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“How?”
“By doing nothing. Mitch and I would like you to walk us to our car behaving in a friendly and grateful manner. After that, we’d like you to have your people pick up Nassar’s assistant, Hamid Safar, and hold him in solitary confinement.”
“Then you’re asking me to interrogate an intelligence official with no evidence against him?”
“Not at all, Your Highness. If you like, invite him here as your guest. Just make sure it’s impossible for him to communicate for a few days.”
“And you expect this to prove something?”
She nodded. “We’ve diverted significant human and electronic surveillance resources to track Director Nassar, who’s currently in a safe house outside of Bisha. If he’s innocent, I’d expect him to contact you and demand to know where his man is and why you were meeting with Mitch. If he’s guilty, then he may present us with an interesting opportunity.”
CHAPTER 56
Bisha
Saudi Arabia
AALI Nassar went through the photos again, putting them in chronological order and expanding them to fill the computer monitor. Taken in their entirety, they told a story that couldn’t be denied.
The first depicted Mitch Rapp and Claudia Dufort deplaning outside of Riyadh and then entering a Gulfstream G550. He deplaned again shortly thereafter, this time with Irene Kennedy and a man who was unmistakably Joel Wilson. He stared at the blurry image of the FBI agent’s face for a long time, trying to calculate what it meant. Had he been working with Kennedy the entire time? Impossible. His career had been destroyed by her and Rapp. His hatred for them was both well-documented and well-founded.
The only answer was that the attack in South Sudan had indeed been a trap set by Mitch Rapp. Was it he and Wilson who had escaped in the car seen leaving the scene? Had they taken a prisoner for questioning? Was that why the bodies had been burned?
He scrolled forward, pausing at the photos of the three Americans entering Erga Palace, but then moving on to the much more telling images of them leaving. Rapp and Wilson showed no signs of animosity and King Faisal not only shook the CIA assassin’s hand but then walked him to a waiting limousine. None of Nassar’s people had been close enough to overhear their conversation, but the gratitude in the old man’s body language was impossible to miss.
What did the Americans know? It seemed almost certain that they had identified some of the ISIS men sent to Juba. Had they found evidence of his involvement in the death of Mahja Zaman? Of his involvement in financing terrorism and undermining the Saudi government?
The king wasn’t aware of his location, but he did have Nassar’s phone number. Yet he hadn’t used it to summon him for an audience. Why? Was the evidence the Americans possessed so damning that he wouldn’t even be afforded the opportunity to defend himself?
Questions were infinite but answers were nonexistent.
He dialed his assistant for the fifth time since receiving the photos and for the fifth time got no answer. It was beyond unusual. With perhaps three exceptions over the years they’d been working together, Safar had picked up his calls within a few rings. Now there was nothing but silence.
Nassar could feel his time running out, and as it did, his rage intensified. He refused to accept that he had been outmaneuvered by a thug like Mitch Rapp. This had to have been a concerted effort by Irene Kennedy and multiple foreign agencies. Perhaps even the king.
He reached for his phone again, this time dialing the number of his assistant’s wife. Unlike her husband, she picked up immediately.
“I’ve been trying to contact Hamid,” Nassar said. “Is he with you?”
“No. He was taken away hours ago. What’s happening, Director? I—”
“Be quiet! Who took him away?”
“King Faisal’s men. They—”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything. I’ve been trying to call him, but he won’t answer. I’m—”
Nassar disconnected the line and closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. If Faisal had taken his man, there could be no more confusion about his own situation. Safar was strong and dedicated to the cause, but no man could hold out forever. If he was being interrogated by Faisal’s men, he would break after three or four days. If he was being questioned by Rapp, the time would be significantly shorter.
Nassar dialed a number he’d been given and listened to it ring. The time seemed to stretch into infinity as he waited. Finally a now familiar voice came on.
“What can I do for you, Aali?”
Mullah Halabi gave nothing away, but it seemed likely that he had received similar photos of Rapp’s visit to the palace.
“It appears that the Americans have discovered our relationship and informed King Faisal.”
