chapter 62
RAPP, Kennedy, O'Brien, and Ridley went up to Hart 216 and ensconced themselves in one of the secure conference rooms, so they could have some privacy and take advantage of the phones. Rapp's club sandwich and fries lay half eaten in a Styrofoam container. He was up and moving. His jacket was hung over one of the empty chairs and he had his arms crossed while he slowly walked from one end of the conference room to the other. O'Brien and Ridley paid him no attention. They were used to the fact that the man seemed to be in perpetual motion, and they were too interested in finishing their own lunch. Kennedy, however, was watching him with her sad, thoughtful eyes. She'd already closed the lid on her salad and pushed it aside.
She took a sip of Diet Coke and asked, "What's wrong?"
Rapp scratched his hand with his left hand. "I've got a bad feeling."
"You said things went well," Kennedy said reassuringly.
"They did. I'm not talking about that stuff... I'm worried about what's going on out there." Rapp waved his hand toward the walls.
Kennedy smiled. He had never been comfortable in this role of bureaucrat. Not that he wasn't good at it - he was. He was just infinitely better in the field, left to his own devices and judgment. His true talent was wasted in these meeting rooms, but she'd needed him to make a statement. She could have said everything he'd said, and the majority of the senators would have dismissed it out of hand. But Rapp was something different. A dirty, muddy, and bloody soldier returning from the front lines to report to the generals that the situation was quite different than it appeared from the safety of the rear. Rapp was a man of action who had bled for, and done great things for, his country. Few, if any, knew the specifics of what he'd done, but the rumors were enough for them to give great weight to his words. There would be a few like Lonsdale, however, who so despised what he stood for that they would never listen. But the majority would be sensible, for in the end, they were politicians, and the one thing they could be counted on doing was to act in their own self-interest.
"Just a few more hours this afternoon and then hopefully we can move forward with their support."
"I'm not worried about that," said Rapp in a grave voice. "I'm worried about this damn third cell. According to the Brits, D-day was set for next week."
O'Brien and Ridley stopped talking and looked at Rapp. They knew if he was concerned, they should be concerned. "Mitch, we don't even know if this third cell is for real, and if they do exist, there was a good chance they were scared off after the other two failed to report in."
Kennedy watched Rapp and could tell there was something else on his mind that he wasn't saying. "What's wrong?"
Rapp looked at the two men and then Kennedy. "I talked to Nash right before lunch. He says one of his guys has missed his last two check-ins."
"Which guy?"
"It sounds like Chris Johnson."
"What check-in? We pulled the damn plug on the whole thing." O'Brien said with anger. "It was supposed to be shut down."
"Don't go all HQ on me, Chuck," Rapp shot back with every bit as much anger. "We've all been in the field before. We all know what it's like to bust your ass on something for months and then have HQ hit you over the head with some asinine order."
"This is different, Mitch," a red-faced O'Brien said. "There was way too much heat coming down on us."
"And none of us were there." Rapp said, pointing at the table. "I don't know what in the hell Johnson told him that convinced him to leave him on the job, but I'm not going to get all pissed off about one of our guys putting his nuts on the line. I trained Nash. I taught him to be aggressive, just like you two were when you were running around in Europe, Charlie, and when you were working your magic in the Middle East, Rob. So if you want to be pissed at someone... take it out on me."
Ridley held up his hands and said, "I think it's safe to say Nash had a good reason for leaving Johnson in place."
"It's not his call," O'Brien said. "If he has something, he comes to us, and we make the decision."
"Bullshit!" Rapp said while frowning at O'Brien. "You gonna tell me when you were slinking around East Berlin you never made a couple frickin' on-the-fly decisions and never told your boss?"
"Gentlemen," Kennedy said without looking at any of them, "do any of you know Mike Nash to be a reckless man?"
One by one they all shook their heads.
"Good," she said, "then we should all calm down and think about what this might mean."
The secure phone in the middle of the table started ringing. Ridley reached out and grabbed it. "Hello." He listened for a second and then gave Rapp the handset. "It's Nash."
Rapp grabbed the phone. "What's up?"
"It's not good." Nash's voice sounded heavy.
"Let's hear it."
"I'm almost certain Johnson is in the morgue. I gave a friend his profile and he just called me to report that a body fitting his description was found at four this morning, in the trunk of a burning car."
"Shit."
"And there's one other thing, Mitch. I think he was tortured. The body was missing three toes from the right foot. The coroner said they were not removed by a surgeon."
Rapp felt his guts turn and he told himself, not now. "You have all of his reports, right?"
"Yeah."
"He had six good suspects, right?"
"Yeah."
"Get out to NCTC as fast as you can and you get those six dumped into the system and kicked to the top of the watch list. You get any heat from anyone, you tell them the order comes directly from Irene. If they still piss and moan about the protocols, you tell them to put them on the list first and then call me.
"What about a source? They're going to want a source."
"Tell them I got it from my counterpart at Mossad and call me with confirmation as soon as it happens. I gotta run." Rapp hung up the phone and looked at Kennedy. "Johnson's in the morgue, missing three toes. We have to open this thing up. You have to tell the president and you have to get the National Security Council together."
"And tell them what?" O'Brien asked. "That contrary to everything we've been saying, we actually did send an undercover operative into a mosque and now he's dead? We'll all be thrown in jail."
Rapp grabbed his suit coat and started for the door. "I don't give a shit what you tell him. Blame it all on me, tell him the Israelis tipped us off. Think something up. The bottom line is, if Johnson is in the morgue, those f*ckers are in this city."
As Rapp reached the door, Kennedy asked, "Where are you going?"
"I'm sure they're long gone, but I'm going to over to that mosque to see what I can find out."
"Not by yourself, you're not."
"Irene, trust me. They have more to fear than I do."
Kennedy watched him leave and looked at Ridley. "Go with him," she ordered. "And make sure he doesn't kill anyone... unless he absolutely has to."
Ridley jumped up and chased after Rapp. Kennedy picked up the phone and punched in the secure number for the White House Situation Room. When the watch officer answered on the other end, she identified herself and said, "We have a situation. I need to speak to the president."