“It’s hard to complain about Nassar doing my job for me. At this rate, he’ll have his entire network wiped out by next week.”
“He’s framing you, Mitch! If someone showed me all this, even I’d think you were killing wealthy Saudis and shooting up nightclubs. We need to shift our focus to clearing you. We can easily argue that you discovered the threat to Terry’s at the last second and were trying to stop the terrorists and save the prince. It’s not airtight, but it will play. I can probably patch together some reasonably convincing evidence that you weren’t in Paris at the time el-Hashem was killed. That just leaves Brussels. It’s a harder problem, but if we can demonstrate a pattern of—”
“That’s all fine and good, Claudia, but what about Nassar?”
“What about him?”
“He’s partnering with ISIS. In all likelihood he’s going to use their power in the region to help him take over when King Faisal dies. Then Mullah Halabi won’t be flailing around with assault rifles and suicide vests—he’ll be backed by Saudi Arabia’s military and intelligence capability. He could conceivably use that to march straight across the Middle East.”
“How is any of that your problem, Mitch? Tell Irene what you’ve discovered and let the Americans handle it.”
“I think you’re missing the fact that I am the Americans. I’m not your husband. I’m not a contract killer. My job is to stop millions of people from being murdered by a bunch of fundamentalist psychos.”
“No, it isn’t. You don’t work for the CIA anymore. We’ve talked about this, Mitch. Everyone’s going to walk away from you. All the people you’ve kept from harm, all the politicians you’ve made look good, all the operatives you’ve bled with. By this time next week I wouldn’t be surprised if Scott’s men are chasing us around the world.”
“It’s not just my job, Claudia. It’s what I believe in. It’s who I am.”
“Well, stop believing in it and be someone else!” she said, her voice filling the tiny plane. “You’ve given enough of yourself to these people.”
“Maybe it’s time for you to move on.”
She folded her arms across her chest and tried to stare him down. “I’ve been in worse situations.”
“Really?”
“No. I was just trying to sound positive.”
“I appreciate the effort.”
“Mitch . . .” she started, choosing her words carefully. “I think this might be harder for you than you expect. I know the physical danger matters very little to you. But are you ready for your country to turn on you?”
“I don’t suppose I have much of a choice.”
“But the others do. Their motivations are different than yours. You asked them to help you capture a Saudi prince. Donatella would seduce him, he’d be drugged, and they’d be paid. Now you’re about to ask them to go after the Saudi intelligence chief while being opposed by America and all its resources. I know people like this, Mitch. They’re not going to hold together much longer.”
“Then we’ll have to move fast.”
“Fast . . .” she repeated under her breath. “Would you at least do one thing for me? Open a channel to Irene? Tell her what you’ve found and ask her what her plans are?”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to get her involved in killing the intelligence director of an ally, Claudia. If it ever came out that she even knew about it, she’d end up in jail and our partnerships all across the Middle East would collapse. If she wants to talk, she has my number.”
CHAPTER 37
Riyadh
Saudi Arabia
AALI Nassar stood next to King Faisal on the tarmac, waiting for a set of stairs to be pushed up to his private Airbus A380.
The plane had been in a holding pattern for over two hours to allow the sun to set. The aging monarch could no longer tolerate the afternoon heat. It was an ironic weakness for a man who ruled a desert kingdom and yet another indication that the order of things would soon be changing.
A group of formally dressed men appeared in the doorway, carrying a coffin draped in a Saudi flag. They descended with a level of care and solemnity that bordered on the comic. Beyond having been born to the king’s favorite sister, Prince Talal bin Musaid had lived his life as a spoiled, useless child.
It was odd that a man whose life had been so inconsequential could be so dangerous in death. The actions against Zaman and el-Hashem had been forced by bin Musaid, as was the continued dismantling of the network Nassar had so carefully built. The Saudi intelligence apparatus was in turmoil as the royals shrank in horror at one of their own being targeted by the radical forces they themselves had created. The vulnerability the nobles suddenly felt had put a strain on his relationship with the king, instantly reversing the gains he’d made by convincing ISIS to attenuate its public criticism of him.
Strife and chaos always traveled hand in hand with opportunity, though. It was just a question of whether one was strong and clever enough to take advantage.
Faisal began to shuffle forward and Nassar followed at a respectful distance. The pallbearers stopped and allowed the king to run a hand over the flag. His face was uncharacteristically hard to read. Was he feeling grief for a self-indulgent boy who had betrayed him? Anger at the fact that the royalty, and not just its subjects, were now at risk? Or was this just a reminder of the mortality that he felt more keenly with every passing day?
Faisal finally stepped back, allowing the men to continue to the hearse as he returned to his limousine.
“Who were these murderers?” the king said as Nassar slid in next to him.
“Former Iraqi soldiers who joined ISIS.”
“I want them destroyed. I want ISIS destroyed. No more middle ground. No more cowering behind the Americans. I want their heads and the heads of anyone who has even hinted at supporting them.”
“Your Majesty—”
“What, Aali? Are you going to say that this is a delicate matter? That we have to proceed with caution? That I have to hide behind the walls of my palace while these cowards plot how to put a knife in my back?”
“It’s not just a delicate matter, Highness. It’s a complicated one.”
“Complicated how?”
“We now have sharpened video composites from MI6 and, based on them, we’re reasonably certain that Mitch Rapp was the man who carried bin Musaid out of the nightclub.”
“Mitch Rapp?” the king said, twisting toward him. “How certain?”
“Seventy-five percent.”
Faisal faced forward again and nodded knowingly. “I wonder, Aali. You seem to have a personal animosity for Mr. Rapp that I don’t share. He risked his life to save my kingdom from a nuclear holocaust. Without him, I doubt we would have a country to discuss.”