Mitch Rapp 05 - Memorial Day Page 34

The two men shook hands. “Thanks for sticking your neck out like this,” Rapp said.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve known Skip for a long time and I know he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious.”

  “It is, trust me.”

  “We’d better get going then.” The Marshal led them over to a heavy steel door. After a second it buzzed and they were let in. A Fairfax County deputy was waiting for them. Stewart looked at the younger man and said, “We need Ahmed al-Adel. You’ve got him in solitary.”

  “What for?” the deputy asked.

  Stewart was short, but imposing. He glared at the young deputy and said, “Don’t worry yourself with what for. He’s a federal prisoner. When I say go get him, you just go get him.”

  The deputy backed down immediately. Rapp stepped forward. “I’ll go with.”

  The deputy shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Another heavy door was buzzed and Rapp and the deputy entered. As they walked down the hallway, the deputy looked over his shoulder and said, “Hey, aren’t you that Mitch Rapp fellow?”

  Rapp shook his head. “Nope. You’re not the first person to say it though. I’m with the Justice Department.” Rapp didn’t actually think this would work as an alibi, it was just better than having to answer all the man’s questions about what it was like to work for the CIA and kill bad guys.

  They went down a flight of stairs and through another locked door into a quiet and darkened cell block. At the very end of the passage the deputy unlocked a cell and before he opened the door Rapp said, “I can take it from here.”

  The deputy hesitated. “I have to put cuffs on him. It’s the rules.”

  Rapp smiled confidently. “Don’t worry about the cuffs. I can handle him.”

  The deputy didn’t move. “I could get in big trouble.”

  Rapp shooed him away. “Don’t worry about it. Go back upstairs. I can take it from here.”

  The deputy studied the face of the man standing in front of him. He’d already noticed the bulge of the weapon slung under the guy’s right arm and the thin scar on the side of his face. He was athletic and in his mid-thirties. This guy was Mitch Rapp, not some lawyer from the Justice Department.

  The deputy relented and left. He knew what to do. Brian Jones was twenty-two years old and had worked at the jail for not yet a year, but in that short time he’d learned to hate the hotshot Feds who came and went almost as much as the loudmouthed animals they housed behind the thick steel bars. Jones walked back upstairs and went into the security room where he monitored the prisoners via their new digital camera system. A short while later the man claiming he wasn’t Rapp came upstairs with the prisoner. He had the man by the scruff of his orange jumpsuit. The prisoner looked scared, and if that was in fact Mitch Rapp, he was absolutely right to be scared.

  Jones watched on the monitors as al-Adel was put in the backseat of the sedan and Rapp got in with him. The big jerk, Deputy U.S. Marshal Joe Stewart, talked to the other man for a second and then they shook hands and the tall guy from the FBI got in the car and started backing up. Fairfax County Deputy Sheriff Brian Jones punched the button to raise the garage door and as soon as the sedan was clear he closed it. A second later his entire video surveillance system crashed and his monitors went black.

  Deputy Jones didn’t move and didn’t dare touch a thing. He just held his breath hoping the system would reboot itself. Five seconds passed, then ten, then twenty, and then finally the cameras started coming back online. Jones wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed in relief. The system had been installed around the time Jones had started, and it had never malfunctioned like that before. The timing of the crash made him a little suspicious, so he logged into the system and began checking the archives. Everything was stored digitally.

  Roughly five minutes of surveillance footage was gone. Erased from the server. Lawyer, my ass, he thought to himself. Just who in the hell did they think they were, coming into his jail and pulling this shit? Jones grabbed his wallet and found the card. He had been planning to call the man anyway. The Mouth of the South was famous. He’d passed his cards around the detention center telling deputies that he was going to be looking to hire out a lot of off-duty security for the trial. Fifty bucks an hour for sitting around and reading paperback novels on his days off sounded pretty good.

  Jones bet the Mouth of the South had no idea his client had just gone for a ride with the CIA. He thought about how nice it would be to make fifty bucks an hour. If he let the Mouth know what was going on, he’d have the inside track on that off-duty job for sure. Jones was already counting the money he’d make as he dialed the number.

  VIRGINIA

  They left the jail, took U.S. 50 west and cut off on Highway 28 north. McMahon drove close to eighty mph the entire way. When they hit the Hirst Brault Expressway by Dulles they passed a State Trooper on the side of the road who started to pull out. McMahon hit his emergency lights that were concealed in the front grille and back window, and never slowed. The only thing Rapp had told him was that they were going to a place that didn’t exist, that McMahon could never talk about to anyone.

  Dr. Akram had always told Rapp that the threat of torture was often more persuasive than actual torture itself, and based on what he’d seen so far with al-Adel that theory was likely to hold true. Rapp had consulted briefly with Akram on how to proceed and he had given Rapp a protocol to follow. Don’t let al-Adel sense that you are desperate, was his first piece of advice. Make him believe that you are a patient, fair, and in control person who knows far more about him and his operation than he could possibly imagine. Let the threat of torture hang ominously in the back of his mind. Make him feel that he is insignificant.

  The only part of this plan that was difficult for Rapp was not laying a hand on him. McMahon had been right in his assessment that al-Adel had an infuriatingly smug air about him. In the twenty-some minutes that Rapp had been in the company of the Saudi-born immigrant, he had asked for his lawyer approximately once every minute. Each time the ludicrous request was made in the Saudi’s arrogant tone, Rapp had been forced to resist the urge to break the man’s nose. He knew that if they had to resort to torture, there were more subtle ways to hurt him, equally unpleasant, and even more important, fully deniable.

  No physical marks could be left. If things didn’t work out, and this second bomb was nothing more than a paranoid delusion, they would need to hand al-Adel back over to the Justice Department, and if there were obvious signs of torture, there would be an investigation. Physical abuse was very hard to prove if there were no marks. It would be Rapp’s word against an Islamic radical fundamentalist who was involved in a plot to detonate a nuclear warhead in Washington, D.C. The public would undoubtedly believe Rapp was capable of such brutality, but everybody with the exception of the press and a handful of lefties and activists would be more than willing to side with him against the terrorist. Even if they left marks on al-Adel, the majority of Americans would probably give Rapp a pass considering what they were up against, but for now Rapp was willing to heed Akram’s advice.

  So Rapp sat in the backseat with the Saudi immigrant and spoke to him in his native tongue. He told him things that he knew would shock him. Rapp talked to him about his family, and even went so far as to say he had spoken to his father.

  Al-Adel was unable to conceal his surprise at this. “You are lying to me.”

  Rapp shook his head. “I talked to him only an hour ago. Earlier in the day I placed a call to the crown prince and asked that your family be brought in for questioning. Even the women.”

  The look on al-Adel’s face was one of both shock and disbelief.

  Rapp said, “The crown prince and I have done a lot of business over the years.”

  “What kind of business?” asked a skeptical al-Adel.

  “The business of eliminating threats, Ahmed. The crown prince profits from his business dealings with America. The eradication of people like you helps him ensure those dealings continue. He sees
you Wahhabis for what you are…a bunch of backward religious fruitcakes who are embarrassed to admit you’re wrong. Zealots who want to live in the past.”

  “I do not believe you. You do not know the crown prince.”

  “Think about it, Ahmed. The crown prince and the Saudi royal family have billions of dollars invested in the American economy. If you and your little band of whack jobs succeed in setting off a nuclear weapon in Washington, D.C.,” Rapp paused when he saw a glimmer of recognition in the man’s eye. “Yes, Ahmed, I know there’s another bomb, and part of me hopes your friends succeed.”

  Al-Adel was caught off guard and showed it. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

  Rapp studied him intensely. He reached out and put his arm around the Saudi immigrant. Al-Adel closed his eyes tightly as Rapp whispered in his ear. “Yes, I really hope they succeed. Do you know why?”

  Al-Adel shook his head.

  “Because if they do, the United States of America will end this war in one fell swoop. We will nuke your beloved kingdom all the way back to the stone age. Mecca, Medina, all the holy sites gone just like that, and it will all be on your shoulders, Ahmed. You will go down in history as the man who destroyed a religion. The man who buried the Wahhabi scourge once and for all.”

  All al-Adel could do was shake his head in disagreement.

  “Ahmed,” Rapp laughed, “that puny twenty-kiloton bomb you tried to pick up down in Charleston is nothing. We have a single submarine sitting in the Arabian Sea right now that has enough nuclear missiles on board to destroy all of Saudi Arabia, and that’s only a tiny fraction of our nuclear arsenal.”

  Al-Adel tried to show some confidence by smiling, but he was less than convincing. “Your president is too weak. He will never authorize such an attack. And even if he wanted to, the United Nations and Europe would never let him do it. And what about the oil?” he said in a taunting tone. “You will never bomb our country. You would be slitting your own throat.”

  “Oh, Ahmed, you really are stupid. The U.N. and Europe will have absolutely no say in the president’s decision. France and Germany will publicly plead for restraint, but only because they have to. This will be a history-changing event. They will privately agree that a precedent must be set, that those who trade in terrorism will be dealt with in the most extreme way possible. And as far as the oil is concerned, we would never be so foolish as to nuke your oil fields. More than eighty percent of your population is along the Red Sea and in Riyadh. The oil fields will remain unscathed, and the crown prince knows this. That is why he is having your family tortured as we speak. He knows if you fools succeed, his kingdom will be taken from him.”

  “My father is a respected man. The crown prince would never torture him.”

  “For starters the crown prince will do whatever it takes to save his own ass, and that includes torturing your little pissant father. Fortunately, though, your father is cooperating. He says you are an embarrassment to your family.”

  “You are a liar.” Al-Adel refused to look at Rapp.

  “We’ll see.” Everything Rapp had said was a bluff, but not an outright lie. He did know the crown prince, and he knew if the president called him and laid all his cards on the table, the crown prince would gladly round up al-Adel’s family and begin torturing them. He also knew that if these guys actually set off a nuclear weapon on American soil the president would be under immense pressure to nuke somebody and something, and Saudi Arabia would be at the top of that list.

  The driveway to the facility was blocked by a twelve-foot steel gate with an all-weather camera mounted off to the side. After only a second the gate opened and they made their way down the long, winding tree-lined drive. The main house was a two-story redbrick federal style with matching wings on either end. When they pulled up to the front door Dr. Akram was waiting on the front step looking dapper in his dark suit and red tie.

  Rapp, McMahon, and al-Adel got out of the car. Rapp did not bother to make any introductions. Dr. Akram politely greeted al-Adel in Arabic, but said nothing to McMahon. He then turned and entered the house, expecting the others to follow. They continued through the house and out the back door to a slightly elevated terrace that looked down on a long rectangular pool. Akram walked over to a table where a tray of food and a pitcher were waiting.

  He pointed to a chair and said, “Mr. al-Adel, if you will kindly sit.” Akram looked to Rapp and McMahon. “I would like to have a moment alone with Mr. al-Adel.”

  Rapp and McMahon walked to the far end of the patio, where McMahon asked, “What in the hell is this all about, and who’s the guy in the fancy suit?”

  “Don’t ask. Just observe. He’s going to get him talking and if he doesn’t learn anything of value he’ll turn him back over to us and we’ll get to play bad cop for a while.”

  “Good. I can’t wait.”

  Rapp wasn’t sure if McMahon was serious or not. “Skip, you don’t have to participate in this. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

  McMahon looked past Rapp at their prisoner and the man in the suit. “No. I’m not going to ask you to do anything I’m not willing to do myself.”

  “You’re not asking me to do anything.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Rapp nodded. “It might get ugly.”

  “I’m no boy scout, Mitch.”

  Rapp’s phone rang and he snatched it from his hip. Before opening it, he looked at the tiny display. He hesitated for a second and then decided reluctantly to answer. “Yeah.”

  He held the phone to his ear and listened. After about five seconds he said, “I’m in the middle of something right now. I’m going to have to call you back.” Not waiting for the other person to respond he closed the phone, and said to McMahon, “We’re going to have to work fast.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Irene.” Rapp winced. “Somehow the word’s out that I pulled al-Adel out of the Fairfax jail.”

  “We’ve only had him for a half hour!”

  Rapp shrugged. “Irene says that Justice Department is furious. She started to say something about Valerie Jones, and I just hung up.”

  Rapp’s phone rang again. It was Kennedy trying to call back. He stared at the phone for a moment and then silenced the ringer and put it away. “We’ll have to hurry. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  Rapp walked across the terrace, and placed a hand on Akram’s shoulder. “We need to talk.”

  They left McMahon to watch over al-Adel and walked far enough away so that they couldn’t be heard. Rapp said, “I’m out of time. Has he said anything to you?”

  “I’ve barely had a chance to get started. The only thing he’s said is that he’s an American and he wants his lawyer.”

  “Yeah…he’s like a parrot that way. Here’s the deal. The word’s already out that I have him, so we’ve got to get him talking quickly and as you said earlier, it would be best if he left here without any marks on him. What do you suggest?”

  Akram thought about it for a brief moment. “The lemonade he’s drinking has a stimulant in it. It will help heighten his sense of fear when you throw him in the pool.”

  Rapp looked at the lit pool and then back at Akram, a questioning expression on his face.

  Akram explained, “Swimming isn’t real popular in Saudi Arabia.”

  The thought had never occurred to Rapp.

  “If by chance he does know how to swim, you’ll just have to get in with him and force him under.” Akram looked at his watch and said, “I’ll be back in ten minutes to see how you’re doing.”

  Akram turned and went back to the table. “Mr. al-Adel, I’m afraid we’ve run out of time. I’m going to ask you one question. If you refuse to answer, or lie to me, I’m going to have to turn you over to these two gentlemen. And I can promise you it will not be a pleasant experience.” Akram had been thinking of this moment for some time. It was important that he didn’t reach too far right away, so he started with something simple. So
mething they already knew. “The bomb that you picked up in Charleston…where were you to bring it? What city?”

  Al-Adel shook his head defiantly. “I am an American citizen. I know my rights. I don’t have to talk to any of you. I want to see my lawyer.”

  Akram gave him his most sympathetic expression. “I am very sorry for what is about to happen, but it must be done.” He then turned to Rapp and whispered in his ear, “The key with this one will be to get him talking. Start out small. Get him talking about anything other than his lawyer, and then you can go for the gold.” Akram walked away and went back in the house.

  Rapp walked over to the prisoner and said, “Get up.”

  Al-Adel didn’t move. Rapp reached down to grab his wrist, but al-Adel clamped down on the chair’s armrests, refusing to budge.

  “I’m not going to ask again. Get up.”

  Al-Adel remained stubborn.

  Rapp delivered a lightning-fast blow to the man’s solar plexus. Al-Adel doubled over instantaneously, releasing his grip on the chair. It would have been far more gratifying to break the man’s nose, but this would have to do for now. Rapp grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked him from the chair. Al-Adel remained bent over, clutching his stomach, as Rapp dragged him along the terrace toward the steps that led to the pool.

  “Do you like to swim, Ahmed?” Rapp marched him down four steps to the lower terrace and the pool. Al-Adel began to fight fiercely at the sight of the water.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Rapp. “You’re not afraid of the water are you?”

  Al-Adel leaned back at first, locking his knees in an attempt to stop his progress toward the water. Rapp yanked harder on the man’s hair and stood him up. With only a few steps to go al-Adel let his legs go limp, and collapsed to the ground. McMahon showed up just in time and grabbed him by the feet. Rapp grabbed one hand and then the other, and after two swings they launched the terrorist into the middle of the deep end, orange prison jumpsuit and all.

  Rapp watched him flounder as he walked around to the other side of the pool to grab the skimming pole. Al-Adel definitely did not know how to swim. He was thrashing about, flailing his arms in every direction, gasping for air and getting mostly water instead. Rapp took off his suit coat and grabbed the long aluminum pole. He swung the basket out over the pool and put it right in front of al-Adel’s face. For a second he thought the idiot wouldn’t realize it was there, and that he’d actually have to jump in the pool and save him. Fortunately, one of his flailing arms hit the basket and he grabbed on.