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“The leader is not a prince,” said Rapp. “His name is Rafique Aziz.”
Rielly had a spasm of shivers and said, “Well, whoever he is, he’s evil, and I don’t mean just crazy or goofy, I mean evil. He shot someone in cold blood just because they asked for blankets and food. He just lifted his gun without any warning and shot the man in the head.”
“That would be Rafique Aziz,” said Rapp somberly. Then looking down at his watch, he decided he had better get moving. “Well, Ms. Rielly, we’ll have to continue this later. I have to go take care of something.”
“Please
call me Anna.” Rielly smiled.
“All right, Anna. I don’t know how long this will take, but I should be back in an hour or less. Milt here will take care of you, so don’t worry. I know he doesn’t look like much, but don’t let that fool you.”
Adams looked at Rapp deadpan. Rapp grabbed the small fanny pack for his short excursion and strapped it around his waist. He turned his baseball cap around backward and placed his headset over the top, but after hearing only static interference, he turned off the small radio.
Rielly watched him intently as he moved about the room on his knees. When he grabbed his submachine gun and stood, Rielly asked, “Who do you work for, Mitch?”
“The post office.” Rapp nodded for Adams to get up and then looked back at Rielly. “Anna, we’ll have to finish this interview later.” With a wink, he added reassuringly, “Keep an eye on Milt for me.”
27
THE SEARCH OF the second and third floors of the White House had taken almost twenty-five minutes. The three men worked in unison, one always covering the other two, as they went from room to room checking the closets and under the beds. Aziz had been sure they would find her cowering in one of the closets, but they had not.
They descended from the third floor. Aziz, walking in the lead, was thinking. He was thinking about the building and how old it was, how much it bothered him that he couldn’t just walk from one building to the other without going outside. If he could just have gotten his hands around the president in his office, he would not have had to spread his people so thin. But Aziz knew if he wanted to get the Americans to meet all of his demands, he would have to extract the cowardly president from the safety of his bunker. And the only way he could do that was if his little thief, his gift from Saddam, was successful in his task.
Aziz stopped suddenly and did an about-face. Bengazi and Ragib stopped just short of running into their leader. They were tired and their reaction time dulled. Aziz pointed back down the hall and said, “Follow me. I have decided there is something else we need to check while we are here.”
The two men stood aside, and Aziz marched off in the direction from which they had come. As they continued down the staircase to the first basement, Aziz opened the fire door and stepped into the hallway. He stood there for several seconds, looking in both directions, and then he walked back into the staircase and continued down to the second basement. He repeated his actions on this floor, pausing just long enough to look down the hallway.
When they reached the third basement, Aziz pointed to the stairwell door and said to Ragib, “You wait here.” Aziz then marched down the hall with Bengazi.
When the corridor ended, the two men turned to the left and continued for another thirty feet. Aziz was immediately surprised by the lack of noise. When he had checked on his little thief some four hours earlier, the sound had been pronounced. Slightly alarmed by the change, Aziz brought his assault rifle up to a leveled position. Bengazi, sensing his boss’s tension, did the same. The outer door that Mustafa had broken through on the first night was only half open. As Aziz approached, he could see only a portion of the outer room to the president’s bunker, and his little thief was not in sight. Aziz walked to the left so he could see the right side of the room. There was still nothing: no sound, no Mustafa.
Without stopping, Aziz slid through the partially opened door and snapped the muzzle of his MP-5 to the left. What he saw upset him instantly. Against the far wall, Mustafa was sitting on the floor, asleep in an upright position—his short arms wrapped around his potbelly and his mouth open with a stream of drool running down his chin. Aziz took three steps and forcefully kicked the man’s feet.
Mustafa’s eyes opened instantly, and Aziz shoved the muzzle of his rifle to within an inch of his face. “What in the hell are you doing?”
Nervously, he replied, “I was taking a nap.”
“I can see that. Why aren’t the drills running?”
“They needed a rest.” The safecracker tried to move farther away from the weapon, but there was nowhere to go. “If I run them nonstop, they will burn out.”
Aziz moved the rifle away from the man’s face. The answer had satisfied him for the moment. “Are you still on schedule?”
“Yes.” Mustafa rolled his plump body onto one knee and stood. “I am actually several hours ahead of schedule.”
Aziz raised an interested eyebrow. “Really. When do you expect to have the door opened?”
Mustafa looked at his watch. “If the drills continue to work well, I think I can have the door opened around seven this evening.”
Aziz smiled. “That would make me very happy.” Slapping the shorter man on the back, Aziz said, “You have done good work, Mustafa.”
“Thank you.” Mustafa bowed his head slightly, accepting the rare compliment.
Aziz looked over at the shiny vault door. In less than twenty-four hours he would have his hands on the president. Mustafa’s news of being ahead of schedule helped assuage Aziz’s anger over the loss of Hasan. Once he had the president, he could breathe a sigh of relief.
LEAVING THE STASH room was a tense process. The only eyes Rapp had outside the room were the sole surveillance unit he had placed in the president’s bedroom. This assured him that it was safe to exit the stash room, but Milt cautioned him that the large closet also had a door at the opposite end that led into the First Lady’s bedroom.
“All right,” Rapp whispered, and Adams opened the wall several inches. Not moving, not breathing, Rapp peeked through the crack and listened. Stepping into the closet, he immediately noticed that its door to the First Lady’s bedroom was open. Rapp checked to his left and his right twice and then walked toward the First Lady’s bedroom. He stood at the doorframe for a moment and listened. The room was empty.
