Protect And Defend

EPILOGUE
WASHINGTON, DC, ONE WEEK LATER

Ashani was driven straight to Langley by Rob Ridley and brought into the Old Headquarters Building via the executive underground parking garage. Before entering the director's private elevator he'd been roughly searched by two of Kennedy's bodyguards-an indignity that he would have not tolerated a week earlier; but now, considering all that had happened, he didn't dare complain. He'd spoken with Rapp twice in the past week. The first conversation didn't go all that well. In fact it consisted mostly of Rapp threatening him and telling him to pass along threats to other Iranian officials. Ashani had learned a great deal about the man in the past week, and nearly all of it was unsettling. He was not someone they could afford to take lightly or ignore.

Ashani had discussed the problem with Najar, who was not pleased to be threatened. His curt response was that they should hire someone to kill the American agent. Ashani, who hated the idea, dissuaded his mentor by explaining that others had tried to do the same thing and had failed. "In fact," he added, "they are all dead."

Ashani used that anecdote to help pitch his proposal. He explained in detail what he proposed to do and how it would both solve a problem and satisfy Rapp. It was the classic killing of two birds with one stone. With Najar's blessing, Ashani had called Rapp and told him he would like to sit down and discuss a very important matter. Rapp pressed him for more information, of course, but Ashani just repeated that he was willing to share some very important information with him. Rapp agreed to the meeting, but refused to do so anywhere other than Langley. Ashani reluctantly agreed, and now he found himself entering the belly of the beast.

As he was escorted through the door by Rob Ridley, he laid eyes on Kennedy for the first time since their meeting in Mosul. She was sitting in a chair next to a couch with an expression that was devoid of emotion. Ashani averted his eyes, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame. He noticed someone approaching from the far end of the large office and turned to see who it was. The man was around six feet tall and had longish, wavy black hair and a beard-both with flecks of gray. He was wearing dark slacks and a white dress shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and tapered down to a narrow waist.

Ashani knew it was Rapp by the photos in his dossier, but seeing him in person was an entirely different matter. It was like looking at a photo of a lion as opposed to standing only a few feet away from one of the Creator's most efficient predators. He had expected him to be more rigid, like the former army officers who worked for him, but he wasn't. He had a relaxed, athletic grace in the way he moved. Ashani thought of the threats Rapp had made over the phone, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

Rapp pointed at the couch next to Kennedy and said, "You can sit over there."

There were no pleasantries. No hellos, or would you like anything to drink. Ashani moved around the glass coffee table and sat on the couch. He looked at Kennedy and with all the sincerity he could muster said, "I am so sorry for what happened to you, and my country offers its sincerest apologies."

"Bullshit," Rapp said in a menacing tone. He took up a position on the other side of the coffee table and remained standing. "There's people in your government who were behind the whole thing."

Ashani looked up at Rapp and noticed a large-caliber automatic holstered on his left hip. He turned back to Kennedy and said, "He is right. Most of them have been punished. Some have paid with their lives."

"What about Amatullah?"

"As I have already told you," Ashani said to Rapp, "his term is up in less than a year. He will not be running for office again."

Rapp stood there and shook his head in disgust.

Ashani found the man very unsettling, so he turned his attention back to Kennedy. In a soft voice he said, "I wish there was a way I could prove to you that I had nothing to do with this crazy plot. I have four daughters and a wife. I would never have participated in something like this."

"Yeah, you just help fund and train Hezbollah suicide bombers so they can blow themselves up in supermarkets and kill pregnant women." With a sarcastic sneer Rapp added, "That's much better."

Kennedy looked at Rapp and cleared her throat. It was a signal for him to back off. She then looked at Ashani and said, "It is my hope that this experience will serve as a lesson that our two countries need to open relations. The lack of communications only allows the zealots to advance their ideas."

"I agree," Ashani responded.

Rapp made a face like he might get sick.

"Now, why did you travel all this way?" Kennedy asked in a congenial voice.

"The short answer...Imad Mukhtar."

"What about him?" Rapp said.

"He is back in Lebanon." Ashani placed a thick manila envelope on the glass table and slid it toward Kennedy. "I have prepared a dossier for you."

Kennedy opened the package and began flipping through the pages. "This is a lot of information." She looked at him with her searching eyes and asked, "Why?"

"Because he wants us to clean up his mess," Rapp said.

Kennedy help up her hand, signaling to Rapp that she would like him to butt out for a minute. "Why?"

"Ayatollah Najar has asked the senior leadership of Hezbollah to arrest Mukhtar and send him to Tehran. They have assured him that they would put their full resources behind it."

"Let me guess," said Rapp, "they're not putting a lot of effort into finding him."

"They are putting no effort into finding him. They are putting all their effort into hiding him."

"Where?" Rapp asked.

"North of Tripoli."

"Lebanon?"

"Yes." Ashani pointed to the file in Kennedy's hands. "It is all in there. Bank records, known associates, et cetera..."

"There's a lot more than that in here," Kennedy said.

Ashani shrugged sheepishly.

Kennedy studied his face for a moment and in search of a more full answer, repeated her question. "Why?"

"Only one other person in my country knows about my trip to see you. That person and I agree that Iran's future would be better served if we were to cut our ties with Hezbollah."

"And by giving this to us you hope to accomplish...what?"

Ashani thought about his answer carefully and then said, "I think it will help us close a very ugly chapter in our shared history, and hopefully give you personally a sense of justice."

Kennedy considered the thick file for a moment and said, "Thank you."

"You are welcome." Ashani stood and said, "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me."

"You are welcome. Please excuse my not getting up, but I'm still a bit sore."

Rapp escorted Ashani to the door and handed him off to Ridley. He closed the door and walked back to Kennedy, who was staring out the window lost in thought. Rapp stood there for a moment and then asked, "What would you like me to do with Mukhtar?"

Without looking, Kennedy handed the file over her shoulder to Rapp and said, "Kill him."

TRIPOLI, LEBANON

The G-5 landed shortly after midnight. Rapp looked out the window and was pleased to see that the police escort was there as promised. It had taken Rapp three hours to read the file from cover to cover, and by the time he was finished, he knew exactly what he was going to do. He had his secretary make two copies of the file. He sent one to Marcus Dumond with instructions to scan everything into the system, so they could begin the collection of intercepts, and the other file went to Kennedy with instructions for it not to be distributed until he gave the okay. The last thing he needed was some gung-ho analyst, or worse, someone from the Justice Department getting in his way before he had a chance to permanently resolve the outstanding issue.

The next thing he did was call a certain Middle Eastern monarch who had a deep fondness and respect for Kennedy. This monarch had called in the aftermath of Kennedy's kidnapping and offered to do anything to help bring Imad Mukhtar to justice. The king also happened to be from the Sunni sect of Islam and despised the Shiite terrorist group Hezbollah. Mukhtar himself had been behind a plot to kill one of the king's brothers. Rapp explained the situation, and told the monarch what he would like to do. The monarch did not hesitate to offer his significant assistance, and in fact told Rapp he would like to incur the costs the operation. This actually became the stickiest part of the conversation. Rapp had to eventually invoke tribal honor to get the monarch to back down.

Operations like this were often very tedious and drawn out-usually taking months and sometimes even years. Every so often, though, a shortcut presented itself. The trick was to know when to take it. In this instance, Rapp was influenced by several factors. The first, simple fact was that every government and organization, with the exception of Hezbollah, had turned its back on Mukhtar. And according to Ashani's information there were even a few high-ranking members of Hezbollah who thought it was time for the man to simply disappear. The second reason why Rapp was willing to take the shortcut was because he knew if anything went wrong, the president would have his back. Alexander had told him personally that he wanted Mukhtar's scalp and he didn't care how long it took. The third and final reason Rapp decided to take the quick route was simple poetic justice.

Rapp looked at his satellite phone and punched in a number from memory. After a few rings someone answered on the other end and gave Rapp the confirmation he needed. Rapp thanked the person and put the phone back in his pocket. He unbuckled his seat belt, and opened the storage closet near the cockpit. After putting on his suit coat he grabbed a large, heavy black duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder. On his way past the cockpit, Rapp poked his head in and told the pilots he would likely be back in an hour. Rapp walked down steps and across the rain-slick tarmac. Two police officers were standing by the squad car; one a detective and the other a patrolman. Rapp shook hands with the detective, who informed him that the chief was waiting for him at the station.

Rapp climbed into the backseat and they were off. Where Beirut was a city of mixed religions and sects, Tripoli was predominantly Sunni. They arrived at the station a few minutes later. Rapp lugged the heavy bag up two flights of stairs and was shown immediately into the chief's office. Introductions were extremely brief. Neither man wanted to get to know the other. They simply wanted to complete the transaction and go their separate ways.

"Is that what I think it is?" the chief asked, pointing at the bag on the floor.

Rapp nudged it with his foot. "Sure is. Would you like to take a look?"

The chief nodded eagerly.

"Before we do that I want to verify one thing."

"What is that?"

"You spoke to his majesty directly?"

"Yes."

"And I assume he told you that I am the last guy you want to double-cross."

The chief grinned uncomfortably. "Yes, he did. He actually said you are the second-to-last guy. He is the last guy."

"Whatever works," Rapp smiled amiably. He bent down and unzipped the bag, revealing five tightly shrink-wrapped packets of money. Stepping back, Rapp said, "Five million dollars." Rapp figured it was cheap. The leadership of al-Qaeda all had price tags of twenty-plus million on their heads. Mukhtar at five million was a bargain. Especially when one took into consideration that based on Ashani's information, they could easily clear that much, once they started raiding the Hezbollah accounts they now knew about. If Mukhtar could bribe Sunni cops in Mosul, Rapp saw no problem in offering a cash reward for one of the most-wanted terrorists in the world.

The chief clapped his hands together, and could barely contain his glee. "Oh, this is wonderful."

"Yes, it is. Now, may I please see the prisoner?"

"Of course. Please follow me."

The chief led Rapp down to the first floor. At the back of the station were a series of holding rooms with one-way glass. The chief stopped in front of one and said, "Everything has been arranged just as you asked."

There sat Imad Mukhtar handcuffed to the metal table. His shoes, belt, watch, money, and cell phone were all on the table in front of him. He had shaved his head in an attempt to disguise himself. It didn't matter, though. Now that they had his voiceprint and the home where he was staying it had been easy to find him.

"What about the security camera?" Rapp asked.

"This one is not working."

"All right. You have the key for the handcuffs?"

The chief gave it to him. "I will wait right here until you are done."

"Thanks." Rapp grabbed a handkerchief, twisted the knob, and entered the ten-by-ten-foot interrogation room. Without turning around, Rapp flipped the handkerchief up onto the security camera directly above him. The chief seemed like a nice guy, but there was no reason not to be thorough. He then snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

Mukhtar looked up with tired bloodshot eyes and asked in Arabic, "Are you my lawyer?"

Rapp laughed, and as he pulled the curtain across the viewing window and said, "No, I'm your proctologist, you idiot."

Hearing the visitor speak Americanized English caused Mukhtar to grow deeply concerned. "Who are you?"

"Who I am doesn't matter, Mr. Mukhtar." Rapp circled around him.

"I do not know who you are talking about."

If all they had to go on were the photos taken in Mosul, there might have been a sliver of doubt, but Ashani had provided them with sixteen different quality shots. Those, combined with the voice analysis, guaranteed that the man he was looking at was Imad Mukhtar.

Rapp grabbed the belt off the table and stood directly behind the prisoner. Mukhtar sensed he was in some serious trouble and began yanking violently against the handcuffs. It was a waste of his energy. The metal table was bolted to the floor. Rapp slid the belt around Mukhtar's neck and threaded it through the buckle. Mukhtar started screaming and thrashing even harder. Rapp put his left hand on Mukhtar's shoulder and gave the belt a good yank with his right hand. Mukhtar began gasping for air and making choking noises.

Rapp leaned in close, his mouth hovering mere inches away from Mukhtar's left ear and said, "This is for Irene Kennedy, you piece of shit."

Rapp put his left foot in the center of Mukhtar's upper back and grabbed the belt with both hands. He leaned back and yanked with everything he had. Mukhtar's windpipe collapsed like an aluminum can. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, and his limbs went rigid. Rapp held the belt tight for another ten seconds to make sure, and then let go. Mukhtar slumped forward, his head thudding to a rest on the table. Rapp undid the handcuffs and leg restraints and tossed them on the floor. He then took the tail end of the belt, tied it around the metal bar that Mukhtar's right handcuff had been attached to, and pulled the chair away. Mukhtar's knees hit the ground and his head slid off the table. The belt caught and stopped his face a foot short of the floor.

Rapp took one last look around and then opened the door. On the way out he reached up and collected his handkerchief from the security camera and then took off the latex gloves.

The chief was waiting. "How did it go?"

"Exactly as planned." Rapp thanked the police chief, turned, and walked straight out the front door.