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Halabi’s unblinking eyes were suddenly filled with amusement. As though they had examined Nassar’s soul and found it laughably trivial.
“State your case plainly, Director. I have to return you to your home as quickly as possible. My men won’t be able to hide your absence for much longer.”
Nassar felt some of the tension drain from him at the acknowledgment that he wouldn’t die in this place. A significant amount of that tension remained, though, at the realization that the Saudi guards he’d thought were loyal to him were in fact servants of Halabi. How far did the mullah’s tentacles reach into the Saudi government?
“I request that you table any plans for terrorist acts on Saudi soil and that you provide me with the tools to shut down the majority of social media attacks on the royalty. I have the ear of the king, but I’m forced to share it with America’s CIA. I need to show him that they’re unnecessary—indeed, that they’re counterproductive. He has to be confident that I, and I alone, have power to defend his dynasty.”
“And what would I receive in return? Surely not just the promise of your loyalty at some future date.”
“I understand that it’s your plan to hit the Americans hard inside their borders. To cause them to lash out at their Muslim citizens in a way that makes them susceptible to recruitment and that turns America’s allies against it. My agency is one of the primary sources of intelligence on Muslim immigrants and refugees entering America. It would be a simple matter to alter that intelligence in a way that would allow your agents to infiltrate the country. Further, we have knowledge of poorly defended targets that have the potential to cause significant disruptions—power transfer stations, dams, commercial and retail centers, to name only a few. And finally, we are informed of the vast majority of CIA operations. We can tell you almost immediately about—”
“And you have money,” Halabi interjected.
The Americans had become quite skilled at tracking wire transfers and confiscating bank accounts. Combined with the crackdown on ISIS oil sales, they were squeezing the organization. Fighters had taken pay cuts, equipment was failing, and the web of graft that kept local leaders docile was breaking down.
“Of course. Many of the Saudis who have supported your efforts have done so at my bidding. Prince bin Musaid, for instance.”
“Not a successful exchange.”
“How so? It’s my understanding that the prince delivered the money to your man. Did you not receive it?”
Halabi didn’t answer and his silence was intriguing. According to Irene Kennedy, the ISIS contact hadn’t been captured. Had he been turned? Was it he who had informed the CIA about the exchange? It seemed likely, but Nassar decided it would be unwise to point that out in his present situation.
When t
he mullah spoke again, he changed the subject. “This insight into the CIA’s operations that you speak of. I question how much the Americans really share with you. I think you’re overestimating your usefulness. Give me an example of something you know that I don’t.”
Nassar smiled. It was a question he was well prepared for. “Of course. General al-Omari’s home isn’t the only one that’s been discovered.” He indicated with his head toward Fares Wazir, a man who had spent years as an executive in Saddam Hussein’s secret police. “The Mossad has located General Wazir’s base of operations, and the U.S. is planning a raid to capture him in two days’ time.”
“Impossible!” Wazir said. “I—”
“You and your family have taken over the top floor of a building in Tal Afar,” Nassar said in a calculatedly bored tone. “A few blocks north of the city center, as I recall.”
That shut the man up. More important, the information seemed to please Mullah Halabi. He had passed the man’s first test.
“I’ve enjoyed our conversation, Director Nassar. But, as I’ve said, it’s important that you return home. I’ll expect a payment of five million euros by later this week. We’ll contact you with the exchange site.”
“Five million?” Nassar said. “With all due respect, there are certain complexi—”
A cloth bag was pulled over his head, and a moment later he was being dragged from the building.
CHAPTER 20
Near Dominical
Costa Rica
HERE’S your chardonnay and a sparkling water,” the waitress said.
Claudia reached for the wineglass with a visibly shaking hand.
The otherwise empty deck looked out over flowering trees and a field of boulders jutting from the sea. Rapp could hear the waves crashing against stone, but the spectacular view was at his back. Normally, he preferred to have a wall behind him, but the ones that made up this mostly outdoor restaurant were just flimsy partitions. Nothing that would stop a bullet.
Not that he was expecting any gunfire on that particular day, but it wasn’t out of the question. Grisha Azarov, the man they were there to see, was unquestionably the most dangerous opponent he’d ever faced. After nearly killing Scott Coleman, he’d faced down Rapp in a battle that had been far more desperate than the CIA man would have liked. While Rapp had won, a win on that particular day had involved getting thrown from an oil rig with his hair literally on fire. He wouldn’t survive many more victories like that one.
“Where is he?” Claudia said before draining half her glass in one gulp. “We’ve been in Costa Rica for two days and this is our second afternoon eating at this restaurant. Is it possible that he doesn’t know we’re here?”
“He knows.”
