The Last Man

Chapter 12
KABUL, AFGHANISTAN

EVERYONE made mistakes. It was how you handled them that counted. Own up to them, make a few adjustments, and move on. At least that was the way Rapp had been taught. Anything short of that was counterproductive, self-serving, and typically dishonest. Rapp didn't like having his time wasted under normal circumstances, but in a crisis like this it unnerved him when people couldn't at least set aside their issues, grab a bucket of water, and help put the damn fire out. Act like Sickles and deny that a mistake had been made and that little pressure cooker inside Rapp's head got so hot he became explosive.

There was a distinct possibility that Rapp might break the station chief's jaw and Nash knew it. He also couldn't blame him, but at this point it might or might not solve their problems. There were certain guys at Langley who were old-school and would be more than willing to take a beating if it saved them from being dragged back to Langley, but Sickles wasn't one of them. He would love nothing more at this point than to claim victimhood, and Nash couldn't allow that to happen.

Rapp stopped outside the secure door that led to the CIA's suite of embassy offices. He looked at Nash and said, "Tell me again why you think we need him."

"He knows these people. He's worked with Rick for the last two years. He has to have some info we could use. We ship him back to Langley and he's going to become significantly less cooperative."

"I don't give a shit. We ship him back to Langley and he'll realize real quick I'm not the only who's pissed at him. His career is over unless he gets some religion real quick, and even then I'd stuff him in some cubicle."

Before Nash could respond, Coleman approached and said, "Hubbard called. He talked to that veterinarian in J-Bad."

"And?"

"The vet says he never put the dog down. Told Hub he couldn't figure out what was wrong with it, so he referred Rick to another vet here in Kabul. Better animal hospital."

"So was Hub wrong or misinformed?"

"I'm not sure I understand."

"He told us the dog was put down by a vet in Jalalabad. Did Rick tell him that or did he just assume?"

"I don't know."

"Get him on the phone. I want to talk to him." Rapp pivoted and faced Nash. "You've got about a minute to convince me. We need to be out there, not in here. We need to be kicking down the door of every scumbag we can find and maybe if we get a whiff that Iran is behind this, we need to return the favor."

"I'm as pissed at him as you are. He broke our first rule. He forgot who he works for. It's not State . . . it's us. But you said it yourself. The clock is ticking. This trail is going colder by the second and let's face it . . . Rick's got the brains, not the brawn. If he hasn't already broken it won't take much longer. We need Darren to give us everything now. Not two or three days from now when he's back at Langley and Irene finally makes him see what a jackass he's been."

Rapp didn't like it, but Nash was right. "Then put all the cards on the table and give him two clear choices: He either gets his shit together and remembers which team he plays for or he's done. This is his last chance."

Nash nodded and said, "I think you should be the one to deliver that message."

Before Rapp could reply, Coleman handed him the phone. "Hub . . . did Rick tell you that he had Ajax put down by the vet down there in Jalalabad or did you just assume he did?" Rapp listened as Hubbard relayed his answer and then said, "Text me the info on the vet here in Kabul. I'm going to have a talk with him." Rapp handed the phone back to Coleman and before he could return to the problem of Darren Sickles, Nash asked a question of his own.

"What was that all about?"

Rapp wasn't about to go into his suspicions. Not until he had more information. "I'm just trying to run down a few leads. Darren is all yours. I need to get out of this building or I'm going to commit some serious violence."

"Give me five minutes," Nash begged, holding up the fingers on his right hand.

"No. I'm sick of talking. I need to get back out there."

"A vet . . . what in the hell is he going to tell you?"

"Don't worry about me. Focus on Darren and those other idiots. We've got more people coming in," Rapp checked his watch, "about three hours from now. They need to hit the ground running and that means you have to put a game plan together for them."

Nash's face soured. "Who said I was the office manager?"

"It goes along with your fancy new title. You're the senior man on the ground, so you get to stay here and babysit everyone while we go kick down some doors and knock a few heads."

"This is bullshit."

Rapp smiled. "You're a national hero. We can't afford to lose you."

"More bullshit," Nash barked. "You were there, too. In fact, you were the crazy son of a bitch who rushed those guys with nothing more than a pistol."

"Shhhhh," Rapp said with a finger over his mouth. "That's classified information." He laughed and then said to Coleman, "Get the boys saddled up."

"You want to travel light or in force?"

"Light . . . just you, me, Joe, and Reavers. And none of that MRAP shit." Rapp started to walk with Coleman at his side. "Find us an old beat-up sedan."

Nash was genuinely conflicted as he watched Rapp and Coleman walk down the long hallway. It pained him to not be included in stuff like this. He had officially become a paper pusher and it killed him. It made his wife a great deal happier, and in light of the fact that he had four kids, one of whom was still in diapers, it was probably a good idea to hang up his spurs, but God, he missed it.