Protect And Defend

chapter 44
MOSUL, IRAQ

Rapp walked through the short sandbag tunnel and into the trailer that housed the offices. He was looking at the last of the six photos he'd taken. The colors were growing more vivid with each step. The castration speech had gone over swimmingly. He'd delivered it to each of the three men, and they all took it differently. The first one, the one who Rapp had punched in the mouth, went into shutdown mode. Before the speech the man had been cussing up a storm and acting as defiant as a teenager. As Rapp described how he would dissect the man's groin, he watched the fight drain out of him. He had either decided it was not wise to antagonize Rapp any further, or he was working to come up with a plan. More than likely a lie that would keep him firmly in the sexual category of his choice.

The second man, the policeman, was either a great actor or an absolute crazed lunatic. With each increasingly descriptive word about what Rapp planned to do, the man only laughed harder. He had a kind of crazy, bring-it-on attitude that Rapp had seen before. He was the type that either cracked right away or never did. There was very little in between. Rather than waste time, Rapp decided to find out if the guy was a pretender or a crazed, true believer.

The army medics had cut away the man's pants so they could bandage the bullet wounds to his knee and butt. He was still on a stretcher, his lower body covered with a drab green army blanket over which he was bound by restraints. Rapp yanked the blanket out from under the straps, exposing the man's genitals. He drew his knife and held it in front of the man's face.

"What's your name?" Rapp asked in an easy, even tone.

The man laughed hysterically and refused to answer. Rapp placed the tip of the knife against the man's left testicle and repeated the question. The man's laugh turned into a crazed cackle. Rapp forced the knife downward, twisted it and jerked it back up. A hunk of flesh flew from the tip of the knife and smacked against the cold, steel wall of the cell.

The man twisted back and forth on the gurney, struggling against his bonds and screaming at the top of his lungs. After ten seconds the man stopped his wailing, looked at Rapp through moist eyes, and continued to laugh maniacally.

Rapp looked down and simply said, "I'll be back for the other one in five minutes."

With that he left the cell and went to find the last prisoner. This was the one Rapp had knocked out rather than kill. Rapp guessed since he was younger than the other two by at least ten years he would be the easiest to break. After delivering the castration speech, Rapp stood, took a second photo, and told the man he'd give him a few minutes to think about life without a pecker and then left.

Rapp entered the reception area and found Stilwell and Ridley standing behind a desk looking at a large flat-screen monitor. Rapp held up a photo of the man whose left nut he had just cut off and said, "There's no way in hell this guy is a cop."

Ridley pointed at the screen and said, "I just got off the phone with Chuck O'Brien, and I think he's right." Ridley pointed at the screen. "You've lost it."

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about," Ridley pointed at the screen in front of him, "you cutting off that guy's testicle. You think we've only got one work station to keep an eye on the prisoners?"

"Oh...don't tell me you've gone soft too."

"It has nothing to do with going soft, although I'm not so sure about your methods...it's about the fact that this is a U.S. military base. This isn't some dark facility in the Stans. The military keeps records, they keep track of who comes and who goes, and these GIs gossip more than a bunch of goddamn sorority sisters. Then there's the press, and I don't even want to think about what's going to happen when that guy ends up with a lawyer someday."

"That guy is never going to end up with a lawyer," Rapp said forcefully.

"You don't know that."

"Oh, I sure do, because after I'm done cutting his dick off, I'm going to drag him into one of those other cells and I'm going to blow his brains out right in front of the other two."

"Mitch," Ridley screamed, "you can't do that. We have a team of interrogators on the way up from Baghdad. These guys are the best in the business. They will get every last ounce of information out of them."

Rapp folded his arms across his chest. "Great, why don't we just grab some lunch and a cup of coffee, kick back, shoot the breeze, and give these pros some room. That sounds like a hell of a plan. Then a week or a month from now when they finally squeeze the information out of these guys we can try to get Irene back. In the meantime I'm sure they'll treat her like a queen."

"It's not going to take them a month."

"It's not going to take me more than an hour."

"Mitch," Ridley sighed, "I personally don't care what you do, just so long as you don't leave any permanent marks on these guys."

"I personally don't give a shit what you think, Rob. We're not in Washington. We're in a f*cking war zone where our boss, the director of the CIA, the person who knows every damn spy we have in every damn country, has just been kidnapped. You think those guys are flying in a team from Damascus. A team that's going to make sure they won't leave a mark." Anguish gripped Rapp's face and he screamed, "They're going to torture the shit out of her, Rob, and I'm not going to sit here and debate with you what I can and can't do."

Rapp took the six Polaroid photos and threw them down on Stilwell's desk. "Scan those into the system and see if you can find a match. Where's Marcus?"

"I don't know."

"Find him."

Stilwell picked up the photos just as the phone started to ring. He grabbed the handset with his other hand and said, "Chief of base, Mosul." He listened for a moment and then looked at Rapp. "Yeah, hold on." He held the phone out for Rapp. "It's the White House...the president wants to talk to you."

Rapp thought about not taking the call for a second. Most of his career had been based on asking for forgiveness rather than permission. But this was the president, not one of his colleagues from Langley. Rapp thought of the conversation they'd had on Air Force One. He didn't get the sense Alexander was the type of man who would try to put a leash on him. Even so, Rapp reluctantly stuck out his hand and took the phone.