Extreme Measures (4 page)

WASHINGTON, D.C.

“W
HERE in the hell is Mitch Rapp?”

The question was tossed out like a hand grenade lobbed at an enemy position. It rolled down the long, shiny mahogany conference table, striking fear in all. Eyes were averted, a few throats were cleared, and one man was actually smart enough to get up and head for the door. One by one, though, all eyes turned to the woman sitting at the opposite end of the table. As director of the CIA, she was responsible for Rapp.

Irene Kennedy looked down the length of the ridiculously long table at her questioner. He was a lawyer, of course. They were all lawyers these days; the FBI agents on her left, the Department of Justice people on her right – even the handful of people from State more than likely had law degrees. Kennedy had intentionally left her lawyers back at Langley for this early-morning meeting. Tactically speaking, this was a reconnaissance operation, and for that she’d brought along two men with plenty of experience. She eyed the antagonist at the far end of the table. Over the last two weeks she’d heard a steady stream of complaints about the man. Watching him operate for the first time, she wondered how two parents could have so thoroughly failed to equip their child with the most basic manners.

Wade Kline was the newly appointed chief privacy and civil liberties officer at the Department of Justice. He was a fairly attractive man, at least until he opened his mouth, at which point he became decidedly less so. His new position at Justice was created to appease the ACLU crowd on Capitol Hill, who felt that America had become a police state. Before taking the post, Kline had spent a decade as a prosecutor working for the New York State Attorney General’s Office.

“Well?” Kline asked with obvious impatience.

Kennedy’s face remained unimpressed. She had learned the espionage business at the arm of Thomas Stansfield, a Cold War legend. Like her mentor, she was widely known to be an unflappable player; respected by most, despised by a few and feared by more than she realized. All of that went with the job, of course. She was the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and it was easy for people to imagine a hidden, sinister side to an otherwise classy and pleasant woman.

Kennedy eyed Kline and told herself to stay calm. At thirty-nine he was too young to be throwing his weight around, and old enough to know better. Kennedy had seen plenty of men and women like Kline come and go over the years. Five months ago the New Yorker would have had no chance at getting under her skin, but a lot had changed since then. There was no doubt about the source of her discontent. It could all be traced to a single traumatic event that had sent her careening down a road of doubt and pain, an event she tried every day to forget.

“This is not a difficult question,” Kline pressed. His suit coat was off, his tie loose, and his white shirtsleeves rolled up.

Kennedy’s brow furrowed as if she was studying a strange insect. “Mr. Rapp,” she said in an even tone, “is unavailable.”

“Unavailable.” Kline contemplated the word. “That’s pretty vague.”

“Not really.”

“I beg to differ.” Kline paused, scribbled a note to himself, looked directly at Kennedy, and asked, “Where is he?”

It was obvious to Kennedy that Kline had spent a fair amount of time strutting in front of juries. Surely he didn’t think she would simply announce the location of her top counterterrorism operative to the Justice Department’s newest politically appointed watchdog. Feeling a tinge of anger over the man’s arrogance, Kennedy said, “Where and what Mr. Rapp is doing is none of your business.”

“I couldn’t disagree more, Ms. Kennedy.”

Despite the warnings by her legal counsel, Kennedy was shocked by the man’s arrogance. She took off her reading glasses. “It’s Director Kennedy, Mr. Kline, or Dr. Kennedy, if you would prefer.”

A cocky, self-satisfied grin spread across Kline’s face. “Doctor, director,” he said in a more pleasant tone, “either one works for me.”

Kennedy did not flinch. She made no effort to respond in any way. Her thoughts headed down an unconventional path, exploring the man’s potential weaknesses, wondering how he would react to pain.

“Back to Rapp, if we could.” Kline tapped his pen on his yellow legal pad as if to refocus the conversation. “I’ve been asking to see the man for more than a month, and frankly, I’ve about run out of patience.”

“Mr. Rapp is very busy.”

“Aren’t we all, Madam Director.”

“Some more than others,” she said, a touch of impatience creeping into her voice.

Kline did not miss the change in tone. He nodded to Kennedy as if to say
game on
and then asked, “Where is he?”

“I know you’re relatively new to Washington, but surely you are aware that much of what my agency handles is classified.”

“So you won’t even tell me if he’s in the country?”

“Not unless I’m authorized by the president, or you can prove to me that you have somehow miraculously received a security clearance that is far above your pay grade.” The last part was a not-so-subtle reminder to Kline that in the power structure of the federal government, he was more than a few rungs beneath her.

Kline clicked his pen shut, stuffed it in his shirt pocket, and closed his leather briefing folder. “I can play hardball as good as anyone, Madam Director.” He stood and snatched his suit coat from the back of the chair. “This is my last warning. If Mitch Rapp isn’t standing in my office a week from today, I can promise you, I will make your life miserable.”

Kennedy felt her anger rushing to the surface. Part of her wanted to unleash it, wanted to teach this egocentric man a lesson, but there was another part of her that held back. Intuition warned her that no matter how satisfying it might feel, it would be a mistake. She watched him march to the door and then stop.

“One other thing,” Kline said as he flipped open his briefing folder and scanned his notes. “You have a man named Mike Nash who works for you.”

Kennedy returned his stare, wondering if he’d simply made a statement or was asking a question.

“I want him in my office Monday morning. If he isn’t there, I’ll send the FBI for him.” Kline closed his folder and was gone.

One by one the other people seated at the table turned to look at Kennedy. She ignored them, her gaze fixed on the open doorway. The man had just openly threatened the director of the most powerful spy organization in the world, which either meant he was insane or he had something on her. The fact that he had brought up Rapp was not all that surprising. People had been coming after him for years, but Nash was another story. Kennedy had taken great care to keep him under the radar. He was increasingly handling some of the agency’s most delicate operations.

One of the two men she’d brought along leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I just got a text from the office. We need to get you out of here.”

Kennedy shot him a concerned look.

Rob Ridley, the deputy director of the Clandestine Service, saw the alarm on her face and said, “It’s not that.” Ridley knew she was thinking an evacuation had been ordered. Since 9/11 it was not uncommon for high-ranking government officials to be taken out of the city at the first whisper of trouble. In recent years it had slowed down, but that was now balanced against fresh intel that pointed to something big. “That thing… it just started.”

“What thing?”

Ridley’s eyes darted around the room. “The thing over in Afghanistan.”

“Oh, that thing.”

“Yeah, that thing. I don’t think you want to have a conversation about it in this building.”

Kennedy looked around the Department of Justice conference room while she thought of Rapp and Nash. She checked her watch. The time would be about right. She knew what they were up to. She’d signed off on it herself. She motioned for Ridley to lead the way and politely ignored several of the other attendees who wanted to have a word with her.

As they reached the elevators her thoughts returned to a feeling that had been nagging her. Someone at Langley was leaking highly classified information. Accusations were appearing in the press that were far too close to the truth. The Intelligence Committees were becoming increasingly antagonistic, and now she had to deal with this hungry deputy attorney general who was trying to make a name for himself. A sense of foreboding crept over her, like a looming storm on a humid summer day.

BAGRAM AIR BASE, AFGHANISTAN

R
APP sat on the edge of the metal table, looked down at the bound terrorist, and asked, “Is it seventy-two or seventy-seven?”

Abu Haggani lifted his head cautiously and stared at Rapp, confusion in his eyes.

“Virgins,” Rapp said. “Seventy-two or seventy-seven. How many do you guys get when you go to paradise?”

Haggani muttered something under his breath and looked away.

“I’m not giving you crap,” Rapp persisted. “I’ve read the Koran several times and that’s one of those facts I can never keep straight.

Not that it matters much. I mean what’s the difference… seventy-two versus seventy-seven? It seems a little like overkill, don’t you think?”

Rapp paused to see if Haggani would respond. He didn’t, so Rapp pressed on. “Have you ever read the Koran, Abu?”

Haggani fixed Rapp with a hard stare and in Dari said, “I know what you are trying to do.”

“What’s that?”

“You are trying to provoke me. We know about your methods. We have undergone training to defeat your tricks.”

Rapp knew it was true. Most of their once secret interrogation programs had been blown wide open. Many of their methods had been dissected by politicians and the press alike. Terrorists had been released and had run back to Afghanistan and other parts, where they were thoroughly debriefed by the very organizations they denied belonging to. The whole mess drove Rapp insane, but there was only so much he could control.

Rapp clenched his left fist and then flexed his fingers. “Abu, I am not trying to provoke you… at least not yet. I’m not one of the talkers. I don’t have the patience they do… like my friend who was in here earlier. He’s next door talking to Mohammad, and we both know how that is going to play out. Mohammad is going to sell you and the rest of your friends down the river. You will eventually, as well, but it will take more time, and of course it will be significantly more uncomfortable.”

“You will never break me,” Haggani said with pride.

Rapp let out a long sigh. He’d seen this kind of bravado before. Once things got physical, it wouldn’t last long. “Abu, torturing guys and breaking them down is not something I look forward to, although your case is a little different. I think you’re such a despicable fuck that I might actually enjoy our little session.”

“You do not scare me.”

“Well, I should.” Rapp laughed. “I scare myself sometimes. You see… I’m not like the guys you’ve been talking to this week. I have a real conviction about this little war we’re fighting and I’m pretty intolerant of people who don’t have the stomach to do what it takes to win this thing. Add to that the fact that I pretty much don’t give a shit what people in Washington think of me and it makes me your biggest nightmare.”

Haggani shook his head and snorted. “Empty threats.”

Rapp reached out and put a hand on a galvanized metal box sitting on the other side of the table. Something inside stirred. The box shook and there was a scraping noise. “I’ve only used what’s in this box one other time, and let’s just say the guy I used it on was a hell of a lot tougher than you. He lasted less than thirty seconds.” Rapp was lying. He’d never used this particular method, but there was no sense in telling Haggani.

The terrorist looked anxiously at the box and, with a false bravado, said, “I have rights. You are not allowed to treat me like this.”

Rapp saw an opening. Maybe Haggani wasn’t as tough as they thought. Rapp thought of Nash, the way he would draw prisoners into a debate. How he would press them with logic, use the words of the Koran to undermine their weak arguments. Nash’s strategy was straightforward: get them talking. It didn’t matter what they talked about, it just mattered that you established a pattern. Gave yourself a chance to watch the subject, study his habits, and learn as much about him as possible. The tough questions would come later. Rapp had none of Nash’s patience, however. But still there was a part of him that was intrigued by Haggani’s request for proper treatment. He thought of one of Nash’s favorite questions, looked at the terrorist and asked, “Abu, do you think I should show you compassion? That I should respect your rights as a human?”

“Yes,” he answered with absolute sincerity.

“And how would you treat me if I had been captured on the battlefield and brought to one of your caves?”

Haggani ignored the question. “Your senators who I met with promised me that I would be treated with dignity. They gave me their word.”

“They are politicians. They say what makes them feel good and then they move on.”

Haggani shook his head in firm disagreement. “We have access to the Internet. To satellites. We have followed the debate in your country over the treatment of prisoners. Those senators meant what they said to me.”

“You go ahead and believe that, Abu, but I have no intention of treating you with dignity. You think of yourself as a holy warrior, but you are nothing more than a butcher. A mass murderer.”

“You know nothing of my ways.”

“Is that so? Let’s talk about the schools.”

“What schools?”

“The ones you blew up. The ones filled with little children.” Rapp expected one of several reactions from Haggani, but not the one he got.

Haggani smiled proudly. “We know how to sacrifice. We are not afraid to martyr ourselves for Allah.”

The anger came quickly. It started to rise up and Rapp stuffed it back down. Said, “You haven’t martyred yourself, tough guy, and I doubt you gave those kids a choice in the matter.”

He held his chin high and said, “I am not afraid.”

“You’re not afraid to send little kids to their death. That makes you a coward and a butcher, and if you had read the Koran you would know that.”

“What do you know of the Koran?” Haggani roared back.

Rapp grinned. “Apparently more than you… since I’ve actually read it.”

“I have it memorized.”

“Bullshit. You know as well as I do that you were taught the suras by some twisted Wahhabi cleric who told you only what he wanted you to know. Kill all the Jews. Kill the infidels. Cover your wives and daughters. Beat them if they disrespect you. The West is evil. We are just and good, blah… blah… fucking blah. I am so sick of the hate you pieces of shit teach each other and your children.”

“You know nothing.”

“I know Allah,” Rapp screamed, “is going to send your ass to hell for killing His children!”

“You have no right being in my country. You are infidels and Allah will punish you and your nation for this war.”

“You ever think maybe it’s the other way around?” Rapp brought his face within inches of Haggani’s. “That God is punishing your nation for how you have twisted and misused the words of the prophet? America hasn’t been at war. We’ve suffered the one attack. Your nation has been at war for almost forty years. Over a million people have died. Allah is mad as hell with you sick fucks. He’s been punishing you and he’s going to keep punishing you.”

Haggani unleashed a gob of spit, hitting Rapp square in the face.

Rapp didn’t bother to wipe away the spit. He didn’t bother to grab the stun gun. His head reared back and then snapped forward; the hardest part of his forehead striking Haggani on the soft bridge of the nose. It was like a hammer hitting a banana. Haggani’s nose flattened and blood began oozing from his nostrils.

Rapp stood and circled the prisoner. He looked at the blood and the misshapen nose. He knew Nash would flip, but he didn’t care. He was sick of all the bullshit. “You’re not getting any virgins,” Rapp barked at Haggani. He thought of Nash’s words; how he used their religion to dismantle their twisted ways. “Djinn,” Rapp uttered, the one word that seemed to drive the ones like Haggani nuts. “You are a Djinn, and you don’t even know it. You know the Koran forbids suicide and yet you have convinced dozens and dozens of Allah’s children to throw their lives away. You have killed thousands of Allah’s followers. The seventh sura, Abu, do you remember?” Rapp switched to Arabic and began reciting the verse from the Koran, “Many, moreover, of the Djinn and men we have created for hell. Hearts have they with which they understand not, and eyes with which they see not, and ears have they with which they hearken not. They are like brutes: Yea, they go more astray: these are the heedless.”

Rapp switched back to Dari. “That is you, Abu. You believed those twisted Wahhabi clerics, and now you will have to answer to Allah. Before the sun rises I am going to kill you.” Rapp paused, grabbed Haggani by the chin, and forced him to look him in the eye. “That’s right, I am going to kill you, and unless you repent you’re getting on an express elevator to hell.”