into his jet and closed the door. The fuel hose had been detached and the plane immediately began taxiing with the truck in pursuit. It was an obvious diversion—the gunner was going wide with every shot. By the time the plane finally took to the air, Nassar was struggling to breathe. It wasn’t the tape over his mouth, though. It was the realization of what was to come.
He had only himself to blame. He’d been blinded by his own arrogance and the intensity of his hatred for the Americans. He’d believed them to be too weak to move against him like this. And now that miscalculation would cost him a slow death at the hands of Mitch Rapp.
CHAPTER 18
Baltimore
Maryland
U.S.A.
ARE you sure this is it?” Claudia leaned into the dashboard and examined the decaying buildings closing in on them from both sides. Around the turn of the century, the brick and stone structures had been used to build locomotives, but now most were abandoned.
“I’m sure,” Rapp said.
He turned and drove alongside the blackened shell of a building, picking his way along a cobblestone street that was more mud than stone. The Charger’s recently upgraded suspension handled it all without breaking a sweat.
“Kind of a depressing neighborhood,” Claudia said, returning to the computer in her lap.
“Where do we stand?” Rapp asked.
“In a good place, I think. That was a very thorough list of Prince bin Musaid’s bank accounts and passwords. Did Marcus give it to you?”
“Let’s just say that it happened to be sitting on his desk when I walked by.”
“A wonderful stroke of luck,” she said, tapping a few keys. “I’ve been able to confirm that they’re all active and use them as a starting point to track down a few more of the prince’s assets.”
“Really? Things Marcus missed?”
She nodded. “Offshore accounts and shell corporations, mostly. The money from them was laundered through financial institutions not friendly to the U.S. Mostly Iran, Syria, and North Korea.”
“Not a problem for you, though.”
She shrugged. “I’ve used the same networks in the past.”
“So you’re confident you have all of it?”
“Unless he has significant amounts of cash hidden somewhere, but I doubt that’s the case. In my experience, men like him trust financial institutions. They have no reason not to.”
“Yet,” Rapp added.
“Yet,” she agreed.
“Do you have a secure connection?”
“Via 4G.”
“Then transfer the money.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled broadly and typed in a few more commands, finally hitting the ENTER key with a flourish.