AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Did you pass along my job offer to Gaffar?”
Rapp shook his head. “Turns out he was an artist before he was a soldier. He wants to learn English and go to work for an advertising agency.”
“No shit . . .”
Rapp watched the deliberate movement of Coleman’s arm as he put the vehicle in gear. The injuries the former SEAL had suffered in Pakistan were far worse than Rapp’s own. It was a minor miracle that he was alive and a major one that he could walk. He was working on his rehab full-time, but the slow progress had left yet another glitch in Rapp’s well-oiled machine. Coleman’s outfit, SEAL Demolition and Salvage, had been his primary backup for years. With its founder out of commission, they had been forced to put a reluctant Joe Maslick in charge. And while Mas was a hell of an operator, he was no Scott Coleman.
“Where’s Claudia?” Rapp said. There was no point in hiding from the subject.
“Apparently there’s a sleepover at your house tonight and she has her hands full.”
He was surprised at the relief he felt. She hadn’t been expecting to have to pick him up and it was entirely plausible that Anna had friends over. Maybe this wasn’t her drawing a line in the sand.
“So why are you here?”
“Somebody had to come and get your ass.”
That story sounded a bit thin. Sitting for extended periods of time was hard for him and he had people he could have sent. There was more to this and it wasn’t hard to guess what it was.
“What happened in Rabat?” Rapp said.
Coleman didn’t immediately answer, instead accelerating up the road. “There was a problem.”
“Are any of our guys hurt?”
“Nah. They’re all fine.”
“And the Egyptian?”
“There was no Egyptian, Mitch. Our intel was bad. The courier was a Saudi prince.”
“Do we have him?”
“So, the thing is—”
“Do we have him?”
“No.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“He was traveling in an armored vehicle and there were two guards with—”
“You’re telling me that Mas, Bruno, and Wick can’t handle two guards and a little armor?”
“What I’m telling you is that the prince in question is Faisal’s nephew.”
“I don’t give a shit who he is. I told—”
“Mitch, please! Let me finish. We threw Mas headlong into this and told him it was a nobody ISIS courier. He didn’t feel like he had the authority to make the call and there wasn’t time to get to Irene.”
“So he just walked away?”
“In a nutshell, yeah.”
Rapp tried to control his anger. The Saudis had gotten pass after pass. They were an antidemocratic monarchy, the world’s largest supporter of terrorist organizations, and funded the countless madrassas that churned out an endless stream of radicals to replace the ones he killed. And now King Faisal’s worthless nephew was rolling around Morocco with a briefcase full of cash earmarked for ISIS?
“Do we have proof?”
