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“Really?” al-Omari said, his voice gaining strength. “And what are those plans, Aali?”

“ISIS will eventually succeed in a massive attack on the U.S. and you will use that to turn the American population against its Muslim countrymen. As they’re increasingly marginalized, ghettoized, and persecuted, they will rise up. This will continue the trend of America turning inward. Combined with their increased energy production, they will come to the realization that they have no compelling strategic interest in the Middle East anymore. They’ll withdraw and Mullah Halabi will be free to take control of the entire Islamic world.”

“Very clever,” al-Omari said. “But enough with speeches. You want something.”

“Of course,” Nassar responded. “Your recent attack on Saudi Arabia would have destroyed the country’s oil supply and with it the country itself. This was unwise. We have unparalleled military, intelligence, and financial resources. In fact, I think you recently enjoyed the fruits of the latter through the efforts of Prince bin Musaid.”

“You were behind that?”

“Did you really think that an idiot like bin Musaid could have initiated something like that on his own? I have an extensive network of royals and wealthy private citizens sympathetic to your cause. And I’m willing to coordinate their efforts to help you.”

“The king will discover what you’re doing and execute you.”

“The king will do nothing but die.”

“You’ll kill him?”

Nassar shook his head. “The years are doing it for me.”

“And what do you want in return?”

“That’s something for me and Mullah Halabi to discuss face-to-face.”

Nassar opened the suitcase, enjoying the general’s expression when he saw the euros stacked inside. “I’d like you to deliver my request for a meeting along with this gift.”

“And if I refuse?”

On the surface it seemed like an odd question from a man in his position, but it was expected. He would reasonably see Nassar as a threat—as a man with far greater training, intellect, and resources than he himself had. And while taking the general’s place might become necessary in the future, it made sense to allay al-Omari’s fears for the time being.

“I believe that you and I can work very effectively together, General. Me from Saudi Arabia and you at Mullah Halabi’s side.”

CHAPTER 13

Langley

Virginia

U.S.A.

RAPP pulled into the underground parking lot at CIA headquarters and briefly slammed the Charger’s accelerator to the floor. The engine was powerful enough to shove him back into the racing seat but incapable of drowning out Radiohead’s new album. He would never admit it to Craig Bailer, but the car actually had been worth the wait. The sound system was as good as any he’d ever heard, the armor’s reduction in weight was immediately noticeable, and the annoying turbo lag was gone. Finding something to complain about was going to be a challenge.

He blasted by a few startled men in business suits before slamming on the stellar brakes and turning onto a ramp that led deeper into the garage. As was his custom, he passed by his a

ssigned space and selected one at random. State-of-the-art armor or no, there was no way in hell he was going to park in a space with his name stenciled on it.

He jogged across the asphalt and slipped into a private elevator, leaning against the back wall as it ferried him to the seventh floor. Normally he avoided Langley like the plague, but Mike Nash was pretty much glued to his office these days. He’d become Irene Kennedy’s go-to for dealing with Congress and the press, making it difficult for him to stray far from the Beltway for more than a few hours at a time. Besides, if Rapp had stayed home, he would have gotten roped into talking to Claudia about Coleman’s job.

* * *

“I hear the Iraq op went off without too many problems,” the former Marine said when Rapp entered his office.

Rapp dropped into a chair and put his feet up on Nash’s desk. “But not so much Rabat.”

“Yeah. Mas is back stateside, but he’s lying low. Scott and I both told him you’re over it, but he won’t listen. He needs to hear it from you.”

Nash was forever playing the diplomat. In this case, though, he was probably right.

“I’ll call him on my way home.”

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