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“Interesting accent,” Rapp replied. “Not Saudi Arabia. Iraq?”
He didn’t answer.
Rapp looked over at Wilson. “You try.”
“I don’t think he’s going—”
“Don’t make me tell you again, Joel.”
The FBI man took a hesitant step back in the face of Rapp’s sudden anger, but complied.
“Where are you from? Are you Iraqi?”
The man spit another crimson glob but didn’t otherwise respond. Out of the corner of his eye, Rapp spotted movement at the edge of the clearing and brought his hand closer to his Glock.
“We want to get you medical attention,” Wilson said. “But in return we need information.”
“Fuck you!”
Rapp continued scanning the tree line but, rather than spotting the camouflage of a local rebel, he saw flashes of reddish-brown and black fur. Not as bad as a contingent of Abdo’s men, but better to move things along. The scent of the dying man’s blood was obviously carrying on the wind.
Rapp shoved Wilson out of the way and stepped down on the bullet hole in Malik’s stomach. The man screamed in pain and grabbed Rapp’s ankle, trying futilely to escape.
“You have to answer!” Rapp shouted down at him. “You work for him.”
“I work only for the glory of Allah.”
“I saw you!” Rapp said, grinding his heel into the wound. “You betrayed your god. Why are you working for this man? Why are you working for the FBI? Are you a Christian?”
His expression of agony was replaced by one of horror at the suggestion.
“Or was it just money? Did you sell out your god for a few American dollars? That’s it, isn’t it? You’re just a whore.”
Now the Arab was backed into a theological corner. He knew that his time on this earth could be measured in minutes. Would he meet Allah having not defended his faith?
“My allegiance is to Mullah Halabi! God’s representative on earth!”
Wilson stared down at him, stunned by the revelation.
“Don’t lie to me,” Rapp said, rewarding the man’s response with a slight reduction in the pressure on his stomach. “Nassar hates ISIS. It’s a threat to the Saudi royalty.”
“You’re a fool. The royalty have become tools of the West. They aren’t true followers of Islam.”
“That may be true, but they are Nassar’s power base,” Rapp said, easing his foot back a bit more. “And that son of a bitch loves his power.”
“The weaker we look in Saudi Arabia, the more complacent Faisal becomes. The old fool thinks we’ve stopped our propaganda campaign because of the Intelligence Directorate.”
Rapp loved these ISIS pricks. It was a serious pain in the ass to get the al Qaeda guys to talk, but their dumber, crazier cousins would run their mouths all day if you let them.
Nassar, on the other hand, was neither dumb nor crazy. Teaming up with Halabi to tamp down ISIS propaganda in Saudi Arabia was a cunning move. The fact that Faisal had one foot in the grave made him willing to delegate to anyone who looked like they could hold the kingdom together. As he became weaker, Nassar became stronger. With the help of Halabi and his millions of Saudi sympathizers, the king’s death could set the stage for a coup. The royal family would be chased into exile, leaving their massive financial and military resources in the hands of radicals.
Wilson licked nervously at his lips, the realization that he’d been working for ISIS finally starting to sink in. The decision not to leave him for the scavengers might work out after all.
Rapp stepped over Malik and slid back into the car. Movement at the edge of the clearing was becoming less hesitant, and a few dark-ringed eyes were starting to appear.
Not sure what was happening, Wilson ran around the other side only to find the door locked. He dove through the window when Rapp began pulling away, getting stuck halfway in. “Stop! You can’t leave m—”
Rapp grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed his face into the console between the seats. The padding made the act a bit unsatisfying, so he repeated it a few more times before shoving Wilson back through the window. The FBI man fell into the dirt, dazed and bleeding badly from his nose.
