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“Why do you say truck?”
“Fortunately, Skip is running the show for the feds so he ordered his people to take molds of the tracks. Apparently the tires were new, and they left very clear marks. The FBI says the tire is made by BFGoodrich and is used on a lot of the Chevy pickups, Tahoes, and Suburbans.”
Rapp thought about what Wicker and Coleman had discovered and asked, “So why are the feds calling the explosion an accident?”
“Not all of them are. Skip knows this was no accident, but there’re others who would prefer it if this investigation was closed by the end of the week.”
“Why?”
“Do you have to ask?”
“Why?” Rapp asked again in an angry tone. He
knew the answer, but he didn’t care. He wanted to hear Coleman say it.
“You make people nervous, Mitch. They’re afraid of what you’re going to do when you get out of here, and they don’t like people like us rubbing shoulders with their law-and-order types.” Coleman walked over to the window. “Skip told me the attorney general went nuts this morning when he found out that Wicker and I were at the crime scene poking around. He says this evidence we discovered is trivial at best, but since it was discovered by a couple of spooks, it’s now tainted and worthless.”
Rapp had never cared for the attorney general, but now he felt an intense hatred toward the man. Rapp told himself that was fine. People needed to decide which team they were on. “Let’s be clear about two things, Scott. First of all, when I’m well enough to walk…I’m out of here, and no one is going to stop me. Second, no one is going to be put on trial for this.”
Coleman looked out the window and slowly nodded his head. None of this was a revelation. “Whatever you need…just let me know.”
46
FAIRFAX COUNTY, VIRGINIA
P rince Muhammad bin Rashid finished his morning prayer and went downstairs to greet his guests. The sun was shining, the air was a bit cold for his tastes, but it could have been snowing and it wouldn’t have spoiled his mood. Mitch Rapp was dead, and that was all that mattered. Rashid had spent the previous day following the story as it unfolded on MSNBC. Throughout the day so-called experts debated whether or not the explosion was an accident and then finally in the early evening the local authorities held a press conference and announced their findings. A gas leak and accidental propane explosion had killed the husband and wife. Several of the experts, former government types, refused to believe what they called rushed findings and protested that there were ways to trigger these types of explosions and make it look like a mishap. The debate raged into the night, with conspiracy theorists who refused to believe anything the government said, a cabal of former Special Forces types who said the local authorities were in over their heads, and the reporters for the most part buying into the official story.
Rashid was tempted to call Abel and congratulate him, but he thought it unwise to make such a move when the chances were very good that the Americans were monitoring his communications. His old friend Saeed Ahmed Abdullah had phoned him, however. In between praising Allah and crying over his son, Abdullah thanked Rashid profusely. Rashid, fearing that Abdullah was speaking a bit too freely, admonished his friend and told him they would continue their conversation when he returned to the Kingdom.
The success of the operation was giving Rashid pause. He wondered if he hadn’t been too hasty in ordering the removal of the German. It was rare for him to second-guess one of his own orders. Rashid admired men with a cunning personality and a decisive will. These two traits more than any others were the most important to his cause. Reversing his decision could be seen as weak and indecisive—traits that did not play well with Arab men. But still the German had succeeded in short order where Rashid had thought it was likely he would fail. And he had made it look like an accident. Maybe he would have to reconsider killing him. The man was very useful after all.
Rashid descended the grand plantation staircase, his lustrous brown riding boots showing from beneath a black robe with gold trim. A black kaffiyeh was fastened to his head by a matching gold braid, and his black goatee and mustache were perfectly groomed. He was an impressive man. A ride was planned for the morning and he was not about to eschew his Arab heritage simply because he was in America. A cortege of servants dressed in crisp white tunics and black pants awaited him. Rashid’s personal secretary, who was dressed in a white robe and kaffiyeh, kept his eyes on the floor and stepped forward.
“Prince Muhammad, Colonel Tayyib is in the library. Would you like me to bring you coffee?”
“Yes.” Rashid walked past the phalanx of men and continued down the long cross hall and through the double doors to the oak paneled library. Old leather-bound volumes filled the bookshelves, and there was a smattering of expensive oil paintings that were decidedly Anglo. Rashid decided he would have to register a complaint with his half brother that there wasn’t a single painting that honored Arabia. Such an oversight was unforgivable. Maybe he would purchase several for him and send them as gifts. He needed to be careful to keep the right people on his side.
Colonel Tayyib was dressed in a black suit, with a blue shirt and tie. Anyone else would have received a rebuke from the prince for breaking with custom, but Tayyib had a job to do and it was better if he did not draw attention to himself. The man bowed his head and said in an unusually exuberant tone, “Good morning, Prince Muhammad.”
Rashid smiled just enough to show his teeth. “Yes, it is.”
Tayyib looked up and was unable to restrain his joy as he smiled at Rashid.
The two men silently communicated their happiness over Rapp’s death for a moment. Servants entered quietly with a serving tray of Arab coffee and separate tray of fresh pastries. They poured coffee for two and left, closing the doors behind them.
Rashid took a sip of coffee and said with great satisfaction, “The American is finally out of our way.”
“Yes. Finally,” Tayyib agreed.
“Have you discovered more details?”
“None, but I expect you will learn more when Director Ross arrives.”
“Yes,” Rashid said, “but I will have to be careful not to seem too eager.”
“You are never too eager, my prince, and besides, I told you that Ross and Rapp did not get along.”
Rashid remembered. The two men had fought over something recently. But still, he would have to be careful not to gloat. “What have you found out about our German friend?”
