Extreme Measures

CHAPTER 70

RAPP saw them when he was halfway down the spiral staircase. They were hard to miss. There must have been fifteen of them, at least half of whom were carrying briefcases. They looked like a team of litigators who’d been sent over from a rival law firm for an afternoon of depositions. Rapp saw Art Harris talking to the two men at the front of the pack. It appeared, by the way he was pointing and gesturing, that he was trying to buy Rapp some time.

Rapp let loose a heavy sigh and rolled his sleeves up one more turn. He didn’t have much of a strategy, but one thing was for sure: if these guys wanted to, they had every right to simply push him out of the way and walk out the door with his four prisoners. He had only a couple of cards to play, and neither was likely to intimidate these stone-faced bastards. His only real hope was that these guys would be every bit as pissed-off as he was that three bombs had just gone off in downtown Washington, D.C., killing and injuring hundreds.

Harris turned as Rapp came walking up, and said, “Speak of the devil. Here he is.” Harris gestured to the two men at the head of the group. “Mitch, this is Abe Ciresi, Deputy AG, National Security Division, and Malcolm Smith, Deputy Assistant AG, Criminal Division.”

Rapp stuck out his hand. Ciresi was a little shorter than Rapp and had light red hair. He looked as though he’d probably played football as a kid. Smith was Rapp’s height and whip-thin. Rapp figured him to be one of those guys who got up and ran five miles every morning at 5:00 a.m. “Sorry we’re not meeting under better circumstances.”

Ciresi agreed with the sentiment, but Smith had only one thing on his mind. Looking over Rapp’s shoulder, he asked, “Where are the prisoners?”

Rapp ignored him and returned the slight by looking over Smith’s shoulder. “Boy, you sure did bring a lot of people. I would have thought you guys would be out trying to catch your own bad guys.”

Harris let loose an uncomfortable laugh and took a step back.

Smith, with a troubled frown on his face, looked Rapp over from head to toe and then said, “Let’s step over here, where we can talk in private.”

Ciresi followed and the three of them moved about twenty feet away. Smith unbuttoned his suit coat and set down his briefcase. “I was warned about you, Rapp.”

“Really… by who?” Rapp couldn’t have cared less, but he figured the longer he could keep this guy talking the more time he would give Nash with Aabad.

“Let’s just say that in certain circles your reputation is well known. I don’t want this to escalate into some big pissing match between the DOJ and the CIA.”

“We know you’ve done all the heavy lifting,” Ciresi quickly added, “and we’re not here to steal any of the credit for breaking this thing.”

“Although, you might want us to, before this is all said and done,” Smith added.

“And why would I want you to do that?” Rapp asked.

“For the life of me,” Smith said as he shook his head and looked around the room, “I’m still trying to figure out what a couple of spooks from Langley were doing poking around a mosque right about the time these bombs started going off.”

“I…”

“No…” Smith said, cutting him off, “I don’t want to hear it. I want you and Ridley to get your stories straight before you talk to any of us.”

“I know Rob,” Ciresi offered. “He’s a good man.”

Rapp was starting to get the idea that maybe these weren’t pricks after all.

“So our problem,” Smith continued, “is that we have a body in the morgue. It appears that the guys you picked up had something to do with that.”

“Yeah… one of them has already admitted to the whole thing.”

“Without being Mirandized?” Ciresi asked.

“Of course not,” Rapp said. “I don’t Mirandize people.”

“And that’s why we’re here,” Smith said. “I think a lot of people in this town are going to jump to the conclusion that the guy in the morgue was working for you. I seem to remember something in the paper about this the other day.”

Rapp played dumb and offered, “Maybe he was working for Mossad. Maybe one of my contacts over there called me and asked me to check in on him.”

Ciresi nodded. “I like the way you think.”

“You see,” Smith said, “we’re not here to bust your balls or take away your thunder. But we have a problem. At least two of the guys you have are American citizens, and while I personally couldn’t give a shit if you dangled them off the roof by their ankles and threatened to drop them on their heads, as an officer of the court I cannot condone such behavior.”

“If we were to witness such behavior,” Ciresi added, “we would be duty-bound to report it.”

Rapp was liking these guys more and more. “So how would you guys like to proceed?”

“Where are you in your interview phase?”

“One of them is starting to talk. It took a little prodding.”

Both men shook their heads, and Smith said, “Too much information, Mr. Rapp.”

“I could use a little more time with him. To make sure he isn’t lying to me.”

“Which one is it?” Ciresi asked.

“Aabad bin Baaz.”

“He has dual citizenship.” Ciresi frowned

“How much more time?” Smith asked.

“An hour would be nice.”

The two men shot each other an uncomfortable look. Smith said, “We can’t give you an hour.”

Rapp was about to find out how much time they would give him when one of the female analysts in the bullpen let loose a scream. A rumble of shock spread across the big gymnasium-sized space, and analysts began to stand and point at the big screen. Rapp looked up at the big board but couldn’t figure out what was going on. All he saw were the three TV feeds and casualty tally.

He raced over to the Operations Officer’s perch and said, “Dave, what the hell just happened?”

Paulson was feverishly working one of his keyboards. The big screen went from four separate shots to one complete picture. As Paulson reached for his mouse, he said to Rapp, “I think we just had a latent explosion.”

“Which location?”

“The Monocle. Hold on a second, I’m rewinding it.”

The cloud of dust on the big screen began to retreat as if a giant vacuum cleaner was sucking it out of the air, except when the tape was rewound far enough, there was a blue sedan at the epicenter. The tape now began to play forward in super-slow motion, frame by painful frame.

Rapp looked at all the emergency workers in the immediate vicinity of the explosion. There were dozens, plus he knew the original bombs had used ball bearings to increase kill ratio. Any civilian within a half mile stood the risk of getting hit. The ones that were lined up at the barricades would drop like Confederate soldiers making the final charge at Gettysburg. Rapp could taste the bile in his throat. He’d seen the same thing done in Beirut, Tel Aviv, Baghdad, and Kandahar. Of all the tricks of the terrorist trade, he considered this to be lowest. To set up a bomb designed to intentionally target those who rush to the aid of others showed just how little these people cared for innocent life.

“What just happened?” Smith asked.

With barely contained rage, Rapp said, “Another bomb just went off.”

“Where?”

Rapp told them and then put his hand on Paulson’s shoulder and said, “Pull everybody out at the other two scenes, ASAP! Get on the horn and alert all levels, and get the bomb units in there to make sure these areas are cleared! That was supposed to have been taken care of right away.” Rapp stared up at the chaos on the big board. They had practiced all this before. He had warned the people at Homeland that the terrorists would try something like this.

“There might be more?” Smith asked.

“We don’t know. That’s the problem.” Almost as an afterthought, Rapp looked up toward the conference room and said, “But I think I know where I could find out.”

Smith and Ciresi looked at each other and came to an agreement without exchanging words.

Ciresi looked at his watch and said, “We should go downstairs and get a cup of coffee,” Ciresi said.

“Good idea.” Smith handed Rapp his business card and said, “My mobile number is on there. Traffic is really bad out there. When the prisoners arrive, please give me a call.”

Rapp nodded slowly and then said, “Will do.”