Extreme Measures (18 page)

DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

T
HE Gulfstream G500 dropped through the clouds at 6,100 feet; the hydraulic landing gear whirled into the down position and then locked with a slight thud that woke Rapp from what had been an unusually deep sleep. He turned his head to the right and lifted the shade on the window. Thousands of lights greeted him. Of all of the airports the world over this one was probably the most familiar to him. It had been built before he was born. They’d stuck it out here where the edge of Fairfax County met up with Loudoun County. Back then it had been nothing more than farmland and horses. Now it was built up with highways, roads, parking lots, malls, businesses, hotels, apartments, and housing developments. Urban sprawl at its finest.

Rapp watched the cars driving up and down Sully Road past the old plantation, and as he had done so many times before, he felt a tinge of envy. He wondered what it would be like to switch places with them. To lead a life not knowing the things he knew. What it would be like to wake up and kiss his wife and kids good-bye and just go into an office like so many of the friends he’d grown up with. He never dwelled on it for more than a few seconds, and he never felt even remotely sorry for himself. The truth was he loved what he did. It had taken him many years to come to that realization, and more than a few hardships, but it had finally sunk in.

Strangely, it was the murder of his wife and unborn child that had finally got him to admit it. Not at first, of course. They had placed a bomb in his house out on the Chesapeake Bay that had been meant for him. Once again, he had cheated death, but this time paid for it with the loss of the woman he loved and the child he so badly wanted to meet and hold and raise and be a father to. He thought of that blissful, brief time that they’d had together after she’d told him she was pregnant. It was only a week, but he could still taste the emotions as if it were all happening at this very moment.

Lovely Anna, with her emerald green eyes, had taken on a radiance that made her look like something out of a dream. He’d have never thought she could be any more beautiful, but somehow the pregnancy had done it. Her already flawless skin glowed and her eyes sparkled with even more life than normal. She was filled with excitement, and was all the more elated knowing that this was something her rough-and-tumble husband so badly wanted. To give him the ultimate gift of a child, she knew, would be the final piece of leverage to get him to walk away from his dangerous profession. She had said to him once after making love that he’d given enough to his country. He’d been shot, stabbed, hunted, and tortured, and it was time for him to let go. To let someone else step into the breach and fight the battle.

For all of her liberal leanings, Anna was not a head-in-the-sand liberal. She’d seen firsthand what these fanatics were like, and she never for a moment questioned the fact that when you stripped it all away her husband’s job was to hunt them down and kill them before they had the chance to incite more hatred and kill more innocent people. She’d never admitted it to him, but he knew now that she had been secretly proud of what he did. Her brother had confided to him after her death that Anna thought him the most noble man she had ever met.

After she’d been taken unexpectedly from him, his immediate reaction was predictable. He took his pain and anger and devastating anguish and he stuffed it deep down into the furnace of his belly and he used it to fuel his hunt for those who were responsible. He methodically tracked them down and got his vengeance. Two of them he had allowed to live. The reasons were complicated, but he knew ultimately it was what Anna would have wanted. With the retribution taken care of and reality staring him straight in the face, his entire world had then came crashing down around him. His moral compass, his sense of right and wrong, had been demagnetized and he found himself awash in a sea of guilt and self-recrimination.

Having spent his life so sure of himself and his actions he took the only avenue that made any sense to him. He simply walked away. No one knew where he was for more than six months. Not his brother, not even his handlers at Langley. When he reappeared he was a changed man. Broken, but not shattered, he was more aware of his faults. More understanding of his shortcomings and how they would affect his job. In the end he would blame himself forever for thinking he could have a normal life, and he carried with him the guilt of her death every day. A quick prayer to her every morning and every night apologizing for getting her involved in his nasty world. Sometimes he would admit to himself that she was a willing participant. As strong-willed as anyone he had ever met, no one ever talked her into doing anything she didn’t want to do. She came along because she loved him, and in the end that was the one glorious thing that brought him solace, a bit of happiness, and even an occasional smile to his face. She believed in what he did and she loved him.

It had taken him somewhere between a year and half to two years to get to that point, and when he did, it was as if the wound magically began to heal. Not all the way, of course. There was still a scar that ran deep and wide, but at least it wasn’t being torn open every day as he rode a sea of guilt, anger, and self-pity. He would never be entirely whole again, but he had his confidence back. His sense of purpose was restored and he was far wiser than he’d been before the tragedy.

There was also something else. It was an awkward thing for a man who was well into his second decade of living a life of secrecy, most of it operating alone, in foreign countries for months at a time. A life of deceiving everyone around him, even his fellow countrymen. Rapp now felt a massive sense of responsibility for setting things right. He had confided only in Kennedy about the first part. Because of his job and its solitary nature, Rapp had been trained to survive by thinking of himself first and foremost. But now he looked around at people like Mike Nash and his family and he realized what was at stake. In a suddenly immediate sense, Rapp felt the need to protect these people and set things right.

In the waning light of the attacks that had briefly awakened America to the threat of Islamic radical fundamentalism, the politicians had gone back to their old ways. They had turned on the very people they had asked to secure the country from attack. It always amazed Rapp that these were the very same people who in the year following 9/11 repeatedly asked the CIA if their measures of interrogation were tough enough. Now they were denying ever saying such things. They were on the attack. They smelled an opportunity and sooner or later they were going to begin destroying the lives of the men and women who Rapp now felt responsible for. Good men and women who had sacrificed for their country when their country needed them most. And now an ungrateful Senate and House of Representatives were circling like sharks looking for an opportunity to boost their political fortunes into a still higher orbit.

The plane floated downward and gently set down on the runway. Ridley woke up on landing and after stretching for a second pulled out his phone and began checking messages. Rapp continued to look out the window as they continued past the big terminal toward the private aviation section, where Langley kept a hangar. As they pulled parallel to the hangar he noticed a couple of police squad cars and another half dozen government sedans. Langley liked to keep as low a profile as possible, so this was not the normal welcoming party for a couple of spooks coming back from Afghanistan. Ridley was too preoccupied with his messages to notice and Rapp decided not to bother him.

When the plane finally stopped, Rapp grabbed his bag and thanked the crew member and the pilots as he headed out the hatch. There on the tarmac were nine men and one woman. Rapp could tell they were Feds without having to ask. They all had that “uptight, take-themselves-too-seriously” look on their faces.

One of the agents stepped forward with a piece of paper in his hand and said, “Are you Mitch Rapp?”

Rapp considered a smart-ass comment, but decided against it. “Yep.”

“I have an arrest warrant for you. Would you please drop your bag, lay down on the pavement, and place your hands above your head.”

Rapp looked at the man incredulously. “I’ll tell you what. You show me which car you’d like me to ride in, and I’ll mosey on over with you… we’ll toss my bag in the trunk, and I’ll get in the backseat.”

The agent moved his right hand to the hilt of his pistol. “I’m not going to say this again. Drop your bag…”

Before the agent could finish his sentence, Ridley’s head popped out of the plane and he yelled, “What in the hell is going on here?”

The agent’s eyes darted from Ridley to Rapp and then back to Ridley. “Sir, I have an arrest warrant in my possession for this man right here. I’ll need you to step aside.”

Ridley charged down the steps, past Rapp, and to within three feet of the agent. “FBI?” Ridley barked.

The man was half a head taller than Ridley. He looked down at him and said, “Don’t make me use force.”

“Don’t give me a reason to kick your ass off my property, junior. I’m the deputy director of the Clandestine Service out at Langley and you are standing on my turf. So before you put one of my people under arrest you are going to explain to me just what in the hell is going on.”

The agent took a half a step back and said, “I’m only doing my job, sir. I have been ordered to place that man,” he pointed at Rapp, “under arrest. I wasn’t told why, I was simply told to do it.”

“Who at the Justice Department?”

“Wade Kline.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Let me see the arrest warrant.” Ridley stuck out his hand, the agent hesitated, and Ridley said, “You want me to call Director Powel?”

The agent didn’t like the sound of that, so he handed over the warrant.

Ridley unfolded it, gave it a quick read, and handed it back to the agent. “You know who this is?” Ridley pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Rapp.

The agent shook his head.

Ridley stepped in closer and lowered his voice so only the agent could hear him. “He’s a damn American hero, and this,” Ridley snatched the warrant out of the agent’s hand and waved it around, “is a bunch of PC bullshit. Now, I can’t stop you from arresting him, but I’ll tell you right now, Special Agent whatever the fuck your name is, if you make him lay down on this tarmac like some common criminal I will fucking ruin your career. I will call in every favor the bureau owes me to make sure your fucking ass ends up in Yemen searching cargo containers for next three years. So what’s it going to be?”

The agent took a long moment to consider his options and then finally said, “He’s one of your boys?”

“He ain’t my boy. About the only two people he answers to in this town are the director of the CIA and the president, and he doesn’t even answer to them most of the time.”

FLORIDA KEYS

T
HE sun rose brilliantly, casting its rays across the vast expanse of blue water. All nine men were on deck to witness the glorious power of Allah as another day of their blessed journey began. They’d spent the night lashed together, the two boats gently rolling in the shallow swells. Even with the calm water, though, four of the men had vomited. Hakim took a bit of perverse joy in seeing these land-loving freedom fighters buckle so easily to the gentle motion of the ocean. Even more joy knowing that it bothered his old friend Karim that he had failed to prepare them for this relatively short jaunt.

When they were done praying, rations were handed out and the men were encouraged to drink plenty of water, especially those who had thrown up. Hakim checked their position again and then climbed out onto the long bow of the fast boat. He looked through a pair of binoculars at a speck on the western horizon. They were sixteen nautical miles almost due east from Marathon, Florida. To the north an almost equal distance was the U.S. Coast Guard Station at Islamorada. Farther to the south and the west was the Coast Guard Station at Key West. Both bases were equipped with enough air and surface assets to make this a miserable morning, but it was Key West that he feared most. That was where the command center for the new Helicopter Interdiction Tactical Squadron was located. The farther north they went, the more they could mix in with the pleasure boaters and sport fishermen coming out of Miami and the day trippers crossing back and forth from southern Florida to the Bahamas.

Hakim scanned the surface first and then tilted the binoculars skyward. There were a few contrails from commercial planes flying at higher altitudes, but no sign of any helicopters at the moment. From his past excursions Hakim knew they were most active in the dead of night and then later in the day when the boat traffic picked up. The boats didn’t worry him as much. There were only a few that could keep up with them and they weren’t armed with the bigger guns of the cutters and coastal patrol boats. The problem would be the helicopters. They were faster than his boats, and worse, they could keep an eye on them from a distance and radio for help. If they weren’t careful they could end up with a bunch of police units converging on them when they reached shore.

This had been the most difficult aspect to plan, but Hakim thought he had it figured out. Karim joined him on the bow, and Hakim asked, “Are you nervous?” He asked the question knowing how his friend would answer.

“Only fools and liars say they aren’t.”

“Well, my friend, then which one am I?” Hakim continued his search of the sky, now turning back toward Key West.

“You are not nervous?” Karim asked with concern.

“No. Not in the least.”

“Why do you tempt fate like this? You know you shouldn’t say such things.”

Hakim laughed. “I am excited. Why aren’t you excited? This is what we have been working for. This is a great day.” Hakim pointed toward the spit of land on the horizon. “There, my friend, is the great Satan. In a few minutes we will fire up these engines, and we will penetrate their defenses. Defenses they have spent billions on, and there is nothing they can do to stop us.”

Karim frowned. “You are assuming they will not stop us.”

“Yes, I am.” Hakim lowered the binoculars. “When will you begin to have faith in your destiny? I have been telling you for years that this is what awaits you.” Again he pointed toward the shore of America.

“Allah prefers us to be humble.”

“Then you can be humble, but I will be excited. This is something they will write about. In a few days the entire Arab world will be talking about these new lions of al-Qaeda and their leader, the great Karim Nour al-Din, who have struck at the heart of America.”

“We have done nothing yet.”

“Is it wrong to hope?”

Karim made a brooding face and finally said, “I suppose not.”

“And think of the faces those old women will make when the news finally reaches them in the mountain hideouts. Zawahiri will be furious that he and his millionaire boyfriend do not receive the credit.”

“Do not speak of him that way,” Karim said angrily.

“I’m sorry, but you know I think Zawahiri has poisoned him.”

“He still deserves our respect.” Karim was disgusted with the al-Qaeda leadership, but his fellow Saudi Arabian did not deserve to be spoken of in such a manner. “So,” Karim said, “tell me of your grand plan. Do you really think we will just sail ashore and unload your drugs?”

“That all depends on the Coast Guard.”

“And if they show up?”

“We will outrun them.”

“What if it is a helicopter? Like you mentioned last night.”

“You keep going straight, and I will worry about the helicopter.”

“That is it? That is the extent of your grand plan?”

Hakim showed off his bright white smile. “No, I have a few tricks.”

“Ahmed?”

“Yes, he is one of them, in fact now is the perfect time to show him the present I brought along for him.” Hakim climbed around the windscreen and went below deck. A moment later he appeared with a long, black rectangular case. He looked into the other boat and said, “Ahmed, I have something for you.”

The twenty-four-year-old Moroccan hopped from one boat into the other as the others came to the edge. Hakim set the case on the flat cushion just aft of the cockpit and popped the clasps. He swung the case open to reveal a very large gun.

Ahmed gasped as he said, “A Barrett fifty-caliber. I have dreamt of shooting such a gun.”

“Can you handle it?” Hakim asked.

“Of course,” Ahmed said enthusiastically. “Where did you get it?”

“Nashville, Tennessee.”

“Isn’t that where they are made?”

“Near there.”

Ahmed picked it up and looked through the Barrett Optical Range Scope. “When do I get to fire it?”

“Hopefully not anytime soon, but just in case you have to, are you familiar with the weapon?”

“There is not much to know. It is one of the finest rifles ever constructed. Robust… accurate… very easy to shoot.”

“Good. There are three ten-round boxes already loaded.” Hakim pointed at the case.

“What type of ammunition?”

“Fifty-caliber BMG, armor-piercing incendiary.”

Ahmed tore his eyes away from the gun and said, “Only NATO troops have that ammunition.”

“And you.” Hakim laughed loudly.

“Where in the world did you get…?”

“I’ll tell you on the long drive to Washington. We’ll have plenty of time, but now we must get moving.” Hakim turned and looked up at his old friend, who was standing on the other side of the windscreen. “Are you ready, my friend?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Hakim said with unbridled enthusiasm. “Just like we practiced last night. Everybody get in your proper place and we will start the engines.” The men started scrambling into their assigned boats. “Remember,” Hakim said, “keep your weapons hidden unless Karim or I tell you to get them out.” He then turned to Ahmed and whispered, “Stay close to me, and make sure your new toy is ready to use.”

Hakim started his engines one at a time and waited for his friend to do the same. After another minute Hakim ordered the lines to be undone and then got under way at a leisurely fifteen knots. With the wind whipping over their heads, Hakim turned to Ahmed and asked, “Are you familiar with the MH- 65C Dolphin helicopter?”

Ahmed shook his head.

“Not to worry.” Hakim popped the small glove box on the dashboard and retrieved several pieces of paper. “Here are the schematics. I’ve circled the three places where it is most vulnerable. If we come across one it might be useful information.”