“Give me your best guess on this, Irene. What’s Mitch’s involvement?”
She smiled easily, hiding her anger at Alexander for having the audacity to so calmly ask her that question. “It seems self-evident that Mitch was at that nightclub, watching bin Musaid. Based on our analysis of the video, what happened there wasn’t a random terrorist attack. They were there to get bin Musaid. Rapp saw it happening during his surveillance and intervened.”
“So what about el-Hashem and Zaman? Is it possible that bin Musaid fingered them when he was in the car with Mitch and that Mitch decided to deal with them on his own? We both know how opposed he was to the arrangement that was made after 9/11.”
“It’s possible but unlikely. Leaving aside el-Hashem for the moment, Zaman’s death in Brussels implies that Mitch murdered a security guard. There’s nothing in his history to suggest he’d do something like that.”
“But then he’s never gone rogue before, either.”
She let that go, but her anger notched higher.
“If you don’t think it’s too immoral for Mitch, sir, then I’d argue that it’s simply too sloppy. Once that guard was killed, the clock would be ticking on his body being discovered. There would be no time to carry out an effective interrogation.”
“So what, then?”
“A much more likely scenario is that whoever was behind Prince bin Musaid’s actions in Morocco is getting rid of everyone who knows his identity and framing Mitch for it.”
“Are you sure you’re not letting your friendship with him cloud your judgment?”
“Let me ask you something, sir. How many times have I told you I was certain of something?”
“Never. You’re the master of the hedge.”
“Well, I’m certain Mitch is not responsible for the death of that hotel security guard. And if he didn’t do it, someone else did.”
“Okay. Who?”
“If I had to guess? Aali Nassar.”
“Is that a joke?”
“Not at all. Nassar is an ambitious man. He’ll want to be on the winning side when Faisal dies, and he might see ISIS as a critical backer. Frankly, he might be right.”
“Can you contact Mitch in a way that no one can track?”
“I don’t know if Mitch would take my call, and there’s no such thing as completely secure communications—particularly if Nassar knows more than he’s telling us.”
“Then don’t. You can’t be seen as having any involvement in this.” He sank a little deeper into the cushions and let out a long breath. “I can’t believe that Mitch would do something like this without authorization, Irene.”
She stared directly at him when she answered. “Neither can I.”
For the first time in their relationship, the most powerful man in the world wouldn’t meet her eye.
CHAPTER 40
Bismarck
North Dakota
U.S.A.
AALI Nassar stayed in the car, looking past his driver at distant snowcapped mountains. He had sent his security detail back to Saudi Arabia and replaced them with a team of Secret Service men provided by the president. All were too young to have much experience, but also too young to have a relationship with Mitch Rapp. The fact that the CIA man had appeared at Zaman’s hotel virtually guaranteed that he was aware of Nassar’s role in the financing of ISIS. And if that was true, he would be coming.
Nassar was now engaged in mortal combat with a man who had never lost such a confrontation. It had been proved over and over again that brute force would fail against Rapp. The only hope was to outmaneuver him, and the Secret Service men were an effort to do just that. Rapp would be reluctant to use deadly force against the American security detail, while they would have no such misgivings where he was concerned. It was far from being an assurance, but it was the most logical course of action while he was on U.S. soil.
The Secret Service agents had spread out on the street and were scanning the light traffic with practiced eyes. Finally, two of them disappeared into a coffee shop to the north.
Nassar had wasted no time getting to Bismarck, going directly to his plane from his meeting at the Oval Office. Despite this, it was certain that Irene Kennedy knew of his whereabouts. Was that duplicitous bitch involved? Had she quietly sent Rapp Nassar’s flight plan? Was the CIA assassin out there, clean-shaven and blending in with the slack-jawed farmers?
Nassar’s phone rang, and he looked at the secure number, initially moving to dismiss it but then thinking better. He needed a distraction and would have to speak to the man soon anyway. Nassar slid down in his seat a few more inches and picked up.
“Hello, Qadir.”
“Zaman and el-Hashem are dead and you haven’t been returning my calls!” came the panicked response. “Rumors are that Mitch Rapp was involved. Is there any truth to this?”
“I’m afraid there is.”
“What action are you taking?” he screeched. “I demand that—”
“Qadir! Be calm!”
“Calm? How can you even say this to me? I’m told that you’re in America with heavy security. I’m at my home with my wife and children. He could walk in here at any moment and—”
“You think I’m safer in America?” Nassar cut in angrily. “In his home country? Quit acting like an old woman. Are you afraid to meet God after having done His work? Is there some reason for you to fear His judgment?”
The man didn’t respond and Nassar softened his tone. He needed Qadir to hold together for just a bit longer.
“I already have a security team watching you, your house, and your family. But because this situation is escalating, it’s going to be necessary to move you. A safe house is being set up for you near -al-Ghat. You’ll be collected tonight and moved there until I can deal with the Rapp situation.”
“‘Deal with the Rapp situation’? How many people have said that in the past, Aali? Just how do you intend to ‘deal with the Rapp situation’?”
Qadir Sultan was the last man who knew of Nassar’s direct involvement with ISIS and, as such, was currently the second greatest threat to him. While it was true that two Saudi intelligence officers would retrieve him that night, neither they nor Sultan would ever arrive at the safe house. Instead, their bodies would be discovered by the side of the road, each with a single bullet wound to the head. “I said I’m dealing with it, Qadir. How is not your concern.”
One of the Secret Service men exited the coffee shop and signaled that it was secure, prompting Nassar to disconnect the call. He got out of the car, fighting the urge to crouch as he walked. The sense of relief he felt when he stepped off the exposed street and into the building was palpable.
The tiny restaurant was only about half full and Joel Wilson was eating a sandwich near its center. Nassar approached and leaned down in order to speak to him at a level that would be inaudible to the other patrons.
“Special Agent Wilson? I wonder if I might have a word with you.”
He looked up from the tablet he was reading and spoke with a full mouth. “I’m having lunch. What do you want?”
“I’m Aali Nassar.”