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“Be calm, Special Agent Wilson. It’s nothing. Much like your Chicago, no?”
CHAPTER 47
RAPP kept Kent Black in front of him, taking in the grounds of the church as they moved through the gate and toward the rear entrance. Abdo hadn’t stationed a man inside the wall, probably out of fear of spooking them if they returned. The precaution was negated by a dim flicker visible around one of the boarded windows. Black didn’t seem to notice, instead focusing on getting through the courtyard without making any noise.
They arrived at the door leading into the office and took positions on either side. Rapp had his Glock drawn, but Black hadn’t brought a sidearm. Even a silenced one would have been too loud to use against Abdo’s men, and he was smart enough to admit that he couldn’t hit much with one anyway.
Rapp gave a short nod and Black slid his key into the lock. It clicked, and the door swung open on quiet hinges. The younger man seemed surprised when Rapp thumbed him inside. Apparently, he’d thought the part about him being there as a human shield was a joke.
Unarmed, he swung around the doorjamb and disappeared into the gloom. Rapp followed, scanning over the sights of his weapon. There was just enough illumination for him to confirm that the room was empty.
He moved to the door leading to the nave and immediately spotted two men huddled around a small fire near the middle. One was sitting in a pew sideways to Rapp’s position, and the other was directly facing him. The night had turned cool and both were leaning forward, warming their hands. They seemed to have settled in for the evening, so Rapp signaled for Black to retrieve the envelope. Instead, the former Ranger crept over to him.
“It’s not in the office, Mitch. It’s out there.
Rapp swore under his breath.
“I’m sorry. I really am.”
There wasn’t much Rapp could do about the man facing him. Fortunately, he was staring directly into the fire and it was reasonable to assume that he wouldn’t be able to see beyond the ring of warmth and light. There were no guarantees, though.
With little choice, Rapp moved through the door, keeping movements painfully slow. When there was no reaction, he allowed himself to pick up the pace a bit, finally escaping the man’s line of sight and angling in on them. He stopped just beyond the circle of firelight and holstered his Glock. While the noise from the silenced weapon wouldn’t be a problem inside the structure, the flash would penetrate the cracked boards covering the windows.
Neither of the men was carrying a sidearm, and their rifles were just outside of easy reach. Killing them was doable, but killing them silently was going to be a trick. If he’d been with Azarov, they could each take one. Involving Black, though, would likely cause more problems than it solved.
Rapp’s eye moved to a machete leaning against the end of the pew closest to him. He’d initially registered it as a potential threat but now it was starting to look like an opportunity. A little more slasher flick than he’d normally go for, but this was no time to get picky.
He pulled a thin cord from his pocket and strode casually into the light. The man in the pew spotted him first, spinning as Rapp picked up the machete. The African threw his arms up but was too slow. The machete connected with the top of his head, penetrating a good two inches before getting lodged in his skull.
As expected, the other man went for his AK. The most practical way to get his hands on it was to simply turn onto his stomach and reach out. He did exactly that, presenting his unprotected back. Rapp slipped the cord around his throat and dropped onto him.
The African was young and powerful, managing to fight his way to his knees as he clawed at the cord. Rapp secured his legs around his waist and twisted back, flipping him into the fire. The flames had the intended effect, splitting the man’s focus between his lack of air and the coals igniting his fatigues. The battle intensified and then was suddenly over. Rapp dragged the body off the campfire and rolled it across the floor, making sure the flames were out.
“Damn,” Black said, approaching hesitantly from behind. “Have you ever thought about working in a hockey mask?”
“Get the fucking file, Kent.”
Rapp went to one of the windows and looked through a gap as Black started pulling up floorboards. There was no sign that any of the men watching the church had noticed anything. But it was hard to be sure. If they were aware of what had happened, would they attack immediately or call for backup?
Behind him, Black had gained access to a floor safe and was using a red penlight to work the combination. A moment later he came up with the envelope he’d described. Rapp pulled the flap and looked inside, scanning a few surreptitiously taken photos and a one-page explanation of what and who was involved.
“You know I should kill you for this,” Rapp said.
“Yeah,” Black responded, looking at the floor.
Rapp tossed the envelope on what was left of the fire and pointed toward the rear entrance. “Go relieve Donatella. But remember: Unless it’s absolutely necessary, don’t do anything. We’re just spectators.”
“You got it,” he said, obviously thankful to have a second chance. “What about you?”
“I’m staying here.”
It hadn’t been the plan, but now that he’d gone through the trouble of getting into the church, why not? Nassar, Wilson, and their people would be arriving soon, and Abdo would assume that they were connected with Black’s operation. Then the shit was going to hit the fan. With a little luck, Nassar would be killed in an attack by South Sudanese rebels who had nothing to do with Mitch Rapp or ISIS. After that, Claudia could focus on putting together enough intel to clear his name and to strong-arm King Faisal into excising any remaining conspirators from his country.
Then again, maybe it wouldn’t be that easy.
His phone vibrated and he inserted an earpiece.
“Mitch, are you there?” Claudia’s voice.
