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Now Rapp had fled his base in Juba and was on the run. More important, the entire Western world would soon be hunting him. He knew far too much about their clandestine wars to ever be allowed to defend himself in a hearing. Even Irene Kennedy, his stalwart supporter for decades, would be forced to abandon him. She was loyal, but not stupid enough to commit political suicide and potentially end up in prison.

Despite all this, it would be a mistake to underestimate the man. Wounded animals could be extraordinarily dangerous, and Mitch Rapp was no exception. Nassar had already doubled his personal security detail, but now it seemed wise to move to an undisclosed location. Rapp was the most talented assassin of his generation, but he couldn’t kill what he couldn’t find.

Nassar’s phone rang with an immediately recognizable number. As always, he considered rejecting it, but the conference room was soundproof and swept for listening devices daily. There was no better place to have this unavoidable conversation.

“Yes,” he said, picking up.

“Is Rapp dead?” Mullah Halabi’s tone suggested he already knew the answer to the question.

“No. I—”

“It’s my understanding that my men are.”

“As are mine,” Nassar shot back. He hadn’t asked for Halabi’s men, and their constant presence was becoming a significant problem. Reminding the mullah of this, though, would be counterproductive. He was a dangerous man and it was clear that he had infiltrated all levels of Saudi Arabia’s government.

“Joel Wilson’s investigation led him to South Sudan. Rapp was already gone and he was attacked by a local rebel group. The area is in the midst of a civil war, which is undoubtedly why Rapp chose it.”

“And yet you survived.”

“I was called back to Riyadh.”

“Allah must have great plans for you.”

“I am his servant.”

“Indeed,” the ISIS leader said with an obvious lack of conviction.

“This may turn out to be an ideal situation,” Nassar started. “We’ve begun a disinformation campaign that will cause the Americans to believe that Rapp was there and that he killed Wilson. We know—”

“Perhaps death isn’t Rapp’s immediate destiny, Aali. If he’s taken back to America in chains, what havoc might he wreak? Certainly the political enemies of the CIA would line up against him. Would there be public hearings? If so, Rapp might reveal secrets that would shake his godless country to its core.”

“Yes, but in that kind of a hearing, my relationship with you would be uncovered.”

“And then the king would put you to death. It is a man’s greatest hope to have the privilege of being martyred.”

The line went dead, and Nassar slammed his phone against the table. It was easy for that cave-dwelling goatherd to speak of the glory of martyrdom. Nassar, however, had no intention of dying or ending up in one of Faisal’s dungeons. He had a great many things left to do in this life, and Mitch Rapp was the last great obstacle to accomplishing them.

CHAPTER 55

East of Riyadh

Saudi Arabia

REMEMBER when I told you I thought you were insane?” Claudia said, looking through the jet’s window at a private airstrip cut into the desert. “Now I’m sure of it.”

Rapp was dozing on a sofa near the back of the plane. “It’s going to be fine.”

“How is it going to be fine?” she said. “Aali Nassar is desperate to see you dead, and now we’re flying into his backyard. Do you think King Faisal’s going to save you? It doesn’t matter what you’ve done for him and his country in the past, Mitch. He’s an old man and Nassar will have poisoned him against you. He’s probably personally sharpening the sword they’re going to use to behead you.”

“Faisal never does anything himself,” Rapp said, adjusting into a more comfortable position. “He’s probably just overseeing the sharpening.”

“Stop trying to deflect.”

“Stop worrying so much.”

“I’m your logistics coordinator. It’s my job.”

“And you’re good at it.”

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