There wasn’t much Rapp could do about the man facing him. Fortunately, he was staring directly into the fire and it was reasonable to assume that he wouldn’t be able to see beyond the ring of warmth and light. There were no guarantees, though.
With little choice, Rapp moved through the door, keeping movements painfully slow. When there was no reaction, he allowed himself to pick up the pace a bit, finally escaping the man’s line of sight and angling in on them. He stopped just beyond the circle of firelight and holstered his Glock. While the noise from the silenced weapon wouldn’t be a problem inside the structure, the flash would penetrate the cracked boards covering the windows.
Neither of the men was carrying a sidearm, and their rifles were just outside of easy reach. Killing them was doable, but killing them silently was going to be a trick. If he’d been with Azarov, they could each take one. Involving Black, though, would likely cause more problems than it solved.
Rapp’s eye moved to a machete leaning against the end of the pew closest to him. He’d initially registered it as a potential threat but now it was starting to look like an opportunity. A little more slasher flick than he’d normally go for, but this was no time to get picky.
He pulled a thin cord from his pocket and strode casually into the light. The man in the pew spotted him first, spinning as Rapp picked up the machete. The African threw his arms up but was too slow. The machete connected with the top of his head, penetrating a good two inches before getting lodged in his skull.
As expected, the other man went for his AK. The most practical way to get his hands on it was to simply turn onto his stomach and reach out. He did exactly that, presenting his unprotected back. Rapp slipped the cord around his throat and dropped onto him.
The African was young and powerful, managing to fight his way to his knees as he clawed at the cord. Rapp secured his legs around his waist and twisted back, flipping him into the fire. The flames had the intended effect, splitting the man’s focus between his lack of air and the coals igniting his fatigues. The battle intensified and then was suddenly over. Rapp dragged the body off the campfire and rolled it across the floor, making sure the flames were out.
“Damn,” Black said, approaching hesitantly from behind. “Have you ever thought about working in a hockey mask?”
“Get the fucking file, Kent.”
Rapp went to one of the windows and looked through a gap as Black started pulling up floorboards. There was no sign that any of the men watching the church had noticed anything. But it was hard to be sure. If they were aware of what had happened, would they attack immediately or call for backup?
Behind him, Black had gained access to a floor safe and was using a red penlight to work the combination. A moment later he came up with the envelope he’d described. Rapp pulled the flap and looked inside, scanning a few surreptitiously taken photos and a one-page explanation of what and who was involved.
“You know I should kill you for this,” Rapp said.
“Yeah,” Black responded, looking at the floor.
Rapp tossed the envelope on what was left of the fire and pointed toward the rear entrance. “Go relieve Donatella. But remember: Unless it’s absolutely necessary, don’t do anything. We’re just spectators.”
“You got it,” he said, obviously thankful to have a second chance. “What about you?”
“I’m staying here.”
It hadn’t been the plan, but now that he’d gone through the trouble of getting into the church, why not? Nassar, Wilson, and their people would be arriving soon, and Abdo would assume that they were connected with Black’s operation. Then the shit was going to hit the fan. With a little luck, Nassar would be killed in an attack by South Sudanese rebels who had nothing to do with Mitch Rapp or ISIS. After that, Claudia could focus on putting together enough intel to clear his name and to strong-arm King Faisal into excising any remaining conspirators from his country.
Then again, maybe it wouldn’t be that easy.
His phone vibrated and he inserted an earpiece.
“Mitch, are you there?” Claudia’s voice.
“Yeah.”
“I managed to detour Wilson’s motorcade once, but that was all. They’re two minutes out. What’s your situation?”
“I’m in the church.”
“Do you have time to get out?”
“I’m staying,” he said, starting to climb a ladder into the balcony. “I’ve got good position here.”
“And Kent?” Her tone suggested that she thought he might be dead.
“On his way to relieve Donatella.”
“I don’t need that boy’s help,” Donatella chimed in.
“Don’t argue. Just give him the rifle,” Rapp said.
Azarov’s voice came on. “I have eyes on three cars approaching the front gate. Moving fast. I can’t see inside them, though.”
“Donatella?” Rapp said, moving to a partially intact stained glass window and peering through one of the clear panels. The sun was coming up, casting the city in a deep-orange glow. “What have you got?”
“I can’t see in the cars, either, but we have a lot of activity from Abdo’s sentries, and the civilians in the street are all running for cover.”
Rapp spotted the approaching vehicles in the dawn light. They skidded to a stop at the front gate, and four men got out of the lead car, fanning out as one of them went to work with a set of bolt cutters.
“I’ve taken over Donatella’s position,” Kent said. “Ready to rock.”
The gate was pushed open and the remaining passengers stepped out as the cars eased inside. To Rapp’s practiced eye, a few looked extremely well trained, but the others were a mess. Not what he’d expect from a team assembled from Saudi spec ops. Further, there were two men who looked like locals.
“Give me a sitrep on Abdo’s men,” Rapp said.
“They’re in the process of surrounding the building, staying out of sight,” Azarov responded.
Rapp pulled out his Glock and checked it. He wasn’t sure if any of this was going to work but, at the very least, it was going to be in-teresting.
CHAPTER 48
JOEL Wilson leaned forward between the SUV’s seats, scanning through the windshield. The sunrise was still just a weak glow on the horizon, but it provided enough illumination for him to watch his men spread out in the courtyard. A few seconds later they had breached the peeling front doors and disappeared inside the church.
What they would find was a complete unknown. He had no assets in Juba and there had been no time for meaningful reconnaissance. In a city full of war-weary and suspicious Sudanese, the presence of an advance team would have been reported throughout the region in a matter of hours. There had been no choice but to roll into town like a hurricane in an effort to stay ahead of the informants that Rapp undoubtedly had on the payroll.
His fingers gripped the seats as he anticipated the telltale bursts of automatic fire followed by the individual volleys of Rapp’s pistol. The clock in his head ticked steadily, each movement of the imaginary second hand reducing his hopes further. Finally a heavily accented voice came over his earpiece. “The building is clear.”
“Fuck!” Wilson said, throwing himself back in the seat.