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She disappeared up the hallway, and he crossed through the interior courtyard to the kitchen. Claudia was standing by the refrigerator, carefully extracting coffee from a machine that looked like it had been designed by NASA.
“How was your meeting?” she asked.
“What meeting? I just went to the store.”
“Ah,” she said, sliding a cup of Peruvian dark roast toward him. As always, it was spectacular.
“There are some things I need to deal with,” he said as she began the elaborate process of filling her own cup.
“The problems you learned about at the Food Lion?”
“Yeah. Those.”
“How long will you be gone?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer. This job was unlike anything he’d ever taken on. He worked at the extreme edges of the U.S. intelligence apparatus but he was still part of it. Disregarding orders was very different from not having any orders.
“Awhile.”
She slid onto a stool and stared at him, picking up on his unusual reticence. “Off the books?”
“Worse.”
“Completely black?”
He took a sip of his coffee. Fuck. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this.
“Keep going.”
She clapped her hands together excitedly. “A rogue operation?”
He gave a hesitant nod.
“So, a criminal enterprise,” she said, not bothering to hide her glee. “And only one of the people at this table knows how to be a criminal.”
CHAPTER 17
Nouakchott
Mauritania
AALI Nassar glanced at his watch. Four in the morning.
Through the window he could see the refueling truck as it approached his jet and the glow of the airport beyond. Individual lights were ringed with a distinct haze, and he blinked his eyes in an effort to clear them. It was no use. Sleep had been impossible since his meeting with the American president, and fatigue was starting to take its toll.
There was little question that his performance in the Oval Office had been stupid and careless. He’d allowed his hatred for Joshua Alexander and the country he represented to overpower his reason. What should have been a careful political denial had become a battle of wills between him and the man purported to be the most powerful in the world. The temptation to demonstrate his disdain and to watch the man sputter like an impotent fool had been too strong.
He told himself that there was nothing the president could do—that the economic and geopolitical ramifications of acting against Saudi Arabia would be too great. Kennedy would undoubtedly counsel her country’s leader that the meeting was an unimportant example of a bureaucrat untrained in the complexities of politics. And he would likely listen. But what about the more violent and volatile elements of the American government? Those led by Mitch Rapp?
Nassar had significantly increased Prince bin Musaid’s security, but Musaid was still an obvious target for the CIA and, as such, a potential liability. Would they be that bold? While bin Musaid was an idiot, he was the only living connection King Faisal had with the sister he’d favored above all others.
A man in overalls appeared in the jet’s open doorway and spoke briefly to one of Nassar’s security detail before disappearing again.
“Sir, the refueling hose has become jammed and they’re concerned it could cause a fire. We’re being asked to deplane until they can get the problem resolved.”
“How long?”
“It should be no more than a few minutes, but they’re unwilling to start the process of freeing the hose until the plane is empty.”
