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The careful recording of crime scenes was very much in the FBI man’s wheelhouse, and the task seemed to revive him. He moved hesitantly at first but gained confidence as he flipped the bodies and lined his lens up with their faces.
“Change of plans. I’m coming out the front,” Rapp said into his radio. “Wilson will be following. Don’t shoot either of us.”
Black, who had line of sight on the front courtyard, acknowledged.
“Where are you going?” Wilson said, running up behind him. “What just happened? Who attacked us? Were they your people?”
Rapp dropped the wounded man behind one of the vehicles in Wilson’s motorcade and popped the trunk.
“You’re under arrest,” the FBI man said in a voice that was completely devoid of conviction. He didn’t seem to be able to think of anything else to say.
The injured man managed to find the strength to swear in Arabic as Rapp lifted him into the trunk. It was a tight fit and he had to slam the lid a few times to get it to latch.
“You have a shooter moving toward you from the rear courtyard,” Azarov said over his earpiece. “He appears to be one of Abdo’s men.”
“Can you handle it?”
“I should have a shot in a few seconds.”
“Mitch,” Wilson said, once again aiming his service pistol. “Did you hear me? You’re under—”
Azarov’s rifle sounded and Wilson dropped to the ground. “Shit! Someone’s shooting at us!”
Rapp slid into the vehicle’s driver’s seat, leaned out the window, and looked down at the man lying in the dirt. “Get in the car, Joel.”
Wilson thought about it for less than a second before jumping to his feet and scrambling for the passenger door.
CHAPTER 50
Riyadh
Saudi Arabia
MALIK! Respond!”
But there was only silence where moments before desperate shouts and gunfire had reigned.
Aali Nassar removed his headset and stared blankly across his desk. He’d considered the possibility that this was a trap and for that reason had not accompanied Wilson to South Sudan. Even in his own mind, though, his return to Riyadh had been cautious to the point of paranoia. The idea that someone like Rapp would be capable of backdating emails and mining them with a series of innocuous clues that, in their entirety, were just barely enough for Wilson to find that warehouse . . . It was unthinkable.
Despite the air-conditioning, Nassar could feel the sweat beginning to run down his forehead. One thing was certain. Four of his most loyal men were dead. Worse, so were the men supplied by Sayid Halabi. Men like Malik. Could they be identified and traced to him? What about the Africans the mullah had provided? Finally, what if they weren’t in fact all dead? What if some were in a condition that would allow interrogation?
His hand hesitated for a moment over his phone and then he picked it up, dialing his assistant.
“Yes, Director. What can I do for you?”
“I need you to contact Jean-Paul Jayyusi.”
“Sir? Are you—”
“Just do it!” Nassar said. “Have him call me on this line.”
His man’s reluctance wasn’t surprising. Jayyusi was the head of the loosely defined South Sudanese intelligence apparatus and a man who was best avoided at all costs. Until the recent formation of his country, he had been nothing more than a sadistic criminal with a gift for gathering and brokering sensitive information. Since then, little had changed. He had loyalty to no one and nothing beyond feeding his own insatiable desire for wealth, power, and women.
Nassar waited for almost half an hour in unbearable silence before his phone rang. Jayyusi couldn’t be trusted and there was no question that the details of their conversation would be up for sale before it had even ended. But what choice did he have? If he accepted that a thug like Mitch Rapp couldn’t have planned a trap this clever, then he had to consider the possibility that Irene Kennedy was involved. And if that was the case, the game he was playing was far more dangerous than he could have ever dreamed. He couldn’t afford to leave any information on the table, even if it meant hinting at the true nature of his involvement.
“General Jayyusi,” he said, putting the phone to his ear. “I appreciate you getting back to me so quickly.”
“It’s not every day that I receive a call from someone of your stature and your . . .”—his voice faded for a moment as he searched for the right word—“resources.”
