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11
AFTER AZIZ’S ELECTRIFYING phone call, chaos
had once again broken out in the Pentagon’s Joint Chiefs briefing room. To Mitch Rapp’s left, his bosses were conferring with the Joint Chiefs, and to his right, Vice President Baxter was holding court with the cabinet. Rapp, having a fairly good idea how most of the people to his left would handle the situation, decided to focus his listening on the politicians to his right. After several minutes, Rapp concluded that no one in Baxter’s group knew their head from their ass, and in the process of coming to this conclusion, he also discovered a correlation between their opinions and the conviction with which they stated them. It seemed that the less someone knew, the more forcefully he tried to state his case.
Words like “caution” and “prudence” crept into every sentence, and every time Rapp heard them uttered, he couldn’t help but think that these men and women had no idea whom they were dealing with. On more than one occasion, Rapp fought the urge to interject his frank opinion and correct the neophytes to his right. Twice he actually started to come out of his seat, but caught himself in time. Kennedy was right. It was best for him to keep a low profile.
The fragmented conversations continued for several more minutes, and then Vice President Baxter began snapping his fingers and calling for the group’s attention. The discussions trickled to a stop, and then Baxter said, “Attorney General Tutwiler has a plan, and I would like everyone to hear her out.”
All eyes went from Baxter to the attorney general as she pulled her chair forward. Tutwiler took off her glasses and held them in both hands. “Treasury Secretary Rose has confirmed that this money does in fact exist, and as most of us know, it was frozen by our government when the Shah was overthrown. There is a case to be made that this money is not ours.” Tutwiler set her glasses down and centered them on her leather briefing folder. “I strongly believe that as a sign of good faith and willingness to negotiate for the hostages we should release part of the money at nine tomorrow, and in return, we will ask Mr. Aziz to show his good faith and release some of the hostages.”
In unison her end of the table turned to see how the idea would be received by the other end, which was anchored by the representatives from the Joint Chiefs, the CIA, and the FBI. Admiral Nelson, the chief of naval operations, was the first to speak.
With his bald head and gaunt face, Nelson said, “I would advise against giving them anything! It will set a horrible precedent! Our policy on terrorism has always been zero tolerance and no negotiation. Zero!” Nelson brought his hand up and formed the number with his thumb and fingers. “The entire world is watching. . . . Now is not the time to reverse our course.”
Vice President Baxter looked at his military advisers. He had known this would be their position, but now he needed them on board. He needed to build some consensus. That way if everything blew up, he wouldn’t be the only one holding the bag. Baxter decided to play up the compassion factor. “Let me remind everyone that we have hostages in there. American citizens. Yes, the president is safe, but we still have to do our best to get our people out of there alive. These are troops we left behind, and if we have to pay a little money . . . that isn’t even ours”—Baxter looked around the room nodding his head—“to get some of them out . . . then that is what we are going to do.” The vice president focused his attention on the opposite end of the table, looking each of the military officers in the eye, one at a time. He would call them later individually to shore up support where it was needed.
After finishing his Dale Carnegie personal-eye-contact maneuver, the vice president moved on to his conclusion. “In light of the recent news, this is what we are going to do.” Baxter pointed at Director Roach of the FBI. “I want you and your people to take charge of the entire area surrounding the White House. If you need to use any of the Secret Service’s people in an advisory role, feel free to do so.”
Director Roach leaned forward. “I assume you would like us to draw up plans for rescuing the hostages?”
“Of course, but no action is to be taken unless I say so. If we have to go in, I want to have secured the release of as many hostages as possible beforehand.”
Baxter then turned to Attorney General Tutwiler and said, “Marge, please fill us in on how things will proceed tomorrow.”
Tutwiler inclined her head forward so she could see all the way down the table. “At nine tomorrow we will call Mr. Aziz and inform him that we are prepared to transfer part of the money into his accounts. This will be fairly easy to do. Secretary Rose tells me the money is in a dozen separate banks, so we will simply transfer the proper amount of money from one of the banks to Iran. The sum will be around a billion dollars. We will tell him we are working on getting the rest of the money, but it would help if, in a sign of good faith, he would release some of the hostages.” Tutwiler paused for a moment, distracted by a man halfway down the table who was shaking his head vigorously.
Tutwiler started speaking again but kept her eyes on the man. “I have done quite a bit of research on hostage negotiations and have found that in these situations if you can get the captors to acquiesce to even the smallest request, you have significantly increased your chances for freeing the hostages.” Tutwiler stopped speaking as she watched the man shake his head one last time and then drop his face into his hands. The attorney general was not the only one who noticed.
Rapp couldn’t take it anymore. Every time Tutwiler uttered a word, he felt as if someone were driving a nail further and further into his temple. As Rapp buried his face in his hands, he said to himself, This can’t be happening. Please tell me this isn’t happening. I have put in all of this work, and I’m so close. Rapp squeezed his head in his hands and thought to himself, This woman has no idea what the fuck she is talking about.
At least half of the people at the table were looking back and forth between Marge Tutwiler and the unknown dark-haired man who seemed to be in danger of suffering an aneurysm before their very eyes. That the others were watching also did not go unnoticed by the attorney general. Tutwiler cleared her throat loudly and asked, “Excuse me, is everything all right?”
Rapp didn’t hear her at first, and then he felt Irene Kennedy touch his arm. Slowly, Rapp let his hands fall from his face and looked up, to find the attention of everyone at the table on him. When Tutwiler repeated her question, Rapp looked at her and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
In an extremely impatient tone, the attorney general asked, “Is there something you would like to add, or should we get you some aspirin for your . . . headache?”
Rapp turned briefly to his bosses, who gave him no signal one way or another, and then directed his attention back to the attorney general. As he registered the condescending expression on her face, something told him now was not the time to be meek. This was it. For the first time in this shitty journey, he knew where Rafique Aziz was and where he would be for the immediate future. Cover or no cover, there was a good chance this was going to be the last battle, and there was no sense in going home with a lot of unused ammo.
Rapp straightened himself and said, “I would most definitely like to add something. . . . Actually I would like to add a lot.” He paused briefly and then said, “First of all, if you only give him part of the money and ask him to release some of the hostages, he will blow his screwy lid. He will take one or more of the hostages right to the window, so all of the cameras can watch, and he will kill them. He will blow their heads off on national TV.”
Tutwiler threw her head back and, with a disapproving look, said, “Is that right, Mr. . . .”
“Mr. Kruse.”
“And what exactly is your expertise in regards to negotiating with terrorists, Mr. Kruse?”
Rapp found the question so ridiculous, he shook his head and laughingly replied, “None.”
Tutwiler, not used to being treated in such a manner, turned to Baxter-and said in a loud enough voice for half of the room to hear, “What is this man doing here?”
Her arrogant question drove Rapp up and out of his chair with Irene Kennedy’s hand gripping at his forearm. Rapp pried his boss’s fingers loose, saying firmly, “I’ve put way too much into this.”
Rapp began walking toward the podium. His suit, white shirt, and tie did a decent job of helping him blend in, but to anyone who cared to notice, it wasn’t hard to figure out he was more than an analyst. When Rapp reached the podium, he repeated Tutwiler’s question to the group. “What is this man doing here?” Rapp stared up at the ceiling as if mulling the question over. “You know, I’ve asked myself that question a lot of times over the last decade, and I’m afraid I can’t answer it for you.” Rapp turned back toward Tutwiler, a look of feigned wonderment on his face. “But I can answer your other question . . . the one about negotiating with terrorists.” Rapp paused and then said casually, “I don’t negotiate with terrorists, Ms. Tutwiler. I kill them.” Grabbing the podium, Rapp looked down the length of the table and said, “I hunt them down, and I kill them.”
Tutwiler sat up a little straighter, attempting to appear unfazed by the unusual admission. Trying to gain some composure, she asked the first question that came to mind. “Who do you work for, Mr. Kruse?”
“I’m afraid that’s on a need-to-know basis, ma’am.” With his smart-ass grin, Rapp gave the standard spycraft reply, “And you don’t need to know.”
