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Kennedy nodded and then pointed out that the bank’s largest depositor, to the tune of nearly a half billion dollars, also happened to be a close personal friend of President Hayes. The banker wanted to know how she had obtained such information. Kennedy didn’t bother to answer the question. She told the banker if he didn’t hand over the name of the account holder involved in the transaction and every scrap of information that pertained to the account, the president would get on the phone this very day and tell his close and very patriotic friend that his bank was protecting terrorists. He would go on to tell his friend that both he and the country would consider it a favor if he would find a new bank. Kennedy then rattled off another half dozen names and told the banker that they would also be receiving calls from the president. The banker jumped off his ethical high horse in near record speed. Five minutes later Kennedy was reading a fax that contained everything she needed to know.
64
RIYADH, SAUDI ARABIA
T he blue digital display on the rearview mirror said the outside temperature was 102 degrees. The white van had no windows on the side; just two small, dark-tinted portals on the back cargo doors. The vehicle was very inconspicuous, which was exactly what Rapp wanted. Waheed Ahmed Abdullah lay on the back floor bound, gagged, and blindfolded. So far Rapp had treated Abdullah with respect and care, which was no easy thing considering the man’s past crimes and his father’s suspected role in the death of Anna Rielly. “Suspected” had been Kennedy’s choice of words. She wanted time to verify that Saeed Ahmed Abdullah was in fact involved in the attack and not just shooting his mouth off. Rapp needed no further proof. He was at war, and he should have never let his guard down. The second he had heard about this bounty placed on his head he should have flown to Saudi Arabia and killed Saeed Ahmed Abdullah, but he had instead mistaken the information for loudmouthed Arab bravado.
Looking back on it now, it was a good thing that he had spared the son’s life six months ago. His rationale at the time had been straightforward. After being tortured, Waheed had given Rapp crucial information that had helped stop nuclear attacks against Washington, DC, and New York City. In the emotional hangover that followed the foiled attacks Rapp had decided not to execute the zealot. He found the Saudi to be a bit of a simpleton and rather than shoot him, he stuck him in a Northern Alliance jail with the thought that maybe, over time, he would lessen his extreme positions and in ten years or so he could be released. For good reason they decided to tell the Saudi government that Waheed was dead. Waheed’s father had too much influence, and too much money. If it was known that the son was alive, the father would stop at nothing to get him back. What Rapp had failed to see at the time was that the father would also stop at nothing to get his twisted revenge. Rapp had gone with the false assumption that the father would blame the son for getting involved with al-Qaeda and for being up to his neck in a plan to kill millions of innocent civilians and unhinge financial markets, but he was wrong. The father was a Wahhabi and a jihadist to the core. Kennedy could look for her proof, but it wouldn’t matter a bit to Rapp. He could not bring Anna back, but he sure as hell would punish those responsible for her death.
Rapp had popped a couple of pills and had managed to get a few hours of sleep on the flight from Mazar-e Sharif to Qatar. The journey had taken several hours longer than was necessary because they had to detour around Iranian airspace. By the time they landed in Doha, the sun was coming up over the Persian Gulf. Coleman kept an office and airplane hangar at the airport in Doha that he used as a forward staging area to bring his people and equipment into the region. He pulled the plane into the hangar, and the large doors were closed. By the time the local customs official, whom Coleman had on the take, showed up, Abdullah had already been transferred to the back of the rented van. The official took a moment to look at everyone’s passports. He applied the proper stamps, handed them back, collected an envelope from Coleman, and was gone.
Rapp wanted to get on the road as soon as possible. The drive from Doha to Riyadh would take a good five hours and he wanted to be there by noon. This was where things got a little hairy. Coleman wanted to follow Rapp into the city. Rapp flat-out said no. He and Coleman got into a serious argument. Coleman insisted that he have backup every step of the way. Rapp told Coleman that his blond hair and blue eyes made him stick out like a sore thumb in the region, whereas Rapp, with his flawless Arabic and dark complexion, had no problem fitting in. Waheed was drugged, and Rapp would have no problem handling him. He did not plan on getting caught, but if he did, things would be particularly nasty. Ally or not, the Saudis were not known for their humane treatment of prisoners. Rapp was very appreciative of the help he’d received so far, but this was something he wanted to do on his own, and he did not budge. Coleman, for his part, knew Rapp well enough to know that there would be no changing his mind, so he finally stepped aside and let him go. They would meet him on the outskirts of Riyadh, where Rapp would ditch the van.
Waheed was stripped naked while still unconscious and dressed in a fresh set of clothes including a vest and robes. He was then placed back in the van and given one more shot that would keep him unconscious for roughly three more hours. Rapp wanted him out when he crossed the border, but semialert by the time they reached Riyadh. Long Styrofoam coolers packed with seafood and dry ice were then placed all around Waheed until he was entombed. Rapp gave Coleman his fake U.S. passport and a few other things for safekeeping. He concealed his gun, silencer, and extra ammunition in the bottom of one of the coolers, as well as $10,000 in cash, a change of clothes, and a separate set of IDs and credit cards.
Crossing the border was easy. Rapp had a well-worn Yemeni passport as well as a worker’s visa for both Qatar and Saudi Arabia. There was a decent amount of traffic that traveled back and forth between Doha and Riyadh, and the border guards were not worried about anyone trying to sneak into Saudi Arabia. The border guard glanced briefly at the passport and then waved Rapp through. Twice between the border and Al Hufuf, Rapp pulled over in remote areas to check on Waheed and get rid of a few of the coolers. He would need the extra room in back when they got to their final destination. Between Al Hufuf and Riyadh, he stopped to fill up on gas and check one last time on Waheed. He was awake but groggy. Rapp removed his gag and gave him some water and a few bites of a candy bar. He kept Waheed’s hands bound and the blindfold on and explained to him how the exchange would take place. Waheed for his part remained docile and a bit out of it. This worried Rapp a little. He needed the Saudi to be able to stand on his own and walk.
If Waheed was unable to walk, Rapp would have to come up with another plan. He was trying to figure out what he’d do when the oasis of Riyadh appeared on the horizon. A moment later his satellite phone started beeping. It was Kennedy. Rapp answered and listened intently as she briefed him on what she’d found in Switzerland. All in all, twenty-two million dollars had been transferred from a Swiss account owned by Saeed Ahmed Abdullah to five separate Swiss accounts owned by Erich Abel. Kennedy had found her proof.
“Who is this Abel guy?” Rapp asked.
“I don’t know much more than I told you last night. I ordered a full workup done on him and I expect an update within the hour.”
“Any idea where he is?”
“No, but we’re watching his apartment in Vienna and tracking his credit cards.”
Rapp looked past the windshield at the vast barren landscape. “Something doesn’t add up, Irene.”
“Like what?”
“These e-mails you received…we’re missing something. People in this line of work don’t just sprout a conscience one day. I think it’s like Scott said.” Rapp had discussed the anonymous e-mails with Coleman on the flight from DC to Afghanistan. “These guys all thought I was dead. They got the balance of the contract, and then the news broke that I was alive. Saeed went nuts and wanted his money back, so he crapped all over this Abel guy and he in turn crapped all over the hired gun. Rather than give the money back…the hired gun turns in Abel with the hopes that I’ll kill him and he can keep his money.”
“Your line of logic works, but there are a few things I haven’t told you.”
“Like what?”
“I received a fourth e-mail last night. It was quite long. From it I’ve discerned a few things.”
Rapp looked over his shoulder to see what Waheed was up to. “I’m listening,” he said into the phone.
“Abel hired two people for the job.”
Rapp nodded. “No big surprise.”
“Well…this will be.” Kennedy sighed. “This morning, one of those people deposited five million dollars in a Swiss bank account under your name.”
Rapp wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “Say again.”
“One of the people Abel hired to kill you deposited five million dollars in a Swiss bank account that was set up by this person in your name.”
“Why?” was all Rapp could think to say.
“It’s a little complicated, but I’ll try to give you the brief version. The team hired to kill you had a bit of a falling-out. One of them didn’t want to take the job in the first place. Not surprisingly, this is the one who’s been corresponding with me. When Anna was killed by mistake, things got ugly between the two, and they went their separate ways.”
“So how does that explain the five million dollars?”
Kennedy sighed, “The woman is pregnant.”
