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“I’m sorry, Skipper.”
Halberg brushed off the apology. “I’m sure we’ll find her when we clear the channel, and then we’ll fall in behind her and make sure she behaves.”
42
MOSUL, IRAQ
Rapp looked through the thick windshield of the up-armored Humvee as they rolled through the main gate. He had his satellite phone held to his right ear and a look of impatience on his face. The bulk of the quick-reaction force was still back at the site of the attack securing the perimeter and collecting bodies. Rapp had commandeered a Stryker and two Humvees to transport him and the three prisoners back to the base so he could begin interrogating them immediately.
“Chuck,” Rapp said to the man on the other end of the line, “it’s the Wild West out here. I have no idea who took her. But I’m going to find out, and I can guarantee you it isn’t going to be pretty.”
“Mitch,” said the deputy director of the CIA, “get her back, but I’m telling you this as a friend. This thing is going to attract a lot of heat. Every reporter and politician in Washington is going to want to dissect every aspect of not just the kidnapping, but the aftermath as well.”
“And they can all go fuck themselves.”
“Mitch,” Charles O’Brien sighed, “that’s the kind of attitude that’s going to get you into a lot of trouble.”
“Let me make this real clear for you, Chuck.” Rapp’s voice was tense. “I don’t want to hear another word about my attitude. I don’t want anyone looking over my shoulder, and I sure as hell don’t want anyone second-guessing what I do. We’ve got maybe twenty-four hours before they break her. The rule book is out the window. This is gangland violence time. Don’t send me any analysts from Baghdad. I need knuckle draggers. I need guys who are going to kick down doors and kick the shit out of people until they give us answers.”
“Mitch, I think you need to take a step back and reassess how you’re going to handle this. I’ll be at the White House in…”
“They’re going to torture her!” Rapp growled.
“Mitch,” O’Brien sighed, “none of us want to see that happen, but you can’t go running off half-cocked. You need to…”
“Don’t tell me what I need to do!” Rapp screamed into the phone. “You and everyone else in Washington need to stick your fucking heads in the sand for the next twenty-four hours, and let me do whatever it takes to get her back.”
“That’s not going to happen. I can’t let you do that.”
“Then you’d better go on vacation.”
“You’re too close to this thing,” O’Brien said forcefully. “You need to take a step back and cool down…remember that there are laws.”
“Well, apparently the other side didn’t get that memo, did they? You go ahead and cover your ass, Charlie.” Rapp shook his head angrily and then added, “But I remember when you used to have a pair. Back when you were in the field. Now you’ve turned into just another wussified seventh-floor desk jockey.”
There was a prolonged silence and then O’Brien said, “I’m going to ignore what you just said and write it off to the fact that you’re under a lot of stress.”
In slow, punctuated words, Rapp said, “I meant every word of it, Charlie. When this thing is over if the press comes down on you, I’ll gladly fall on the sword for both of us. Now you’ll have to excuse me. I need to put on my white gloves and ask these guys if they’d like to waive their right to an attorney.”
Rapp’s thumb stabbed the end button on the phone just as the Humvee was pulling up to the CIA compound.
The driver glanced over at Rapp and said, “This is my third tour over here.” The vehicle came to a complete stop. “I wish more people in Washington had your attitude.”
“So do I.” Rapp got out of the vehicle and waited for the soldiers to unload the prisoner who had ridden with them. Rapp had separated the three men. He’d put the Persian-speaking commander in the Stryker vehicle, the cop was strapped to a stretcher and put in the back of the second Humvee, and the foot soldier who he’d knocked out rode with him. Rapp was already racking his brain for a strategy. He needed to squeeze information out of these guys as quickly as possible. Just beating them silly would probably fail. At least short term. If he had a few days he could wear them down, but time was a luxury. He needed to come up with something more creative.
He didn’t know for sure how long Kennedy could hold out, and he didn’t want to find out. This was personal. Rapp had been tortured years before. He desperately wanted to spare her the pain, suffering, and degradation. He started to think of the ways it would be worse for a woman and then forced himself to stop. He needed to focus on finding her, not worrying about her. And he needed to do it as quickly as possible.
Two Humvees came rolling up and stopped just short of Rapp and the prisoners. Rapp recognized the base commander, General Gifford, as he climbed out of the lead vehicle. He was in full battle gear—helmet and all. He walked right up to Rapp.
“My recon choppers are up, I’ve got three Predators in the air, and two Reapers are on their way up from Baghdad. There’s four main roads that come into the city, and six more secondary roads, the Hundred and First is in the process of setting up checkpoints on all ten of those roads between forty and sixty clicks.”
“What about the river?”
“Covered to the north and south,” he replied in his clipped military tone. “We’re mobilizing every soldier we can and putting them on the street. Is there anything else you need from me?”
Rapp thought of the conversation he’d just had with O’Brien. “Yeah.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the three prisoners in black hoods. One was walking and two were on stretchers. “These guys with the bags over their heads…you never saw them…understand?”
Gifford looked beyond Rapp at the men. He hesitated for a moment as he thought of the obvious implication. He gave a quick nod and then said, “What men?” The general turned and marched back to his Humvee, over his shoulder he shouted, “You need anything, call me.”
