Extreme Measures

CHAPTER 64

RAPP tore down Constitution Avenue at speeds approaching 70 MPH, right down the centerline, sending oncoming cars lurching to get out of his way. All Rapp could do to warn them was flash his brights and hit the horn. Ridley nervously clutched the door. At Tennessee a red light was waiting for them. Rapp slowed down to 30 MPH, looked both ways, and gunned it. The big Hemi V8 in the Dodge Charger set Ridley back into his seat. A few blocks later the black Charger shot through the intersection at 15th Street going 74 mph.

“You might want to slow down,” Ridley said nervously. “I don’t think we want the cops with us.”

“I really don’t give a shit.” Rapp slipped his foot over to the brake and yanked the wheel almost a half turn to the right. The tires squealed as the rubber tried to grip the pavement. They came out of the turn racing south on sixteenth Street.

“Mitch, I think you need to calm down,” Ridley said nervously, with one hand on the dash and the other on the door.

“Rob, when we get there, I’ll stay as cool as the situation dictates, but this isn’t some covert sneak-and-peek. We’re going in hard and I’m planning on rattling some cages.”

Ridley winced. “Maybe we should call Irene?”

Rapp looked over and said, “I can pull over right now and let you out.”

Ridley shook his head and grumbled, “I’m in. I just wish we’d slow down. I don’t see why we need to rush over there and announce ourselves.”

“We’re going to do what someone should have done months ago.” Rapp gripped the wheel and let loose a string of obscenities.

“Just don’t hit anybody.”

Rapp shot him a look that told him not to bring it up again.

“Unless they have it coming, of course,” Ridley offered.

“Check your BlackBerry. See if Nash sent those photos.”

A couple seconds later Ridley said, “I got them. There’s six.”

“Are they the same six we’ve been looking at?”

“Yeah.”

“Take a good look at the photos.” Rapp glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “The place is going to be crawling. They’re going to be in the middle of noon prayer.”

“Well,” said Ridley lightheartedly, “at least they’ll all be there.”

Two blocks away Rapp laid off the gas. Keeping his eyes on the street he asked. “You ever been here before?”

“Not exactly my part of town. Plus it wouldn’t look too good if the deputy director of the National Clandestine Service got picked up hanging around a D.C. mosque. Which reminds me… why are we doing this?”

“We’re not going to bug the place, we’re just going to walk around and take a tour.”

“Two guys from the CIA?” Ridley said, thinking of the article that had appeared in the Post. “This isn’t going to look good.”

“Relax… this isn’t the first time I’ve been here.”

“What?” Ridley asked, shocked.

“I’ve been down here a couple times.”

At first Ridley thought he was kidding, and then realized he wasn’t. “You’re serious?”

“Hell yeah. I came down on a Friday about six months ago. Couldn’t believe the sermon the imam delivered. You would have thought you were in Mecca listening to one of those crazy Wahhabis.”

Rapp slowed way down as they reached the front of the mosque. He turned the corner and pulled over, stopping the car directly in front of a fire hydrant. Rapp popped the trunk and got out. Ridley met him around back, where Rapp popped open a hard case. Inside, resting in foam cutouts, were an M-4 rifle, two extra pistols, and a half dozen spare magazines.

“You carrying your Sig?” Rapp asked.

“Yep.”

“How many extra mags?”

“Two.”

“Good.” Rapp already had a 9mm Glock 19 in a paddle holster on his left hip with two spare seventeen-round magazines. He grabbed the silencer for the 9mm, threw it in his right front pocket, and then grabbed the.45-caliber Glock 21, in case he needed a little more punch.

“Jesus Christ, Mitch. I thought we were just going to take a look around.”

Rapp grabbed a right-draw paddle holster out of his shooting bag for the.45. An extra thirteen-round magazine was already in the holster. “Chris Johnson was no pussy.” He pulled back the slide on the.45 a half inch to make sure a round was in the chamber, then slid the paddle between his shirt and dress pants. “I’m not going to end up in a trunk, burnt to a crisp.” Rapp opened another case and grabbed two radios and a couple of wireless earbuds. He handed one set to Ridley and said, “I go in, you stay outside and keep an eye on things.”

“Well… I’ll be damned,” Ridley said in near shock.

Rapp followed Ridley’s gaze down the street and saw four men moving from the side door of the mosque to a waiting sedan. The first man had to be six foot five and the last man had to be almost a foot shorter. The trunk of the car was open.

“Let’s go.” Rapp gently shut the trunk of his car and started walking with Ridley.

“What’s the name of the short guy Johnson was worried about?” Ridley asked.

“Aabad bin Baaz.”

“That’s right. I think that’s him… the last guy.”

“I think you’re right.”

“And one of them was tall,” Ridley said. “I think that’s him… the first guy.”

“Yeah,” Rapp said, “I wonder why they’re not inside praying like everyone else?”

Rapp got out a half a step ahead of Ridley. His eyes were moving efficiently from one man to the next, assessing their potential threat. Two of them were wearing sport coats with an open collar and dress pants. The other two were wearing dress slacks and dress shirts. From what he could tell, none of them seemed to be armed. The big guy was the first to notice them. He’d already reached the car and had placed a bag in the trunk. He made eye contact with Rapp, and then, without a word, he moved to intercept them.

Rapp did not like what he saw in the guy’s eyes. He was no stranger to violence. With the hopes that he could distract the big guy, he glanced over at the last of the four and said, “Aabad, how have you been?” His casual tone caused the big guy to hesitate for a half step. They were now only thirty feet away. “I need to talk to you.” Rapp knew he was entering that gray area where a gun would be all but useless unless it was drawn. The big guy moved to put himself between Rapp and Aabad, so Rapp stopped and put out his hand to keep Ridley back as well.

Aabad looked at the big man and said, “I do not know them.”

“Get in the car,” the large man ordered, and then started walking toward Rapp.

His left hand came up and was waving them away like a couple unwelcome dogs. Suddenly, the guy had a small wooden truncheon in his right hand.

“Easy there, big guy, “Rapp said.

“You must leave,” he ordered. “You do not belong here.”

“Is that right?” Rapp said in an easy voice. “You ever heard of a public sidewalk?”

“This is the property of the mosque.” He pointed at the three-story brick building. “You must leave.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You must leave now!” the man yelled. He took another step closer and brought the club up, brandishing it in an attempt to scare Rapp and Ridley.

It occurred to Rapp that the big goon had probably used the same club on Johnson. Rapp glared at the man and said, “Get that thing out of my face, or I’ll shove it up your ass and turn you into a popsicle.”

The guy kept coming. The club was now raised above his head.

Without turning, Rapp said to Ridley, “If you have to shoot him, don’t kill him.” He rocked back on his heels like he might move away, knowing it would cause the man to continue rushing carelessly forward with all of his vulnerable areas exposed. Suddenly, like a pole-vaulter’s, all of Rapp’s energy came forward and he charged. His gamble paid off. The big man was used to people backing down. The sight of someone charging him caused him to freeze for a second, and that was all Rapp needed. He made a head fake to the right and then charged straight in. His left hand shot up to grab the wrist with the club while his right hand went for the big guy’s throat. Rapp kept all of his weight moving forward. He clamped his right hand under the big guy’s chin and drove it up, accelerating through the target. The goon toppled straight back. On his way down he managed to grab ahold of Rapp’s right shoulder but it wasn’t enough to break his fall. Rapp didn’t resist. He went down with the man, driving his head into the concrete sidewalk.

Rapp came to a stop with his right knee in the guy’s stomach. He watched as the guy’s eyes fluttered and then rolled back into his head. After that, he went completely limp. The wooden truncheon fell from his hand and rolled across the sidewalk. Rapp’s eyes were drawn to the underside of the man’s wrists, where he saw three distinct scratch marks. There were more marks on the guy’s neck. Rapp was suddenly aware of a familiar smell. He lowered himself down and took a whiff of the man’s shirt. It smelled like a fire. Like burnt food.

“Mitch,” Ridley called out, just as the car started. “What do you want me to do?”

Rapp stood. His right hand grabbed his silencer while his left hand drew his 9mm Glock. He watched as the car backed up to get out of the space. Rapp spun the silencer onto the end and leveled the gun just as the car was beginning to pull away. Two rounds spat from the end of the silencer and both passenger side tires went flat. Rapp walked between two parked cars out into the street, leveled his gun, and shot out the driver’s-side tires. The car limped along for another twenty feet, the engine straining to transfer its power into any real momentum. Rapp shot the driver’s-side mirror clean off the car. The engine roared louder. He took careful aim at the driver’s window and sent a round through the forward-most portion, instantly shattering the safety glass into thousands of pieces.

“Put your hands where I can see them,” he yelled, “or I’ll blow your fucking brains out!” He approached the car from the oblique, saying, “You two in the backseat, get out this side, hands in the air. Let’s go!” he yelled. “Right now!”

The two men spilled out of the car and dove to the pavement. Rapp moved to his left so he had a clear view of Aabad, who was behind the wheel. “Aabad, get out of that car right now.”

The door opened slowly and Aabad got out with his hands up in the air. Rapp waved his gun toward the back of the car. “Hands on the trunk! Let’s go!” Rapp followed him and kicked his feet apart, and then shoved his gun into the back of his neck. While he searched his pockets with his free hand he asked, “Where in the hell you going in such a rush, Aabad?”

“Nowhere,” Aabad answered nervously.

“Why aren’t you inside, praying?”

“I…”

“That’s right, you don’t have a fucking answer, do you?” Rapp smelled Aabad’s suit coat and discovered the same burnt smell he’d gotten from the big guy’s shirt. Rapp practically stuck the silencer through Aabad’s skull. “You been barbecuing lately?”

“What?” Aabad asked, his voice cracking.

“Barbecue! Cooking pork on a grill!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Rapp grabbed the man’s right wrist and wrenched it up behind his back. Aabad howled in pain. Rapp moved his face within inches and spat, “I know what you’ve been up to, you crazy motherfucker. You tortured my guy last night, didn’t you? You cut off three of his toes, stuffed him in a trunk, and burned him.” Rapp saw the recognition in Aabad’s eyes – the shock that he had been discovered. He twisted the arm further.

“I want to talk to my lawyer!” Aabad screamed. He now had tears in his eyes and was grimacing from the pain.

Rapp laughed, “That ain’t gonna happen. You know why? Because I’m not a cop.” He stuck his gun into Aabad’s face. “You know many cops who carry silencers, you idiot? I’m going to give you two choices, Aabad.” Rapp wrenched the arm a little further and over Aabad’s howls, he said, “You either talk to me, or I cut your toes off, just like you did to my guy. Except I doubt you’ll make it to three. In fact, I bet you start blabbering before I make the first slice.”

“I want my lawyer!” he cried.

Rapp turned to Ridley and was about to tell him to get the car, when the sounds of the city were dwarfed by a booming clap and then a rumble that carried over their heads and rolled toward Maryland. To the uninitiated, it could have been confused with thunder, but not to Rapp and Ridley. They both knew exactly what it was, and before they could verbalize it, two more explosions ripped through the air.