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The man was right. The 250-acre site had been cut out of the rain forest and was accessible only by helicopter or on foot. The closest road was almost ten miles away, but the trek through the rain forest made it feel more like a hundred miles. The site’s buildings consisted of nothing more than concrete slabs, corrugated metal roofs, and screens running along the perimeter. There was a diesel generator to run the lights. Considering his lack of options, Karim thought the place was perfect. He bought it all for $50,000 and had the money wired to the man’s account. His men, who had arrived by then, were transported to the camp and the training began in earnest.

That had been nearly six months ago, and they had come a long way in a relatively short time. Karim looked down with satisfaction as the first man finished assembling his bomb. It was Farid, of course. He was always first. Three more men completed the task in quick order. Karim checked his watch. Not so long ago it took them almost an hour to assemble the bombs. The goal was ten minutes or less. They were at nine and counting. Two more men finished with seconds to spare, leaving Zachariah as the only one to fail.

The lone Egyptian in the group set down his tools and looked up with a sheepish smile, “My uncle would be very disappointed.”

A couple of the men chuckled. Karim did not. He found none of this amusing. They were scheduled to depart in a few days, and thanks to this idiot sitting before him, they were not ready. Karim had driven them without rest for nearly six months in an effort to hone them into elite warriors. He had succeeded with at least four of them. Two more were adequate, but he would have to keep a close eye on them. One was a total failure, and he was holding them back.

Karim turned away from the group and looked through the rusty screen at the steady rain. He felt isolated. Everything was foreign about this place. It was too lush, too humid, and there were far too many bugs. The desert was a much better place to commune with Allah, and the high altitude of Afghanistan was a much, much better place to discuss tactics with the other leaders. He missed the counsel and advice of his equals. He was alone in the jungle, faced with an extremely difficult decision. He had to decide what to do about Zachariah, and he had to do it quickly.

CHAPTER 3

BAGRAM AIR BASE, AFGHANISTAN

NASH heard them coming, as did the airman sitting at the duty desk. The young man from Arkansas checked the flat-screen monitor. A look of concern spread across his face. Nash knew he was looking at the video feed from the security camera mounted at the main door. Bagram Air Base was a busy place even at 12:21 in the morning, but most of the action was taking place over on the flight line. The Taliban liked to move at night, so the air force and army pilots were out hunting. Forwarding operating bases were being resupplied with bundle drops, Special Forces teams were loading up for insertions, and the wounded were coming in and going out. The base occupied some 840 acres and averaged more than four thousand personnel at any given time. It was a city unto its

elf, but even so, the building they were in was off the beaten path.

The main internment facility sat near the middle of the base, nearly a half mile away. The Hilton, as they liked to call it, was fully automated, with surveillance devices built into each of the eight cells and two interrogation rooms. All cell doors, as well as the main steel door that led to the cells, had to be remotely opened from the control shack. There were only two ways in and out, and both required the proper ID card and pass code. Nash had given Rapp both in advance.

Nash casually strolled over to the desk and asked, “What’s up, Seth?”

The nineteen-year-old looked anxious. “It looks like we’ve got some unexpected guests.”

“Who is it?” Nash asked, knowing damn well who it was.

“I don’t know.”

There was a metallic clicking noise as the locking mechanism on the main door was released. Footsteps could be heard, and then six men wearing olive-drab-and-tan Airman Battle Uniforms, or ABU’s, entered the room. Mitch Rapp led the group. He had a black eagle on each side of his collar, which meant he outranked the airman by a mile. As he approached the desk, the airman jumped to his feet and snapped off a salute. Rapp returned it and said, “As you were. Are you Airman First Class Seth Jackson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m Colonel Carville. Air Force Office of Special Investigations.” Rapp’s right hand shot out to the side. He snapped his fingers and the man behind him placed an envelope in his palm. Rapp retrieved the letter from the envelope and held it up so the young airman could read it. “This is from the secretary of the air force,” Rapp said in a commanding, clipped voice, “authorizing me to take temporary command of this interrogation facility. Do you have any questions, Jackson?”

The young airman nervously shook his head from side to side. “No, sir.”

“Good.” Rapp turned to Nash and eyeballed him from head to toe. Nash was wearing an olive-drab flight suit with no name or rank. “Who are you?”

Nash grinned. “I’m afraid that’s on a need-to-know basis, Colonel.”

“OGA,” Rapp said in disgust. The acronym stood for Other Government Agency, which was a euphemism for the CIA. “You goddamn spooks. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.” Rapp turned back to Jackson. “You’re on duty until oh seven hundred?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Follow me. You too,” he said to Nash. Rapp led them back through the doorway. There were offices on the left and the right. Rapp opened the door on the left and said to one of the men in his entourage, “Chief, remove the phone and keyboard from this office and make sure this spook doesn’t leave until I say so.”

Rapp walked across the hall and opened the other door. Looking at the young airman, Rapp said, “Jackson, in here. I’m going to assume I can trust you to not make any phone calls…no e-mails…no communication at all. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Grab some shut-eye on the couch, and don’t leave this room unless I say so. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Rapp shut the door, walked back across the hall, and opened the other office door. Nash was standing on the other side with a big grin on his face. The two men shook hands and then walked back down the hallway past the control room and into a small cafeteria. Four of the five men who had entered with Rapp were waiting. Nash walked up to the oldest man in the group and extended his hand.

“General Dostum, thank you for making the trip.”

At five feet eight the general was four inches shorter than both Nash and Rapp. His most striking feature was the contrast between his black beard and close-cropped gray hair. The former Northern Alliance general slapped Nash’s hand away and gave him a big hug. He laughed and in heavily accented English said, “I would do anything for you, Mike.”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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