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“It’s a massive blow to the U.S.,” Gadai said, sounding typically prideful. “The thawing of relations between Iran and America was one of the cornerstones of Alexander’s Middle East strategy. He hoped to build a Shiite bulwark against the expansion of Sunni -militias.”
“Don’t be too pleased with yourself, Kabir. The loss of Safavi has harmed America but if we’d had access to this information instead of being forced to release it, we would have had the tools to turn one of the CIA’s highest-placed assets. He was a well-liked moderate with political aspirations. Who knows how useful he could have been in keeping the Iranians in their place. This wasn’t a victory, it was an opportunity missed. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Yes, sir,” Gadai said, averting his eyes appropriately.
Taj needed to keep the young man’s arrogance in check, and highlighting the negative side of the situation was a good way of doing it. Having said that, it was admittedly difficult not to revel in this particular failure. A partnership between Iran and America would significantly extend the West’s influence in the Middle East. It was a natural alliance that had been made impossible by a powerful—but largely empty—animosity between the two countries. Now the flames of that fire would once again burn bright.
“The question I’m interested in, Kabir, is whether the file release got us any closer to finding the man who can decrypt the files.”
“Yes, absolutely,” Gadai said, recovering quickly from his reprimand. “My people were able to trace it even farther than they originally thought. Perhaps as few as two more releases will lead us to his location.”
“And the next one is scheduled for when?”
“Tomorrow.”
Taj nodded thoughtfully. It was difficult not to speculate what that dispatch contained. What damage it would do to the country that believed it had the right to rule the world.
“Unfortunately, we have no choice. You have my authorization.”
CHAPTER 40
ROME
ITALY
THE sun was up by the time Mitch Rapp’s Gulfstream landed at the private airport in Rome. It had barely rolled to a stop when a black BMW with heavily tinted windows pulled alongside. Rapp jumped out of the plane without lowering the stairs and walked briskly across the runway. Inside the car, Mike Nash leaned over the seats and threw one of the back doors open. Rapp slid inside and a moment later they were accelerating toward the highway.
“Your suit and tie are in the garment bag,” Nash said. “There’s a passport in the breast pocket with the name Mitch Kruse. The entry stamps have you arriving last night. You were on a Turkish Airlines flight out of Dulles.”
Typically thorough but, ironically, Rapp wasn’t the problem on that particular day. His operations on Italian soil had all gone relatively smoothly. Nash, on the other hand, had been betrayed during a rendition in Sicily a few years back and was now a wanted man in Italy. This little excursion must have been important if Kennedy was willing to risk sending him to Rome.
“Who are you?” Rapp asked, unzipping the garment bag.
“Michael Blake, aka a guy who’s very anxious to finish this little errand and get out of here.”
Rapp started stripping off his clothes as they merged into traffic. The suit was his, one of a few he kept in a locker at Langley. So was the Glock 19 and the custom shoulder holster that contained it. A silencer hung from the side opposite the weapon, as did a spare magazine. Hopefully, neither would be necessary. The heat coming down on the CIA from enemies and allies alike was starting to take its toll on ops all over the globe.
“Where are we going?”
“To see an attorney. Our luck might finally be changing. We had DaisyChain searching for mentions of law firms—”
“You got the NSA involved?”
Rapp didn’t trust those tech freaks. He spent more time worrying about them monitoring his communications than he did about foreign intelligence agencies.
“No choice, Mitch. We just don’t have that kind of computer firepower.”
London had already put him in a dark mood, and the involvement of Fort Meade wasn’t making it any better.
“We’ll talk about that later,” Rapp said, pulling the partially buttoned dress shirt over his head. “What did they come up with?”
“More stuff than I want to remember. All complete crap until they turned up an obituary from an Italian newspaper. A woman named Isabella Accorso was killed in a car accident along with her daughter.”
“How is this interesting to me?”
“Well, first, she worked at a large law firm managing trusts and payments to clients. She’s the person who’d administer the kind of scenario we think Rick set up. We figure he’d check in with someone like her on a given schedule, and if he didn’t, she’d start sending the files he gave her.”
“That’s it?” Rapp said.
