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While most people found comfort in the Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicles, Rapp thought of them as big rolling coffins. You might as well paint a sign on the hulking side that said Infidels. Rapp preferred a more low-profile form of transportation. The Clandestine Service at Langley bought older-model vehicles and had private contractors make sure the cars were in top mechanical shape. Occasionally they would add bulletproof glass and some armor, but in Afghanistan, Rapp felt the key was to change vehicles often and blend in.
As they hit the big turnaround at the corner of the embassy, Rapp felt his chest tighten. They were close to the gate and this was where the crazies liked to attack. The vehicle came to a sudden stop. They were the third in a three-vehicle convoy. Rapp looked up at Coleman with irritation washed across his face and asked, “Why are we stopping?”
Coleman gave him an easy shrug. “Probably checking our creds.”
“You mean to tell me those dumbasses didn’t pre-clear us?”
“No idea.” Coleman smiled, amused at Rapp’s nervousness.
Rapp punched the button to lower the back hatch. “Well, I’m not going to be a sitting duck.” As the stairs lowered, Rapp nimbly navigated them before they were all the way down.
Coleman laughed at him and popped the button to close the hatch. The Air Force security guys driving the vehicle were grumbling up front, wanting to know who the moron was who had just compromised their secure vehicle. Coleman waved them off and apologized.
Outside, Rapp came face-to-face with a U.S. Marine who couldn’t have been older than twenty. The corporal gave Rapp a knowing nod and said, “I don’t like those things either.”
Rapp took a quick look around and realized the Marine was part of a security team that had been pushed out one hundred feet from the main gate. They were in a semicircle spaced every thirty feet; a loose cordon designed to create a secure pocket while credentials were verified and vehicles checked. The embassy’s perimeter blast walls, ballistic glass, and Kevlar-reinforced walls were impervious to car bombs, but visitors were vulnerable during this brief window when they were at the embassy’s doorstep. Two four-man fire teams composed the extended security.
What a shitty job, Rapp thought to himself. They were a thin tripwire out here to slow down any crazy bastards who were barreling down on the gate in an explosives-laden vehicle. Their early shots with their M-4s were not likely to stop the vehicle, nor were the rounds of the M249 SAW. It was the job of the big .50 caliber guns back at the gate to punch a hole in the engine of any unauthorized vehicle.
“How’d you end up with this powder-puff job?” Rapp asked, as his eyes continued to sweep the area.
The Marine tapped the two chevrons on his sleeve. “Shit rolls downhill and, as my gunny likes to remind me, the Corps is not a democracy. So I do what I’m told.”
Rapp nodded—understood it was the way it had to be. “Good luck.” Rapp turned and headed for the door next to the big steel gate. A sergeant in his tan combat utility uniform and decked out in body armor intercepted him. Rapp pulled out a set of fake State Department credentials.
The sergeant took the credentials and said, “Wait here.” He walked over to the closest guard booth and slid the identification through the metal box. A few moments later he returned with Rapp’s fake creds and a badge. “Are you armed, Mr. Cox?”
Rapp shook his head and said, “Nope,” even though he was carrying two pistols and a knife. He followed the sergeant to the small door and stepped through. On the other side a familiar face was waiting for him. Rapp was neither pleased nor bothered to see Mike Nash. “Irene decid
ed to send over reinforcements.”
Nash had been attached to Rapp’s team for almost five years and had recently been promoted to deputy director of the Counterterrorism Center at Langley. “I’m only the first wave. She’s pulling in clandestine boys from all over the place.”
Rapp grimaced. He didn’t have the time or the patience to manage all of these people. It quickly dawned on him that he wouldn’t have to. That was why Nash was here. Still, he needed to have a say in what these people would be doing or they’d end up falling all over each other. “And what are we going to do with everyone?”
Nash shrugged. “They’re gonna beat the bushes until we find something more specific.”
Normally Rapp would have been drastically against drawing too much attention to what they were doing, but this little disaster was a unique problem. Beating the bushes was as a good a start as any for the moment. “Any orders?” Rapp asked, knowing there would be.
“Yeah,” Nash said as he jerked his head toward a tree-lined walkway, signaling Rapp to follow him. The two men looked enough alike to be confused as brothers. Rapp was five years older and an inch taller. His hair was black with a touch of gray where Nash’s was dark brown. The main similarities were in their square jaws and overall demeanor. When they were a good distance away from the gate Nash found a spot under a towering cypress tree. “What’d you find out in Jalalabad?”
“Four dead bodyguards, safe’s empty, his laptop is gone, and God only knows what else. It’s a fucking disaster.”
“Any leads?”
“Not really.” Rapp shook his head. “Although I met some asshole named Zahir. He used to be a terrorist, but now he’s supposedly our friend.” Rapp’s tone made it obvious that he didn’t buy the last part.
“Abdul Siraj Zahir. I’m familiar with his work. I warned both Rick and Sickles that we didn’t want to get in bed with him, but they ignored me.”
“Well, the asshole showed up at the safe house and tried to throw his weight around.”
“And I’m sure you employed all of your diplomatic skill to defuse the situation.”
“You’re a smart man. He took a shit all over Hubbard, and when I couldn’t take it anymore I stuck a gun in his face and threatened to blow his head off.”
Nash laughed. He thought briefly about telling Rapp how dangerous Zahir could be, but he’d be wasting his breath. Mitch knew his type all too well. “Not the most subtle approach.”
“Listen . . . I’d love to be all sneaky and clever about this, but we don’t have the time. We either get him back in the next few days or all hell is going to break loose.”
