American Assassin

Chapter 58
RAPP looked out across the city. Night had fallen and that scar known as the Green Line now looked like a wide, formidable river, a black swath of darkness that cut the city in half. But travel two blocks in either direction and there were signs of life. Buildings lit up with inhabitants, traffic moving about the city, horns blaring, and underpowered engines revving - all the normal sights and sounds of a city. But not in that desolate corridor. Only twice in the last hour had he seen a car dare cross no-man's-land. It appeared the cease-fire was activated as they usually are, by segregating the various factions. He could not see the east-west streets to the north, and it was likely that more cars had crossed in that sector, but not enough to change what was obvious. This was a literally a city torn asunder.

The problem as Rapp saw it was fundamental geography. He was on this side and they were on the other side - the they being Hurley and Richards. The only way to save them was to go over there, but Ridley had explained to him that going over there was a very bad idea. Going over there would result in his being captured, tortured, and then killed, in that order.

Rapp's response to Ridley was, "So you're pretty much admitting that Stan and Bob are going to be tortured and killed."

"I'm admitting no such thing."

"The hell you're not," Rapp said, his frustration finally boiling over.

Ridley shot back, "I know you're the new wonder boy, so this might be hard for you to understand, but there are things that are going on that you have not been read in on."

"Like what?"

"Things that are way above your pay grade, rookie." Ridley caught his mistake and tried to temper his words by adding, "Listen, I don't make the rules. There are certain protocols that I have to follow. Langley tells me who I can share things with. If you're not on that list my hands are tied."

"Like Petrosian, for instance. I'm sure you cleared that with Langley. You telling a foreign national that I was the man who killed Sharif." Rapp watched as Ridley looked away. "Are you f*cking kidding me? There's no way in hell you got approval from Irene to give him that information."

Ridley sighed. "We need Petrosian on this one, and the man does not trust strangers, so I gave him a little piece of information that I knew would please him. He hated Hamdi Sharif more than any person on the planet. It goes back to the beginning of the civil war here. They were both arms dealers and they agreed not to sell weapons to Fatah. Petrosian lived here, and he felt that a militarized Fatah would only prolong the fighting. About six months into the war he found out that Sharif had broken their agreement and was selling weapons to the radical Palestinians. Petrosian was right. It prolonged the war, destroyed the city, killed thousands more, and Sharif became a very wealthy man. Petrosian vowed to kill him, but Sharif never set foot in the city again."

"Fine ... so you used what I did for your own benefit, which means you owe me. I deserve to know what in hell is going on." Rapp could see Ridley was at least thinking about it, so he pressed him a little harder. "That could have just as easily been me that got picked up. I deserve to know what Langley is doing to try to get them back."

"They're working on different levels. Signal intercepts, applying pressure where they can, calling in favors..."

"What in hell does all that mean?"

"It's complicated, is what it's supposed to mean, and on top of that Stan, your friend Bobby, and you aren't even supposed to exist. How the f*ck do you expect them to go to the State Department with that one ... Excuse me," he said in a falsetto, "two of our black ops guys, who don't actually exist, were kidnapped in Beirut. Could you help us get them back?"

"Bullshit."

"Bullshit ... what in hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means it's bullshit. If you think the State Department is the answer to our problems, if Langley thinks they're our solution, we're f*cked."

"I didn't say they were the only game. I told you it's complicated. And what the hell would you know? You're a damn rookie."

"A rookie who's smart enough to know this is bullshit," Rapp yelled. "You know what the solution is ... you just don't want to say it because you" - Rapp pointed at him - "and all of the other pussies back at Langley don't have the balls to follow through on it."

"Please, enlighten me, boy wonder. What's the solution?"

"We do what the Russians did."

"What the Russians did?" Ridley mocked him.

"Yeah ... back in the mideighties ... after four of their diplomats were kidnapped."

Ridley's gaze narrowed. "Where'd you hear that story?"

"Stan."

"For Christ's sake," Ridley muttered, obviously not happy that Hurley had told Rapp the story.

"Two diplomats and two KGB guys get snatched by one of the Palestinian factions. One of them happens to be the KGB's station chief here in Beirut. The Russians know what happened to the CIA's station chief when he got kidnapped, because they paid for the information that the Iranians sucked out of him. They don't want to see all of their operations exposed, so they send in a joint force of Spetsnaz and KGB goons and they start whacking people."

Ridley was shaking his head. "That's not the answer."

"Really ... since you appear to know the story, tell me how it ended."

Ridley shook his head. "Nope."

"One was killed and the three were released," Rapp said. "And how many Russians were kidnapped after that?"

"Zero," Ridley reluctantly admitted.

"That's right, and how many Americans?"

Ridley shrugged. "Not zero."

"So what's the lesson to be learned?"

"We're not the Russians."

"That's your answer."

"Listen ... I know you're frustrated. I'm frustrated, but I am telling you this is way above both of us. There are a lot of really important people who want this cease-fire to last. They will never allow us to go around shooting people like the Russians did."

"But the Palestinians can keep kidnapping our people?" Rapp waited for Ridley to give him an answer that wasn't coming anytime soon. "Like I said ... this is bullshit."

That had been more than three hours ago. Rapp and Ridley had not exchanged words since then. Rapp had dumped his anger into studying maps of West Beirut, reading the intelligence reports, and trying to come up with some way to prevent this disaster from following the course of the previous hostage negotiations. Anyone who didn't understand where this was headed was either deluding himself by ignoring history or just too stupid to connect the dots. Out of this frustration came the realization of what it would all mean to his own future.

He'd spent years thinking of little more than how he would make the other side hurt, and now after all of his training, right when he was getting started, it would be derailed. Hurley and Richards would end up telling them everything they knew about him. His career would be over. The anger welled up inside him, and as he looked out across the city, he could feel himself drifting further and further away from the people pulling the strings in D.C. Their half measures and dithering disgusted him. It was like Hurley had told them on the drive down from Hamburg: "We got soft in the eighties and let these a*sholes get away with way too much shit." Apparently Washington still hadn't learned its lesson.

Ridley joined him on the veranda. He was holding two beers. He set one in front of Rapp and took a swig out of the other.

Rapp eyed the beer and then said, "I'm not in the mood."

"Shut up and drink. And listen for a change. I've been doing some thinking. This thing isn't going to end well. Cummins was bad enough ... Stan ... the shit that guy has in his brain ... the stuff he's seen over the years." Ridley shuddered at the thought of the enemy getting their hands on all that information. "I can't even begin to calculate the damage." He paused, took a swig of beer, and shook his head. "Someone needs to do something and you seem like just the kind of crazy a*shole that would volunteer for a mission like this, although it's actually not a mission. There's nothing official about it. In fact, I'm going to get so pissed tonight that I pass out. And then when I wake up in the morning, and you're not here, I'll call Langley and tell them you've gone AWOL."

"And where will I be?" Rapp asked.

"Petrosian will be here in one hour. He has arranged to take you over to the other side. The police chief, no less, is taking you."

Rapp was surprised. "The same a*shole who snatched Stan?"

"One and the same."

"Can I trust him?"

"Absolutely."

"How?"

"Because this time he has given Petrosian his word that nothing will happen to you."

"And I should be impressed by that?"

"Yes, you should. The chief will drop you off at a small hotel a few blocks west of Nijmeh Square, and then you're on your own. My advice is you spread some cash around, telling the hotel manager and the vendors that you would like to meet with Colonel Assef Sayyed. They will claim they've never heard of him, but they all know who he is. They will tell him you are looking for him and he will have someone collect you before the day is out. Then it will go one of two ways." Ridley took another drink and organized his thoughts. "He will either sit down and negotiate with you, in which case Petrosian has agreed to bankroll you to the tune of one million dollars."

"You're kidding me."

"No, he is a man who likes to show his gratitude, and besides, you just eliminated one of his top competitors. He's bound to pick up a few more contracts."

"Will a million do it?"

"Doubtful, but it will let them know we are serious, and they all know Petrosian is not a man to be f*cked with."

"So if it's not enough money..."

Ridley waved him off. "I'm going to be working on getting more."

"Langley?"

"Maybe, but we have some other options. I just need to see if I can pull it off."

Rapp thought about the money that Hurley had taken from the Swiss bank accounts. He almost told Ridley but decided to keep it to himself for now. "That's option one. What's option two?"

"They throw you in the dungeon and they torture you and eventually kill you."

"But I'm a rookie, so how much harm can I really do." It was a statement, not a question.

"Something like that. A pawn for a bishop." Ridley shrugged. "Maybe you even get lucky and take a few of them down with you." Ridley drained his beer and looked to the west. "There's one last thing. The story about the Russians."

"Yeah."

"Stan didn't tell you the whole thing. The Russians ... they wiped out a couple of families ... women and children included. F*cking butchers." Ridley shook his head, trying to get rid of the bad memories. "We're not the Russians. We don't kill women and children. At least not intentionally. Never forget that."