Protect And Defend

chapter 20

TEL AVIV, ISRAEL

The Gulfstream 5 landed at Ben Gurion International Airport, where it was met by a refueling truck. After the tanks were topped off, the pilots were directed to a dilapidated hangar far away from the commercial terminal. The CIA pilots eased the plane's ninety-three-and-a-half-foot wingspan through the hundred-foot opening with great care and then shut the engines down. Mitch Rapp looked out the port side window and checked out the men who were assembled to greet him. They looked like misfits from some Cold War-era film about to handle a prisoner exchange at Checkpoint Charlie.

Rapp unbuckled his seat belt and stood. He looked over at Rob Ridley, who was about to get up. "Stay put."

"Yeah, right." The chief of the CIA's Near East Division began to stand up.

Rapp put a firm hand on his friend's shoulder and pushed him back down. "I'm serious."

"We just finished a twelve-hour flight," Ridley complained. "Are you out of your mind? I need to stretch my legs."

"Yeah...well, if you get off this plane, I might have to break your legs. So stay put until I tell you otherwise."

"I swear you were raised by a pack of wolves. Why do you always have to threaten violence?"

"Just sit tight. You know how secretive Ben is." Rapp moved past Ridley and stopped next to Marcus Dumond, Langley's resident computer genius and hacker extraordinaire.

Dumond looked up at Rapp and asked, "What's up?"

"Sit tight until I've had a chance to talk to Ben. He doesn't like strange faces."

Rapp proceeded forward and lowered the stairs. He tilted his head to the right to get through the opening and moved stiffly down the short run of steps. Rapp was dressed in black dress pants and a loose-fitting, untucked Bugatchi short-sleeve shirt. His black Italian loafers hit the smooth concrete floor, and he started toward the director general of Mossad. With his thick stubble and shaggy black hair he looked more native to the region than the men he was walking toward. This was not his normal attire, but it allowed him to fit in. Too many security contractors flew into the region wearing 5.11 tan, tactical clothing, and SWAT boots. They stood out like a sore thumb among the locals, which in a way served as a deterrent. A kind of don't-mess-with-me sign. I carry a gun, and I have the permission to shoot anyone who messes with me. The flip side of that was that it also marked them. Rapp didn't want that. Where he was headed, he needed to blend in.

Rapp proceeded across the hangar toward Freidman, who was flanked by two huge men who looked as if they were waiting for Freidman to give them the okay to snap Rapp in half. Freidman himself was no wilting flower. He stood five feet ten inches tall and weighed at least 250 pounds. Set atop his bull-like shoulders and neck was a bald shiny head with heavy jowls. In his day he'd been known to do a lot of the heavy lifting himself. Now in his late sixties, he left that to men like the two standing next to him.

As Rapp neared, he said, "Ben, good of you to come out here and meet me."

Freidman's acerbic expression remained unchanged. "I think of you every day when I get out of bed."

"You can still get a hard-on after all these years?" Rapp asked. "Good for you, you old dog."

The bone crusher on Freidman's right took a half step forward.

"Easy, killer," Rapp said. "I don't want to have to kick your ass in front of your boss and your twin brother here."

"I am referring to the bullet hole you put in my leg," Freidman continued.

"Well, Ben," Rapp said, "I hate to think what you would have done to me if I had been dumb enough to assassinate an Israeli citizen and got caught trying to interfere in your country's political process."

Freidman raised his chin in defiance and ignored his two bodyguards, who were now looking at him.

"What...you didn't tell Mongo and Loid here?" Rapp asked with feigned shock. "I'd be happy to fill them in on the little operation you were running against your country's most loyal ally. It went like this, boys..."

"Enough!" Freidman shouted. "Wait for me outside," he snapped at the two men. Like obedient Rottweilers following the command of an owner, they turned and left without having to be told a second time. As soon as they were out of listening range, Israel 's chief spy snarled, "What do you want?"

"You look a little haggard, Ben. Not enough sleep lately?"

"The only reason I am here is because your president requested that I meet you. What do you want?"

"I don't want anything, Ben."

Freidman scoffed. "I suppose you flew all this way because you missed my pretty face."

"No, I flew all this way to thank you."

The Israeli spy chief rolled his eyes. "For what?"

"For doing us all a favor and destroying Iran 's nuclear program."

Freidman stared Rapp straight in the eye and said, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Rapp put one foot in front of the other, crossed his arms, and admiringly said, "I think you're the best liar I've ever met, Ben."

"That means a lot, coming from someone as accomplished as you."

"Thank you. Now let's get serious. I know you destroyed that facility, and you know you destroyed that facility. I'm on your side. I told President Alexander you guys did us a huge favor."

"We did not drop bombs on that facility. I don't care what that crazy little man has said... No Israeli planes were anywhere near his country when this attack occurred, which leaves me with only one conclusion."

Rapp smiled. "This should be good." He waved his hand toward himself. "Let's hear it."

"I think maybe it was American planes that were spotted over Isfahan."

"Yeah, right. One of our pilots decided enough was enough and he just went and bombed the hell out of that place without getting approval from the Pentagon or the president."

"All I'm saying is that this plane that was reportedly seen over Isfahan was not one of ours, which means it was more than likely one of yours."

"You're unbelievable. I fly almost six thousand miles to save your ass and you think I'm dumb enough to buy some load of crap like that?"

"I don't remember asking you to save my ass."

"You didn't, but I'm going to anyway."

"I don't need your help."

"The hell you don't," Rapp said with frustration building. He took a step back and then admitted, "Maybe I was the wrong guy for the president to send, considering our history, but here it is. I am sincerely grateful that you guys had the balls to do what needed to be done. The president, while he can never say so publicly, feels the same way. I have permission from him to launch an operation that will take the blame off you guys, and expose the Iranian leadership for the lying bastards that they are."

"I don't..."

Rapp cut him off. "Ben, please let me finish. I know you did it, and I know how you did it. There was no plane or planes. No missiles. Nothing like that. You had someone on the inside. You guys blew that damn thing up and it collapsed into a nice little pile right on top of itself. I admire you for it, and if you weren't such a pain in the ass I'd probably give you a hug right now."

Freidman's already sour face twisted into a deeper frown. "How many people have you discussed this with?"

"Only Irene and the president."

Freidman exhaled and took a look around the hangar. The pained look on his face said it all. He was deeply troubled that Rapp knew one of his government's most closely kept secrets. "What are your sources?"

Rapp smiled. For Freidman to ask such a question was as close to an admission as he was ever going to get. "I've got a friend in your building." Rapp knew the lie would drive Freidman nuts. Changing gears, he said, "I need you to get your government on the same page. Stay silent. Keep denying. Whatever you need to do. I don't care what kind of evidence the Iranians say they have, just don't admit you were behind this thing. They're going to show up at the UN on Friday and try to pin this whole thing on you. After they've presented their case, we're going to pull the rug right out from underneath them and leave them looking like lying fools."

Freidman was intrigued. "What do you have planned?"

"Don't worry. You'll see soon enough. Again the president sends his thanks. I don't like you, Ben, but I sure as hell admire your audacity." Rapp turned and started walking away.

"Where are you going?" Freidman yelled.

"To Northern Iraq," Rapp shouted over his shoulder. "To bail your ass out."