As he walked across the room, the people who noticed him stood, some even attempting an awkward salute. He ignored them. They weren’t soldiers or the disciplined operatives he’d surrounded himself with since graduating from university. They were the young technology experts who now reigned supreme in the intelligence--gathering field.
Nassar was wary of them, not only because he lacked any real understanding of how they did what they did, but because their talent was always inversely proportional to their faith. For these men, God, country, and authority were meaningless when compared to what they saw in those screens.
The most gifted—and thus least devoted—of the analysts assigned to this detail had been placed along the back wall. He swiveled in his chair when Nassar stopped in the open door of his cubicle but didn’t stand as the others had.
“What have you discovered?” Nassar said, ignoring the lack of respect.
“We haven’t been able to get confirmation, but our suspicion is that all our men are dead.”
“Why no confirmation?”
“The only thing we have to go on is interviews of people who witnessed the battle, and most seem unreliable. Either they were trying to get away from the fighting or they’re so war-weary that they didn’t pay much attention. We’ve matched up the different accounts to create the most probable chain of events, but I still can’t guarantee accuracy.”
“What have you put together?”
“After Abdo’s men attacked, it quickly turned into a melee. It was impossible to tell who was shooting at whom and most of the fighting was done inside the church. One car left the scene with an unknown number of passengers, but we don’t know where it went and we haven’t heard from any of our people. Most likely it was one or more of Abdo’s men escaping the fighting and now they’re on the run. He has a reputation for punishing cowardice pretty harshly.”
“And the bodies of my men?”
“They were burned along with the church.”
“The rebels did this?”
“No, sir. It appears to have been done by government troops. We’re not certain why. The chain of command in Juba is hard to follow. It might have just been a decision by low-level police.”
Nassar nodded. While the fire made it impossible to confirm that all his men were dead, it also made identifying the corpses difficult. In that way, the fire had been a gift. If photos of the men he’d sent had been taken and given to a foreign intelligence agency, they would be quickly identified as not working for the Saudi General Intelligence Directorate. And after that, it was possible that they could be associated with ISIS.
“Do we know if the FBI man Joel Wilson was among the dead?”
“It appears that he was. The local police said that one of the men was white and they took his wallet before the fire started.” The young man used his mouse to pull up a photo of Joel Wilson’s North Dakota driver’s license.
In his peripheral vision Nassar saw his assistant appear and motion him to a conference room along the wall.
“Carry on. I want to be updated immediately with any new information.”
“Yes, sir.”
*
“We’ve finally made direct contact with Abdo,” Hamid Safar said as Nassar entered and closed the door.
“And?”
“He confirmed that it was his men who attacked and that they did so because they believed our men were associates of Jason Blaze. He’s also agreed to have his people swear that an American fitting Mitch Rapp’s description killed Wilson, though he wants a significant amount of money to do so.”
“Pay him what he asks,” Nassar said.
While the story wasn’t without flaws, no one would expect concrete evidence in that part of the world. All he needed to do was generate enough suspicion to motivate the Americans. Now the murdered man in question wasn’t a Saudi national with potential ties to terrorism. It was an American FBI agent doing the president’s bidding.
The Americans would have no choice but to dedicate a significant amount of resources to this manhunt. It would also have the effect of frightening any U.S. operatives involved. A Mitch Rapp willing to kill American agents would create a great number of nervous trigger fingers and would likely muffle any criticism if attempts to take him alive failed.
“Contact your counterpart at the FBI, Hamid. Tell them about Rapp’s involvement in Wilson’s murder and put them in touch with Abdo.”
“Understood.”
“Has there been any progress in finding Rapp and his people?”
“None. But the Americans trained him and are familiar with his associates, methods, and finances. With improved cooperation from them, he won’t stay invisible for long.”
Nassar sat at the small conference table and dismissed his assistant with a wave of the hand.
How much had Rapp learned, and did it matter? Everyone who knew of Nassar’s involvement was dead—all in a way that would strongly implicate the CIA assassin.
Now Rapp had fled his base in Juba and was on the run. More important, the entire Western world would soon be hunting him. He knew far too much about their clandestine wars to ever be allowed to defend himself in a hearing. Even Irene Kennedy, his stalwart supporter for decades, would be forced to abandon him. She was loyal, but not stupid enough to commit political suicide and potentially end up in prison.
Despite all this, it would be a mistake to underestimate the man. Wounded animals could be extraordinarily dangerous, and Mitch Rapp was no exception. Nassar had already doubled his personal security detail, but now it seemed wise to move to an undisclosed location. Rapp was the most talented assassin of his generation, but he couldn’t kill what he couldn’t find.
Nassar’s phone rang with an immediately recognizable number. As always, he considered rejecting it, but the conference room was soundproof and swept for listening devices daily. There was no better place to have this unavoidable conversation.
“Yes,” he said, picking up.
“Is Rapp dead?” Mullah Halabi’s tone suggested he already knew the answer to the question.
“No. I—”
“It’s my understanding that my men are.”
“As are mine,” Nassar shot back. He hadn’t asked for Halabi’s men, and their constant presence was becoming a significant problem. Reminding the mullah of this, though, would be counterproductive. He was a dangerous man and it was clear that he had infiltrated all levels of Saudi Arabia’s government.
“Joel Wilson’s investigation led him to South Sudan. Rapp was already gone and he was attacked by a local rebel group. The area is in the midst of a civil war, which is undoubtedly why Rapp chose it.”
“And yet you survived.”
“I was called back to Riyadh.”
“Allah must have great plans for you.”
“I am his servant.”
“Indeed,” the ISIS leader said with an obvious lack of conviction.
“This may turn out to be an ideal situation,” Nassar started. “We’ve begun a disinformation campaign that will cause the Americans to believe that Rapp was there and that he killed Wilson. We know—”