“When have we ever complained?”
“Couldn’t be worse than the shit that went down in Nigeria,” Bruno McGraw said, and everyone nodded in agreement.
“What are we talking about here?” Wicker asked. “Beyond black? What’s the worst that could happen? I end up dead? Or on the run from the FBI? Fuck it. I’m in.” That drew more nods.
“You’re the best in the world at what you do and it’s been my privilege to serve with you,” Rapp said. “But now you need to show Cary the same loyalty you showed me.”
He gestured toward the door and Claudia started for the hallway, looking a bit choked up. He felt the same way, but refused to show it. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. And good luck.”
CHAPTER 19
Location Unknown
AALI Nassar regained consciousness slowly, becoming aware of the hum of a car engine and crunch of tires on a dirt road. He was blindfolded and his hands were secured behind his back, but they hadn’t yet arrived at what he assumed would be his final destination. The lingering rage at the betrayal of his men had turned cold with fear. Was there an opportunity for escape? It had been many years since he’d been in combat, but the training was still part of him. How many men were in the car? No one spoke, but he could smell their sweat. The heat was a clue. The windows were closed. Did it mean they were on a busy road? There was no sound filtering in from outside, but that didn’t mean the landscape they were traveling was empty.
He had no idea of their speed, but he did have a good sense of what awaited him at the end of this journey. Could he reach the lock without alerting anyone that he was conscious? The handle? If he was able to throw himself through the door, would he survive? Did it matter?
A quick death from trauma would undoubtedly be preferable to what Mitch Rapp had planned for him.
Nassar began to turn, keeping his movements agonizingly slow and straining his ears for any reaction. He’d made it less than a centimeter when the vehicle slowed and came to a stop. The door he was leaning against was yanked open and he was pulled violently through.
“We know you’re awake, Director,” a disembodied voice said. “Walk or I’ll saw your legs off myself.”
Nassar got his numb feet beneath him and began stumbling forward with men holding him on either side. The sound of a door opening was followed by him tripping over the threshold and nearly falling face-first to the floor.
The blindfold was removed and he squinted against the light. The concrete cell he had been expecting wasn’t in evidence. Instead he was in a large room with exposed wood walls and utilitarian architecture that gave no hints as to his location. The man looking down on him, though, was easily recognized.
He was sitting on a raised platform haphazardly draped with colorful rugs. His clothing was traditional and all black, with a headdress that covered his hair but left his bearded face exposed. Not Mitch Rapp. Instead, Nassar found himself in the presence of Mullah Sayid Halabi. The leader of ISIS.
“Good evening, Director. It’s my understanding that you wanted to see me.”
Nassar met the pale blue eyes of the mullah with the required deference. In his peripheral vision he could see men lined up on either side of him. General al-Omari was to Halabi’s right, but the others were only intermittently identifiable. Largely former Iraqi officers and advisors to Saddam Hussein.
“Yes,” he said, the residual effects of the drug he’d been given making it difficult to form words. Thank Allah that his mind was clear.
“To what purpose?”
“To negotiate an alliance between ISIS and Saudi Arabia.”
“You speak for the king, then?” Halabi said, though it was obvious that he knew the answer.
“No. The king and the royalty have turned their backs on Islam.”
“I see. Then you speak for yourself. For your own ambitions.”
“My ambition is only that the caliphate succeed. And that Saudi Arabia act in service to that goal.”
The mullah remained silent, making it clear that he expected a more complete response. And that the content of that response would determine whether Nassar lived or died.
“ISIS’s attack on Saudi Arabia’s oil fields and the fact that it was thwarted by Mitch Rapp has strengthened King Faisal’s allegiance to America.”
The mullah’s eyes narrowed but it was impossible to know if it was the result of his hatred for the CIA man or the mention of his plan’s failure. The question was how plainly to speak in the man’s presence. He had surrounded himself with competent advisors, but did he listen to them?
“That action, if it had succeeded, would have created chaos in the region that you could have brought order to. But it was a plan with drawbacks. It would have left ISIS in control, but of what? A fractured and violent land with thousands of factions being supported by Americans, Russians, Europeans, and even Asians. Consolidating that into a cohesive Islamic state with the ability to effectively administer its internal affairs and defend itself from outside forces would have been difficult if not impossible.”
“But you can solve these problems,” Halabi said.
“Solve them? No. But right now you have Saudi Arabia, a country with one of the most powerful militaries in the region, increasingly dedicated to your destruction. Faisal has refused to name a successor, but I can tell you that every man in line is weak and corrupt. The question is: Who will pull the new king’s strings? You or the Americans?”
Halabi scanned the faces of his advisors before answering. “Then you want my help in increasing your influence in Saudi Arabia so that in turn you can influence who succeeds Faisal. Or perhaps your ambitions are grander? Perhaps you see the end of the Saudi monarchy and yourself as the leader of that country.”
Nassar lowered his head submissively. “Whatever would serve you most effectively.”
Halabi’s unblinking eyes were suddenly filled with amusement. As though they had examined Nassar’s soul and found it laughably trivial.
“State your case plainly, Director. I have to return you to your home as quickly as possible. My men won’t be able to hide your absence for much longer.”
Nassar felt some of the tension drain from him at the acknowledgment that he wouldn’t die in this place. A significant amount of that tension remained, though, at the realization that the Saudi guards he’d thought were loyal to him were in fact servants of Halabi. How far did the mullah’s tentacles reach into the Saudi government?
“I request that you table any plans for terrorist acts on Saudi soil and that you provide me with the tools to shut down the majority of social media attacks on the royalty. I have the ear of the king, but I’m forced to share it with America’s CIA. I need to show him that they’re unnecessary—indeed, that they’re counterproductive. He has to be confident that I, and I alone, have power to defend his dynasty.”