“That was my job.”
“You were dead asleep. I also called your pilot. He’ll have the jet waiting for us in Malta.”
She pulled her robe up around her neck and pointed to the potato he was chopping. “And you’re making breakfast? I feel like I’m not earning my money.”
“I’m not paying you.”
“In that case, I’ll have an omelet.”
He walked to the refrigerator and began digging around for some eggs. She’d been up half the night putting together everything she could on Aali Nassar, although they hadn’t yet discussed what she’d found. Rapp had considered telling her about the deal that was struck with the Saudis after 9/11 but quickly abandoned the idea. It was one of the ugliest skeletons in America’s closet, and she didn’t really need to know.
“Maybe I should do that,” she said, watching him pile ingredients on the counter.
“Have a little faith.”
“I’m skeptical by nature.”
“Did you find anything interesting on Nassar?”
She took a sip of her coffee while he looked for a pan. “I did, but then I considered throwing it all into the sea.”
“Why?”
“Because this wasn’t the mission, Mitch. You were going to coerce bin Musaid into pointing a finger at high-level Saudis involved with ISIS and—”
“He did that.”
“But it isn’t a group of minor royals or wealthy businessmen. It’s the director of Saudi intelligence. That’s a fundamental shift in the mission.”
“It’s not a shift. Just a change in scale.”
“Mitch, we—”
“Do you want out?” he asked. It would be impossible to hold it against her. While she’d worked some fairly high-profile targets in the past, none were anything like Nassar.
She stared at him for a few beats before speaking again without directly answering the question. Whether that was because she wasn’t sure or because she was insulted by the question, he didn’t know. Probably best to let it go for now.
“I wasn’t focused on Nassar’s personal history because I assume you’re already aware of it—his modest upbringing, his education in the madrassas and then Oxford. His time in the Saudi special forces . . .”
“Yeah. The Agency’s been keeping an eye on him since he was a young officer. He was always going places, though I don’t think any of us would have guessed that he’d replace a royal as head of the Intelligence Directorate. I assume you looked into his associates?”
She nodded.
“And?”
“I’ve come up with a good list, I think. The most important name on it is Mahja Zaman.”
“Who’s he?”
“A childhood friend and his roommate at university. They continue to maintain a close friendship, and Zaman is both extremely wealthy and extremely religious. By all reports, he’s also quite intelligent.”
“So a completely different animal than bin Musaid,” Rapp said, cracking a couple eggs into the pan he found.
“Absolutely. While Nassar would have tolerated the prince to access his money, his relationship with Zaman would be very different. He’d have to treat the man as an equal.”
“So Zaman might actually know something about Nassar’s network and methods.”
“If anyone does, it would be him.”
“Any other front-runners?”
“A few. But one is of particular interest. Ahmed el-Hashem, the number two man at the Saudi embassy in Paris. He’s rich, well--connected, and seems to have an unusually close relationship with Nassar. He’s also heavily connected to the bin Laden family and was a close friend of Osama when they were young. Just the kind of man I would recruit if I were Aali Nassar.”
Rapp lowered the heat on the stove. “In order to move against someone like Nassar, I need more than bin Musaid’s deathbed confession. At this point we have to assume that the CIA and MI6 have IDed me from the Monte Carlo security camera footage. If that’s the case, it won’t take long for that information to filter to Nassar. And when it does, we need to be paying attention. If he’s guilty, he’s going to start getting rid of anyone who can finger him.”
“They’re not the only people he’s going to try to get rid of, Mitch. We’re on his radar now.”
Rapp tossed some grated cheese in the pan and shook it to release the egg from the surface. “Do we know where Zaman and el-Hashem are?”
“Zaman’s in Brussels, staying in an upper-floor hotel suite. He doesn’t have a checkout date, so I can’t tell you when he’s planning on leaving or where he’s going when he does. El-Hashem is at his house in Paris and working his regular job at the embassy. He has two full-time security men living on the premises, both of whom also act as drivers. There’s a wall around the property as well as cameras and alarms—about what you’d expect. Nothing special.”
“What about Nassar?”
“On his way to London.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Rapp slid the omelet onto a plate and put it in front of her. She examined it for a few seconds before digging in.
“Not bad,” she said, sounding a bit subdued. Given the situation, it was understandable.
“I’m a man of many talents.”
“I suppose so. Now tell me what you want to do about the things that don’t involve breakfast.”
“First, get in touch with Grisha and tell him he might have a run-in with Nassar in London. After that, we’re going to prioritize Zaman. I want to get face-to-face with him before Nassar can get rid of him or pull him back to Saudi Arabia. ”
“And el-Hashem?”
Rapp would have liked to move simultaneously against the man but, without access to the Agency’s manpower, it wasn’t going to happen.
“He’s going to have to wait. Can you get surveillance on him? Maybe try to get his personal phone and email?”
He hated relying on her people, but there was no other option. His contacts were more reliable, but they were also connected to intelligence agencies across the globe. A lot of them owed him their lives and would be willing to repay that debt, but he wasn’t looking to call in those markers.
“I have someone good in Paris,” Claudia said through a full mouth. “What about the others on my list?”
“Do what you can, but keep it low-key. We don’t need to spook anyone. Not yet.”
The muffled sound of a phone ringing interrupted him and he waited for her to dig it out of her robe. After a quick look at the screen, she picked up.
“Bonjour, chérie! Comment ?a va?”
Unquestionably Anna. Claudia insisted that they communicate with her only in French in an effort to ensure her continued fluency.
“Why can’t you sleep? No . . . I find that hard to believe. Irene has a great deal of security and her people would sweep for closet monsters every afternoon. It’s standard procedure. Yes, but— Have you brought this up with Tommy? Oh, he does. I see. I don’t— Yes, he is, but— Sweetie, you— Okay. Fine.”
Claudia held out the phone. “She wants to talk to you. She says you know how to handle these kinds of things.”
CHAPTER 33
London
England