The Last Man

Chapter 25
BAGRAM AIR BASE, AFGHANISTAN

THE CIA's offices were off the main drag from the airport in an area that housed the Intel Fusion Center and the snake eaters from the Joint Special Operations Command. Langley also had another piece of real estate at the far end of the flight line where they housed their planes and a few other things. It was their own little domain within the sprawling air base. Out of necessity the spooks had to share information with the various military branches, but there were times when it was unwise for the CIA to be too open with its military brethren. Necessity was, after all, the mother of invention, and the CIA had a real need to keep much of what they did secret. Louie Gould was a perfect example. Bagram had a brand-new shiny detention center replete with prayer rooms, prayer mats, video games, flat-screen TVs, and a Koran on every bed. Putting a man like Gould under the care of the military was an inherently bad idea, for the simple reason that once they had their hands on him there would be an official record.

Kennedy made it clear to Nash in the aftermath of the disaster with the Afghan Police that Gould's identity was to be kept secret from everyone outside their immediate circle. She went so far as to put Darren Sickles and anyone else at the embassy on an exclusion list. Until they knew more, Gould was nothing more than another one of Rapp's hired guns who was shot during the conflict. Kennedy wanted him kept under wraps until she could question him herself. The two had a shared history that she was certain Gould was not entirely aware of. Early reports were that he had been evasive and uncooperative when questioned by Nash. Kennedy had a piece of leverage that she was almost certain Nash didn't.

Kennedy left the hospital and asked her security team to bring her back to the hangar where her plane was parked.

Clark Jones, the head of her security detail, gave her a concerned look. "Are we leaving?"

"No . . . just some business I need to take care of."

They rolled down the base's smooth asphalt streets in the black Suburban that had been provided by the base chief. They passed the post office, a Burger King, a fitness center, and bunch of other nondescript buildings. The place was a little slice of America. The hangar was at the far end of the flight line, far away from prying eyes. It looked like all the other hangars. The helicopters parked on the tarmac were no different than the U.S. Army Black Hawks all up and down the flight line. The black SUV pulled into the hangar and two beautiful Gulfstream G550s came into view - noticeably absent were any U.S. Air Force markings. Three twin turboprop MC-12 surveillance planes were clustered in the other corner, and a smattering of other smaller planes and helicopters were spread about the cavernous space.

Kennedy's vehicle came to a stop near the glass offices. Her security team jumped out of the vehicle before she could put her hand on the door. Bill Schneeman, the base chief, was waiting for Kennedy by the office door. The bodyguards dismounted and formed their protective bubble around the director. She found the entire thing a bit much, but Jones had given her a firm lecture on the flight over. Jones had been in charge of her detail for just under two years. This was the first time he had "laid down the law," as he called it. He was rarely briefed on the intricacies of what was going on, but because of his proximity he often picked up bits and pieces of information.

In this case he'd heard about the abduction of Rickman, one of her most senior people in Afghanistan, and the attempt on the life of Mitch Rapp, her most trusted advisor and top counterterrorism operative. There was one other piece of information that he was not privy to. John Hubbard, the Jalalabad base chief, had gone missing and local assets were frantically searching for him. Even without the knowledge of Hubbard, Jones and his men hovered like overly protective mothers of a first child. It was all very stifling.

Schneeman started to approach Kennedy but stopped on the other side of the security team. "Boss," Schneeman called out with his typical smartass grin, "do you think you could get your guys to relax a little? We own this site. All the jihadists are on the other side of the wire."

Kennedy gave Jones a sideways glance. "Clark, while we're on base, do you think you guys could relax your posture just a bit?" Kennedy put her words in the form of a question, but her tone made it was obvious that it was an order.

Jones didn't flinch. His dark eyes and tight black skin gave him a no-nonsense intensity that was perfect for his job. He might as well have had "Don't mess with me" on his forehead. For a moment it looked as they were going to have at least a standoff, if not a confrontation. Jones looked around the hangar as if he was making one last check for threats and then motioned for his men to give the director some room.

Schneeman moved past the big men with all the weapons and extended his hand. "Welcome to Spa Bagram."

Kennedy grinned at the reference. Back at HQ, people liked to joke that the Bagram assignment was a cakewalk. Most of the people posted to Bagram came back thin, fit, and in the best shape of their careers. Kennedy knew the real toll of the posting, however. Marriages had fallen apart due to distance and, in more than a few cases, infidelity. The bigger problem, though, was stress - long hours and big demands for results had burned out a good number of her people.

"Sorry I didn't stop by sooner, but I was at the hospital," Kennedy offered.

"Don't worry about it. How's he doing?"

"Better. He's awake, but it looks like he's going to be out of commission for a while."

"That's not what I wanted to hear . . . I mean the part about him being out of commission."

"I knew what you meant." Very few people knew that Kennedy had increasingly turned to Schneeman to get a handle on what was going on in-country. She had lost confidence in Sickles months ago as she began to receive reports of his unabashed enthusiasm for reintegration. How one of the top people in the Clandestine Service could think the plan was a good idea was beyond Kennedy's ability to comprehend. The blame, she knew, rested squarely on her, as she had been the one who made him station chief in Kabul, and then the fool had gotten too cozy with the State Department contingent, that awful woman Arianna Vinter in particular.

"What have you found out about Hubbard?"

"Nothing so far. His phone doesn't even show up on the satellites, which we both know is a really bad sign." Schneeman shrugged and added, "I hate to give you more bad news, but it is what it is."

"Keep looking. We can't keep losing people like this." She was about to add the fact that it was embarrassing, but she knew it would sound self-serving. These were the people that she sent into harm's way. Her number-one priority was to get them back alive.

"I'm not going to lie to you. A lot of our people are spooked. They think this has to be part of bigger plan by the Taliban to cripple us in-country."

"They might be right."

After staring at his shoes for a second, Schneeman said, "No one's turned me down yet, but I almost had to make them draw straws to see who would go down to J-bad to search for Hubbard."

Kennedy did not take this information well. This was another reason she needed Rapp. His unabashed, fearless attitude was contagious. The last thing she needed right now were operatives who were afraid to leave the base. If this problem got worse she would have to lean on JSOC for muscle. The Special Operators shared Rapp's bold manner.

Schneeman motioned toward a doorway next to the glass-walled offices. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"Tea, please."

Schneeman led and she followed. "I apologize, but things are pretty hectic around here. Including the nine people in your entourage, we have fifty-six additional people who've been brought in over the last two days."

"You need to push them out. How many people did you send down to J-bad?"

"I'm keeping all the analysts up here. I sent six operatives and twelve SOG guys. I told them I don't want anyone going anywhere by themselves. I assigned two SOG guys to each operative and they need to check in every hour."

They entered a small break room with a microwave and refrigerator. Schneeman started rifling through cupboards until he found a box of assorted teas. He handed the box to Kennedy and then poured himself a cup of coffee and Kennedy a cup of hot water.

"When was the last time this room was swept?" Kennedy asked.

Schneeman knew Kennedy's expectations. "Less than thirty minutes ago."

She gave a nod of satisfaction and asked, "How closely was Rick working with Darren?"

"The short answer is, I'm not sure. I mean, I'm out here most of the time. Darren runs the show from Kabul. Don't ask me how, but I think he got the sense that I'm his replacement. He's been a real prick the last five months. The good news is I'm lucky if I see him once a month. The bad news is he hasn't been managing his people. I have no idea what he and Rick were up to."

Kennedy gave him a small, disbelieving frown. Their business was to collect facts, but intermixed with the facts was often a lot of gossip and innuendo. "Brian, you can't honestly expect me to believe that you haven't heard a thing."

"The guy's my immediate boss, Irene, and he's a real prick. Not to you, of course, but to most of the people who work for him, he's insufferable."

"I understand there's a chain of command, but how do you people expect me to make good decisions when you keep me in the dark on this stuff?" Rapp had warned her that he thought Sickles was in over his head, but no one else had bothered to make so much as a peep.

"I don't know what to say. We're thousands of miles away. We deal with what we have as best we can. These are all decisions that get made way above my pay grade."

Kennedy wasn't going to push the point. Schneeman was right, of course. Going behind your boss's back to say that he was incompetent without any real proof was a great way to torpedo your career. "This stays between the two of us. Darren is not going to be the station chief much longer."

Schneeman wasn't totally surprised. "How much longer?"

"I'm not sure he's going to make it to the end of the day, but I need to get a few things out of him first, so we'll have to see."

Schneeman almost asked who was going to be his replacement, but thought it would sound too self-serving. Instead, he moved back to the earlier topic. "There were a few things that didn't exactly pass the smell test."

Kennedy folded her arms across her chest and asked, "Like what?"

"Over the last few months they seemed to really kick this program into high gear. They were handing out bags of cash to every a*shole in the country. Most of them guys we've spent the last ten years trying to kill." Schneeman shook his head in disgust and added in an acid tone, "F*cking Abdul Rauf Qayem . . . I told Darren I'd put a bullet in the guy's head, and he could pocket the cash. Do you know what Darren did?"

"No," Kennedy responded.

"He freaked out, and not about the bullet in the head. He gave me this big lecture about the inspector general's office and how they were all over him. How they had controls in place to make sure every penny was accounted for."

Kennedy was surprised, as this was all news to her. "The inspector general?"

"That's right."

For obvious reasons, Langley's inspector general had a certain amount of autonomy; that was the idea, after all, an in-house group tasked with making sure the spooks were playing by the rules. The idea was almost laughable and had of course been foisted on the Agency by the politicians on Capitol Hill. The fact that they thought it would work was interesting in itself. If the CIA could penetrate the world's top governments, how difficult would it be to recruit a few people who worked in the inspector general's office? The answer was simple - it wasn't. Kennedy had people in the office who kept her informed of anything of consequence. If they had been looking into Rickman and this reintegration business, Kennedy would have known. As a precaution, though, she would need to do a little double-checking.

"What about Hubbard?" Kennedy asked.

He gave a shrug. "He's competent enough."

"I've heard he became Rick's go-to guy."

"Yeah. If he needed any heavy lifting done he usually arranged it through Hubbard, although . . ." Schneeman's voice trailed off. He was thinking about something he'd heard.

"What?" Kennedy asked.

"Rick was involved with a lot of bad characters. Always has been, but when this reintegration thing got going, he really started hanging out with a rough crowd. I picked something up from one of the SOG guys. More of a complaint, really."

SOG stood for Special Operations Group. They were the paramilitary arm of the National Clandestine Service and were the men and women whom Kennedy used to conduct covert operations. "What did you hear?"

"Guy told me Rick's security was dog shit. Couldn't understand why he'd turned everything over to the natives. Said a guy like Rick should always have some American shooters with him. He had too big a target on his back to trust everything to a bunch of local mercenaries."

"You passed this concern on to Darren?"

"Yep."

This was the first Kennedy had heard of any of this. "So Rick's normal detail . . ."

"They stayed at the air base and he used them from time to time when he needed to make a show of force."

Kennedy considered the new information for a moment. In the aftermath of stuff like this, certain bits of information could take on oversized importance. She told herself not to get hung up on it. If it were important, she would revisit it later. "So we have no idea where Hubbard may be?"

"None, and we've talked to a ton of sources."

"Okay." She looked back toward the door. "Our number-one priority right now is to find Rick. Number two is Hubbard. Number three is Qayem."

"Understood."

"Good. Now tell me what you and Mike have learned from our guest."