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“No.”
“You hurt your head. We thought you die. But Allah is not taking you. He wants you to stay. To fight.”
They turned onto a wider avenue and a pickup full of young armed men passed them, whooping and calling out as they did. Rapp ignored them, focusing instead on the building they were approaching. It had a governmental look to it but the sign had been ripped off and dumped facedown in a pile of refuse. So, still no city name.
The interior showed a significant amount of damage from small arms fire but the stairs to the basement were in good shape. After being led past a few wary guards, Rapp found himself standing in front of a man wearing the uniform of one of Saddam Hussein’s generals.
“I was told what the Americans did to you, Eric, but now that I see it, I’m shocked,” the general said in respectable English. Rapp couldn’t put a name to him, but there was something familiar about his face. Had it been on one of the playing cards they’d handed out to U.S. troops? Had they met when the Agency was trying to get its arms around the tangled web of religious, political, and tribal alliances that plagued Iraq? Back when the politicians in Washington still thought there was some hope of sorting the good from the bad?
“My sources say you faced the CIA’s Mitch Rapp.”
Rapp nodded. “Sources” almost certainly meant that piece of shit Umar Shirani. Fortunately, the man was as predictable as he was corrupt.
“I’m also told that you said nothing. I’m impressed. Rapp has broken great men. Devout men.”
Rapp nodded a silent acknowledgment of the compliment.
“What can you tell me, Eric? What do the Americans know? What do they suspect?”
Now the truly dangerous game started. How much to say? He needed to draw the man into conversation, but it would only take one slip to guarantee a summary beheading.
“They said that we’ve taken fissile material from Pakistan’s missiles.”
“How many?”
“They believe six.”
“So they know of all of them,” the general muttered. “Do they know anything of our plan?”
“They believe that we’re building nuclear weapons and that we’re going to smuggle them into the United States.”
“Fools. How I would love to see the look on the American president’s face when he learns the truth.”
What truth?
“Yes, sir.”
“The nurse who examined you said that none of your injuries are life threatening. You will recover. But, I’m afraid, not quickly enough to play a role in our operation. I’m sorry.”
The expression of deep disappointment that settled on Rapp’s swollen face wasn’t entirely manufactured. It was unlikely that anyone knew where he was or even if he was still alive. With no way to communicate with the outside world, he had no choice but to handle this himself. And that wasn’t something that was going to happen from the bleachers.
“Please, General. I’m already healing. Test me. I can still carry out my part.”
“I admire your devotion, Eric. And you’re right. You will heal and play an important role in spreading God’s law across the world. But not over the course of the next three days.”
So now Rapp had a time frame, but no plan. And still no way to tell anyone even if he did.
“Sir, I beg you—”
“No,” the soldier said, displaying a hint of anger at having his orders questioned.
There was nothing Rapp could do but bow his head submissively.
“I’m truly sorry we can’t use you in this, Eric. But there are more ways than one to reward your courage and devotion.”
CHAPTER 33
RAPP stayed a pace behind the unnamed general as they started up a street occupied by only a few armed men posted on corners. The Iraqi glanced up at the hazy sky and Rapp emulated the familiar tic. People in this region had a well-founded fear of American drones and he now shared it. Standing too close to this piece of shit created the very real danger that he might be vaporized by someone he was on a first-name basis with. Fortunately, the winds had picked up to the point that U.S. drones would be grounded and satellites would be blinded by blowing sand.
