Protect and defend (37 page)

General Gifford hurried around the table and looked at the screen. “That’s Highway Two.”

“Hold on,” Dummond said, “the second number just came in.” He pointed to a tower near the Tigris. “This one was made after the first.”

Rapp looked at the new location and then checked the spot on the map where the ambush had taken place. “Based on the calls it looks like they tried to take her out of the city and then ended up coming back.”

“That’s assuming she’s still with this Mukhtar fellow,” Gifford said.

Rapp considered his point for a moment and said, “I don’t think he’d take his eyes off her.”

“The third number’s up.”

Rapp leaned over Dumond’s shoulder and looked as he pointed the same tower near the Tigris. “Stan,” Rapp yelled, “get in here!”

A moment later Stilwell emerged from his office and joined Rapp and Gifford. Rapp pointed at the middle screen. “Is this the part of town you were thinking of when you were talking about the stone in the photo?”

“It’s exactly where I was thinking.”

Gifford grumbled, “That’s the heart of Indian country.”

“Yeah,” Stilwell agreed. “Shiite central.”

“The streets are really narrow,” Gifford said with a wary expression. “We’ve had more than a few patrols ambushed in there.”

Rapp noticed Dumond touch his headset and then watched him reach for his mouse. After a single click a man talking in Farsi came over the speakers resting on the table. Rapp immediately knew the voice belonged to Ashani. Only he and Stilwell spoke Farsi.

“Ali, is that you?”

There was an unnerving pause and then another voice said, “Cyrus, you sound different.”

“That must be Mukhtar,” Rapp said to Dumond.

“I’m on it.”

From the speakers came, “I was asked by our friend to call and see if there was anything you might need. He is stuck in a very important meeting.”

“There is much that I need.” The man they assumed was Mukhtar made no attempt to hide his irritation. “Things are not progressing the way we had planned, and I have only a handful of men to assist me.”

“Can I send you some help? I have men in the area.”

There was a sigh followed by silence and then, “At the moment, I fear it would only draw more suspicion.”

“Then what can I do to help?”

Dumond announced, “We’ve got him.” He clicked the mouse and the middle screen zoomed in on a four block area of downtown Mosul. A blinking red dot marked the location of the call.

“Nothing at the moment,” Mukhtar replied.

“Our friend would like a progress report,” Ashani stated.

There was another long pause and then, “Tell him the videotape he requested is taking more time than I anticipated. The actress is not cooperating.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I think if I employ some harsher methods, she will perform.”

Rapp’s gut twisted upon hearing the words. He pointed to the screen and asked Stilwell, “Where is that?”

“That’s the Great Mosque.”

“Oh shit,” Gifford moaned.

“What’s the problem?” Rapp asked.

“We can’t go in there.”

“What do you mean, you can’t go in there?” asked an irritated Rapp.

“The city would explode in violence.”

Rapp heard Ashani warning Mukhtar not to harm the actress. The words caused him to put aside what Gifford had just said and focus on Ashani and Mukhtar’s conversation.

“I have come too far to fail,” Mukhtar said. “I will do whatever it takes to succeed. Tell our friend I will have the tape for him within the hour.”

The call went dead. Rapp immediately told Dumond to get him a live overhead shot from one of the Predators. He then turned to Gifford. “You can’t go in there, or you won’t?”

“If the president tells me to go in there, I will go in, but I’m telling you, if American military forces surround and enter the holiest mosque in Mosul we will incite an all-out rebellion in the city and possibly the country.”

“He’s right, Mitch,” Stilwell said.

Rapp didn’t like it, but he knew they were right. “Then we need to go in low profile.”

“That’s fine, but the Great Mosque has some pretty serious security.”

“Local militia.”

“Basically.”

As Rapp struggled to find a solution he was reminded of something he saw in Stilwell’s office. “How well do your Kurds know this area?”

“Like the back of their hands.”

“All right, tell them we’re moving in five minutes, and tell them to bring everything they have.”

Only minutes after concluding his forced conversation with Mukhtar, Ashani was informed via intercom that Ayatollah Najar was holding on line one. Ashani greeted his old mentor with a mix of relief and panic. Before he could say a word, Najar ordered him to get to the Presidential Palace immediately for a meeting of the Supreme Security Council. Ashani found his friend’s brevity very unsettling, but after a moment he concurred that in the wake of the American president’s speech, it could simply be that Najar was in a rush to get a handle on the situation.

Five minutes later Ashani was in President Amatullah’s conference room with all but a few members of the Security Council. They were all waiting for the arrival of Najar and, they assumed, the Supreme Leader. While they waited, Ashani paid close attention to Amatullah. At present, he was standing in the corner talking with General Zarif and General Suleimani. All three men looked worried, but then again everyone in the room looked worried. Ashani tried yet again to figure out how far-reaching this plot was. Did Ayatollah Najar and the Supreme Leader know, or were they simply duped? Did they leave the city to distance themselves from any accusations should the plan fail or did they simply travel to Isfahan to offer aid to the families of those lost?

Ashani desperately wanted to believe that Najar was incapable of such foolish and deceitful behavior, but the man had been avoiding his calls all morning, and if Ashani had to guess why, it was because he was not prepared to answer any difficult questions. Nonetheless, here they were, on the brink of war, and a meaningful discussion of the facts had yet to take place. Something that had to happen if there was any hope of releasing Kennedy before the deadline.

Ashani had no doubt Amatullah and his cronies would argue that the Americans were making empty threats. That they would never attack. Ashani was actually listening to General Zarif parroting that very statement to President Amatullah when the door to the room burst open.

Ayatollah Najar strode into the room with six large men all wearing either dark blue or black suits. Ashani recognized several of them as belonging to the Supreme Leader’s security detail. Ashani expected the Supreme Leader to follow, but instead the last man closed the door and locked it. The already tense mood in the room worsened. Ashani shifted nervously in his seat and felt his throat tighten.

Najar walked straight for President Amatullah and the two generals who were still standing in huddled conversation. Najar adjusted his thick glasses and asked, “Which one of you ordered the sinking of the
Sabalan
?”

Amatullah demurred and said, “I don’t know what you are talking…”

“Lies!” Najar screamed. “Lies! Lies! Lies! I am sick of the lies.”

The entire room was taken aback, but Amatullah quickly rebounded. With a dismissive half smile, he said, “I can assure you that I am not lying.”

“And I can assure you that the Supreme Leader is certain every word that comes out of your mouth is a lie,” Najar spat back. He turned his glare on the two generals and screamed, “Which one of you came up with the idea to sink the
Sabalan
?”

Amatullah took a half step forward and said, “The Americans…”

“The Americans did nothing,” Najar snapped. “I know when I’m being lied to, and as much as it pains me, it was brutally obvious that President Alexander was telling the truth. You, on the other hand, have built your entire career out of lying, so I am left with only one conclusion. Now for the last time, which one of you ordered the sinking of the
Sabalan
?”

Both Amatullah and General Zarif glanced at General Sulaimani and took a half a step away. The leader of the Quds Force found himself deserted. He looked at his two coconspirators and shook his head in disgust. With his chin help high he said, “I am proud of what I have done. It is time to stop running from the Americans. The men aboard the
Sabalan
will be remembered as martyrs for the cause.”

“And so will you,” Najar said as he drew a pistol from under his robes. He pointed it at the general’s face and squeezed the trigger of the .357 revolver. The large-caliber bullet blew chunks of brain and flesh against the white plaster wall, and General Sulaimani’s lifeless body slumped to the floor. Before anyone had time to react to the shock of what had just happened, Najar turned back to Amatullah and yelled, “And now on to the issue of the kidnapping of the director of the CIA.”

Ashani noticed that the Supreme Leader’s bodyguards had all drawn their weapons.

“Who,” Najar shouted, “was the fool who came up with this plan?”

Ashani’s ears were ringing as he watched Amatullah squirm. The man’s eyes were desperately darting around the room in what looked like a plea for help. Amatullah then locked eyes with Ashani and slowly raised his right hand. Ashani sat in horror as he realized Amatullah was pointing at him. Before Ashani could defend himself, Amatullah said, “It was Minister Ashani’s idea. I only found out about it in the last hour.”

“Liar,” Ashani shouted as he rose out of his chair.

“Sit,” Najar commanded in an authoritative voice. He turned back to Amatullah and asked, “What proof do you have?”

Amatullah seemed momentarily stymied and then he said, “He brought Mukhtar with him on his trip to Mosul. They have been conspiring for a way to get back at the Americans after they were almost killed at Isfahan.”

“He accompanied me on your orders,” Ashani yelled back and then looked to Najar. “Ahmed, you know I would never do something so foolish.”

Najar nodded in agreement and then looked back to Amatullah. “That is hardly proof.”

Amatullah appeared to struggle for a moment to come up with something else and then his face lit up. “He showed me a piece of paper with ten numbers that he is using to stay in contact with Mukhtar. And he has a phone. I saw it on him only an hour ago. Search him,” Amatullah ordered. “I tell you he has it on him.”

Ashani’s fear showed on his face. The phone and the list of numbers were in fact on him. “You gave me the list and the phone when we were in your office.” Ashani looked at Najar for help.

“Empty your pockets,” Najar ordered as he walked around the table.

“That is why I have been trying to call you,” Ashani pleaded. “To tell you about this and try to defuse the situation before it is too late.”

“Empty your pockets!”

Ashani did as he was told. He placed the phone on the table and slowly unfolded the sheet of paper and set it next to the phone.

A gloating Amatullah smiled and said, “I told you he had them.”

Ashani watched as Najar raised his gun and pointed it at him.

Najar looked extremely disappointed. He pulled the hammer back on his revolver and said, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

With a sad shake of his head Ashani looked back at Najar and said, “In all the years we worked with each other, have you ever known me to be so careless with operational information? Have you ever known me to write it down in such a straightforward, careless manner?” Ashani gestured to the piece of paper and looked at the numbers written in black ink. After a second his shoulders shook, and he began to laugh.

“I fail to see the humor,” Najar said, deadpan with the pistol still pointed at Ashani’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Ashani said, still laughing, “but that isn’t my handwriting.” He looked up slowly from the paper and pointed across the room at Amatullah. “It is his.”

Najar grabbed both the phone and the piece of paper. He walked around the table and handed them to Amatullah. “Call Mukhtar right now, and tell him to release Director Kennedy.”

Amatullah did not move fast enough, so Najar pointed his gun at his head and said simply, “I am going to count to five.”

Rapp sat in the back of the blue Chevy Caprice with Stilwell. One of Stilwell’s Kurds was driving, and another one was literally and figuratively riding shotgun, with a twelve-gauge Mossberg in his lap. The other five Kurds were following in the beat-up Ford Crown Victoria. The two vehicles topped 90 mph as they screamed north on the main road from the airport back to the heart of the old downtown, a mere five miles away. Two Predator drones patrolled high overhead offering continuous coverage of the Great Mosque and the tangled neighborhood that it dominated. They had a little more than an hour before the afternoon call to prayer. Stilwell made it clear that they needed to get in and out before the men started to file into the mosque. If they didn’t, there was a good chance they would be torn to shreds by the mob.

General Gifford and his staff were busy repositioning units so they could create a buffer zone around the Great Mosque by sealing off the streets. The catch was to wait until the last possible minute so that they wouldn’t tip off the terrorists and rouse the neighborhood. Rapp would let them know as soon as he was inside the mosque, and then the units would move into final position, setting up a one-block perimeter in every direction. The locals would be told that there was credible intelligence that Sunni insurgents were going to attempt a car bombing during evening prayer. This would allow the army to control the neighborhood and hopefully drive down attendance for afternoon prayer.

An Iraqi army mechanized company was also being mobilized at their base eleven miles away, but they were not told why. The last thing Rapp wanted was a leak that would tip Mukhtar off that they were coming. It was decided that if things got out of control the Iraqi army unit would be called in to secure the mosque itself. Contingencies were being put into place for a helicopter evacuation and medical personnel were put on high alert.