Pursuit of Honor Part 28

"So I've heard." Rapp nudged his coffee cup and then said, "I need to meet with him."

"I would think that could be arranged."

"In private."

"Of course, but why would you need my help?"

"I don't want him to know he's sitting down with me until it's too late for him to back out. And I would prefer to meet him on neutral ground."

"The general," Sidorov said, "is a very dangerous man."

"And what would you call me, Peter?"

Sidorov exhaled while he thought about it and said, "I have spent three years building my relationships down there. I have significant sums of money invested in my various endeavors. Why would I want to risk all of that on a situation that is so obviously combustible?"

Rapp had antic.i.p.ated this response. "Because I think you can turn it to your advantage."

"How?"

Rapp smiled. "This is all unofficial, but there's a man who lives not far from here. Big white house. You get the picture. For reasons that I'm sure you can understand he is not happy with the events of last week." Rapp prepared to exaggerate a bit. "He has directed me to punish anyone who was involved in aiding the terrorists."

"And how does General Ramirez fit into that?"

Rapp told him how the drugs had been stolen and flown to Cuba. How Ramirez had allowed the terrorists to use Cuba as a staging area for their attack and in exchange was given a large cut of the stolen drugs.

Sidorov's face grew pained as the details unfolded. When Rapp was done he said, "I hate the drug trade. I avoid it like the plague. It's all very bad for business, especially my business, but I do not condemn those who choose to make their living that way."

"And I'm not asking you to take a position against Ramirez."

"You just want me to help you kill him."

Rapp didn't answer right away. "I would like to give the general a chance to make amends."

"By doing what?"

"By providing me certain information about the person he was dealing with."

"One of the terrorists?"

"Yes."

"And if he does not want to cooperate with you?"

"Trust me, he'll cooperate."

Sidorov thought about it for a long moment and then said, "This terrorism is bad for business. I do not understand them, but it really isn't my fight. I fail to see a good reason for me to put my neck on the line."

Rapp smiled. Sidorov, like any good businessman, wanted to know what was in it for him. "When Castro finally goes, it will be a free-for-all down there. It doesn't matter what you say you've purchased or leased, it will be challenged by the folks down in Miami-the Cuban expatriates who had their land seized by Castro. They are going to want it back, or at least to be compensated for it. It will be a very nasty and costly fight and you will need every ally you can find. But then again, you already know all of this, and that's why you hired Max Johnson to start digging up dirt on the important senators and congressmen."

It was Sidorov's turn to smile. "Surely you have more to offer than that."

"My services."

"Your services?"

"As is evidenced by your fleet of bodyguards, you have managed to make some enemies during your relatively short career."

"That is true."

"As you know I have a certain reputation . . . certain skills that at times can make people nervous."

"I'm listening."

"I would be willing to offer you a bit of cover. Possibly deal with some of your more unsavory enemies in a way that will tell others to leave you alone."

Sidorov folded his copy of the Financial Times Financial Times and tapped himself on the leg several times before saying, "I think we might be able to work something out." and tapped himself on the leg several times before saying, "I think we might be able to work something out."

CHAPTER 57.

NORTHERN ARKANSAS.

KARIM vented more of his rage by smashing several lamps and knocking all the photos off the fireplace mantel. Hakim sat in the big leather chair and didn't dare twitch a muscle. Under Karim's untucked shirt the bulge of his pistol was obvious. It was best to let the storm pa.s.s. It took a few minutes, but Karim eventually composed himself. He announced that they would leave in precisely one hour. He wanted everyone showered and clean-shaven for the trip. He told Ahmed to go through the kitchen and pack any food that he could find, and then he took the big road atlas he'd found on the bookshelf and threw it at Hakim. vented more of his rage by smashing several lamps and knocking all the photos off the fireplace mantel. Hakim sat in the big leather chair and didn't dare twitch a muscle. Under Karim's untucked shirt the bulge of his pistol was obvious. It was best to let the storm pa.s.s. It took a few minutes, but Karim eventually composed himself. He announced that they would leave in precisely one hour. He wanted everyone showered and clean-shaven for the trip. He told Ahmed to go through the kitchen and pack any food that he could find, and then he took the big road atlas he'd found on the bookshelf and threw it at Hakim.

"Find the best way to get there."

"Get where?" Hakim asked in as nonthreatening a voice as possible.

"To Washington!"

Hakim got the impression Karim was looking for an excuse to get rid of him, so he nodded and began flipping through the pages.

"And keep an eye out the window," Karim barked.

Hakim watched him leave. He stopped in the kitchen and said something to Ahmed, and then he went to the owner's room. A moment later the shower came on. Ten seconds after that, Ahmed came around the corner with a nervous look on his face. As he crossed the room he looked over his shoulder twice.

When he got to Hakim he whispered, "Can you move?"

Hakim didn't understand, and then suddenly Ahmed was pulling something from his pocket and handing it to him.

In a hurried whisper he said, "He's going to kill you. He told me. Take these." Hakim pushed the car keys into his hand. "There is a white car in the garage. I put your backpack in the front seat. Go! Go now, before he gets out of the shower." Ahmed pulled him out of the chair and got him to his feet.

Hakim's body was screaming at him from virtually every point. He was in such pain he didn't know if he could move, but somehow he did. They were short steps at first. More like the shuffle of an old man. He reached the front door on his own and looked over his shoulder to thank Ahmed, but he was already gone. Cupboards were being noisily opened and slammed in the kitchen. Hakim opened the door and closed it behind him. He moved across the porch to the steps and then froze. There were only three steps, but they might as well have been a cliff. Hakim grabbed the railing and willed himself down. His torso twisted stiffly with the first step and he instantly felt a white-hot pain. It was as if someone were stabbing him in the ribs with a knife. Having already diagnosed himself, he guessed that was exactly what was happening. One of his broken ribs was tearing into the soft tissue of his left lung with a jagged, serrated edge.

He practically fell down the next two steps and then he was shuffling across the gravel, his right foot first, and then he'd drag his left foot to catch up. The pain was nearly unbearable. He felt that at any moment he would launch into a coughing fit and then it would be over. He would collapse right there in the middle of the gravel courtyard and pa.s.s out. Karim would then saunter out with that arrogant, disapproving look on his face, and before killing him he would have something stupid to say. Some phrase that would elevate his act to something n.o.ble while decrying the betrayal of his best friend. That more than anything was what drove Hakim toward the garage. The hate that he felt for Karim at the moment was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

Hakim wanted to win. He wanted to survive and he wanted his arrogant friend to feel the sting of betrayal. He wanted the narrow-minded fool to try to make the journey to Washington on his own, and he wanted the Lion of al Qaeda to fail, and feel the sting of death, just like his six brave warriors.

Fortunately, the garage was closer than the big barn where they had stashed the RV. Hakim lurched for the side door, taking shallow breaths as he went. It was the only way to prevent the stabbing pain. He didn't dare look back until he got to the metal service door and then he did so for only a second. There was no sign of anyone leaving the house. Hakim twisted the k.n.o.b and practically floated over the threshold. The overhead lights were automatically triggered by a motion sensor. Hakim slammed the door closed behind him and was about to open the big garage door and then stopped. He decided he would get into the car first. There had to be an automatic opener inside.

It was a big four-door white Cadillac DTS. The owner had been kind enough to back it in for him. Hakim opened the driver's door and was relieved to see his backpack sitting on the front seat, just as Ahmed had said. Placing one hand on the roof and the other on the door, he carefully lowered himself into the seat. At some point he couldn't bear the pain and just let go, falling the last foot. Holding the steering wheel, he dragged his right leg into the car and then the other, and then he just sat there completely immobile, wondering if he would pa.s.s out.

It seemed like an eternity, but it was probably no more than five seconds. A voice seemed to be guiding him. Walking him through each step. It was now telling him to put the key in the ignition. He did and it turned over on the first try. The dashboard lit up with various gauges and lights. Hakim looked for the door opener on the visor but there was none. It took him a moment, his eyes scanning every inch of the dashboard for the b.u.t.ton, and then he realized it was on the rearview mirror. He stabbed the b.u.t.ton and the door lurched up.

Hakim put his foot on the brake, pulled the gearshift into the drive position, and prepared himself for the worst. If Karim was blocking his path he would have to run him over. The optimistic side of him was hoping he would be greeted by nothing but daylight, but the vengeful side of him hoped the arrogant a.s.shole would be waiting for him. He slid lower in the seat and prepared to duck farther and hit the gas should his friend attempt to block his escape. With each pa.s.sing foot of open s.p.a.ce the conflict deepened until the door was open and he saw that the courtyard sat empty. Hakim stayed low and slid his foot from the brake to the gas.

Back inside the house Ahmed continued to rifle through the kitchen cupboards, making as much noise as possible, all the while silently counting to himself. His biggest fear was that Hakim would not be able to make it to the car. How would Karim react if he found him outside pa.s.sed out on the gravel? He turned to head into the dining room and look out the window, but stopped himself. He would give him another thirty seconds. He couldn't risk helping him any further or he would be the one facing a one-man firing squad. Ahmed prayed to Allah over and over, harder and harder, begging that he would heal Hakim's wounds and give him the strength to get away.

Ahmed did not understand any of it. He had nothing but respect for Karim. He was an amazing commander and was as good a leader as he had ever seen, but when it came to his childhood friend, he was not himself. There had been times in the past few days where he had felt as if he was watching two eight-year-old kids fight. The constant bickering. The back and forth about every petty thing they could dream up and then the decision back in Iowa to kill the father and son. It was the first time he honestly thought Karim had made a tactical mistake. Everyone made mistakes, but this one was obvious, and Ahmed couldn't help but think it was rooted in the jealousy Karim harbored for Hakim. Karim needed to be the hero, and everyone around him had to offer absolute subservience. That was why he stepped from the house back in Iowa and destroyed all of the careful plans and set them on this dangerous and uncharted course.

Ahmed finished counting to thirty for a second time and then kicked a pan as he walked across the kitchen floor and back into the dining room. He looked past the living room and through the big picture window. His heart leaped as he saw the hood of the white sedan ease out of the garage. He glimpsed Hakim through the windshield and thought he saw blood on his chin.

"Keep going," he said to himself. "Don't pa.s.s out. Allah, please give him strength. Please protect him." Ahmed watched the car turn and accelerate past the big barn. It started winding down the driveway, a faint trail of dust kicking up, and then the taillights vanished. Ahmed exhaled a sigh of relief, but it didn't last long. From the bedroom the noise of the running shower suddenly stopped.

CHAPTER 58.

CIA HEADQUARTERS, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA.

RAPP parked underneath the building and took the elevator up to the first floor. He was grinning with antic.i.p.ation as he walked past the CIA's gift shop and cafeteria. The wide double doors to the Award Suite were open and he could see a good number of people milling about inside. He crossed the threshold and paused for a brief second, his eyes sweeping the room from right to left, scanning faces just long enough to see if there were any land mines waiting for him, but not so long as to make eye contact with any single individual. Rapp tended to skip these events. Better to come and go from HQ and make as little actual contact as possible. This afternoon, however, was worth the exception. parked underneath the building and took the elevator up to the first floor. He was grinning with antic.i.p.ation as he walked past the CIA's gift shop and cafeteria. The wide double doors to the Award Suite were open and he could see a good number of people milling about inside. He crossed the threshold and paused for a brief second, his eyes sweeping the room from right to left, scanning faces just long enough to see if there were any land mines waiting for him, but not so long as to make eye contact with any single individual. Rapp tended to skip these events. Better to come and go from HQ and make as little actual contact as possible. This afternoon, however, was worth the exception.

It was a virtual who's who of the national security community, the top dogs from every agency and department that had a hand in the alphabet soup of counterterrorism. As was standard procedure, there wasn't a single reporter or photographer in the room. There would be plenty of time for that later, but for now, this was the one chance for the men and women of the clandestine service to poke their heads out of their rabbit holes and celebrate the bravery of a colleague. Most of these folks had the security clearance, or at least the connections, to know the full story of what had happened the afternoon of the attacks, and a good number of them were turning to get a look at Rapp-the other man who had risked his life. These professionals would whisper among themselves, but they would honor their oath. They all knew there were valid reasons for a man in Rapp's position to keep his head down. Rapp had to be realistic, though. His role in the affair would be pa.s.sed from one person to the next, and with each retelling, it was likely the facts would be warped like a rain-soaked piece of wood- impossible to know in advance just how it would turn out.

Rapp heard the squawk of a child to his left and moved in that direction. He figured there couldn't be too many toddlers at the reception, so the odds were the noise was coming from Charlie Nash. He wanted to get in, give his congratulations to the kids and Maggie, and tell them how proud he was of their father and husband, if possible track down Art Harris for a brief update, and then get the h.e.l.l out of Dodge.

Rapp made it three steps before a smiling Julie Trittin cut him off. Barely five feet tall in her heels, the pet.i.te brunette was the hotshot rising star over on the National Security Council. She'd come up through the ranks on the military side, and until a few months ago was helping run a highly sensitive operation at the Defense Intelligence Agency.

Trittin looked up at Rapp and with a mischievous smile said, "Well, well, Mitch.e.l.l. Just how in the h.e.l.l did you pull this off?"

Rapp cracked a dry smile and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Julie."

Trittin held up her champagne flute and gave him a minisalute. "I thought you would say that." She swung around Rapp's right side and hooked her arm through his. Leading him off to the nearest corner she whispered, "This is good."

Rapp nodded and continued to scan the crowd. "Nice turnout."

"You know what I mean. For morale. And by the way, where's your medal?"

Rapp laughed off the comment.

"My sources tell me the story is a little backward about who shot who last week."

"Your sources?"

"Don't try to play me. I know you were the one who charged that line of men, and I know Mike was up on the catwalk firing down at them."

"You know how some people get confused in the heat of battle. Don't believe everything you hear."

Trittin looked over to where Mike Nash was standing. He was surrounded by a good number of well-wishers. They were all smiling and beaming at the hero of the hour. "Well . . . I'm happy for both of you."

"Both of us?" Rapp asked.

"Yes. The president was a little disappointed that you managed to sneak out of the White House this morning."

Rapp sighed. "You know how it is, Julie . . . I don't do so well around politicians."

"Perfect segue," Trittin said in a more serious tone. "The president wanted me to tell you that he thinks you're an insubordinate little s.h.i.t, and that your medal is waiting for you on his desk. He'd like you to personally stop by and pick it up, though."

"I get one, too?" Rapp said in mock surprise.

"Yes, you do." Trittin shook her head and smirked. "You really are something."

"Thank you, Julie. I think you're pretty special, too."

Trittin laughed at him before turning serious. "Two more things for you. The FBI now has the lead on the search for Glen Adams."

"Pretty standard, isn't it?"

"Yes, but you can thank Senator Ogden for putting you at the top of the list."

Rapp showed no outward sign of concern, but Trittin had just gotten his attention. "What list would that be?"

"The list of people who may have had something to do with his disappearance."

"The way I heard it . . . he just up and left the country."

Trittin shrugged her small shoulders and gave Rapp a who-knows-what-could-have-happened expression.

Rapp spotted the Nash kids and out of the side of his mouth said, "I also heard he'd been drinking a lot."

"I heard the same thing, but as you know . . . the FBI will follow every lead."

"Even if it comes from a vengeful partisan hack like Ogden?"

"Especially if it comes from a vengeful partisan hack like Ogden."