Order to Kill

CHAPTER 32

LOCATION UNKNOWN

RAPP regained consciousness in frustrating fits and starts. Sound came first-the mechanical growl of distant vehicles, wind whistling through cracks in walls. Muffled voices. Then came the pain. Oddly, the worst of it emanated from the part of his back that had been burned by the road. His head was a close second. Dull instead of sharp, but pounding with impressive intensity.

He let his eyelids rise slightly, adjusting to the glare before fully opening them. The woman hovering over him was in her early thirties, with hair covered by a scarf and a pretty face marred by a prominent black eye. She was dabbing at his forehead with something but scurried off when she saw that he was awake.

Rapp was lying on a bed wearing nothing but Eric Jesem’s shit-stained boxers. The wounds he’d suffered all appeared to have been cleaned, stitched, and bandaged. His nose was of little use but he could taste rubbing alcohol in the air.

The room was small, consisting of nothing more than four concrete walls that had seen better days. Not a cell, though. While there were no windows, there was a threshold with a missing door leading to an outer room. He could hear men speaking Arabic, but their voices were too quiet to make out much more than a few individual words.

A moment later, a young man entered and stood over him, gazing down at his damaged face. When he spoke, he used mangled English.

“Eric. Friend. You awake. You can move?”

Rapp nodded and pushed himself into a sitting position on the bed. Best to keep his social interactions minimal. Irene had managed to provide him with some background on Jesem, but that was after a lot of hard blows to the head and he didn’t remember a lot of it. Even if he did, he would still have no idea who the asshole standing over him was or what his relationship with Jesem had been. He did remember, though, that the Coloradan wasn’t an Arabic speaker.

“The general asks for you. Eric, you come? You are strong?”

Rapp gave another silent nod and the man helped him to his feet. They walked into the outer room, where the woman who had been helping him was cowering in a corner. He didn’t acknowledge her as he passed, following the man down a set of stairs and out into the sunlight.

They walked up a dirt street that was virtually abandoned. From what he could see, the area had once been a commercial center, with shops and stalls that were now burned or gutted by bombs. Rapp glanced at what was left of a few signs, making sure not to give away that he was reading. They contained only enough information for him to determine that he was somewhere in Iraq and not Syria. Good for him because of his more extensive history operating in this theater.

Since the man with him was clearly ISIS and walking around with impunity, it was fairly certain that they were in an area controlled by the terrorist group. At this point, that narrowed it down to north-central Iraq.

He continued his subtle search but could find nothing that contained a city name and he couldn’t risk asking. While it was possible that Jesem had never been there, it was also possible that they’d just left his apartment. Rapp would have to keep his questions limited to things that the American terrorist definitely wouldn’t know.

“How long was I unconscious?”

“Four days, brother.”

Too damn long. The stolen fissile material could have been transported almost anywhere by now.

“How did I get here?”

“We fought the men taking you to the Americans. You do not remember?”

“No.”

“You hurt your head. We thought you die. But Allah is not taking you. He wants you to stay. To fight.”

They turned onto a wider avenue and a pickup full of young armed men passed them, whooping and calling out as they did. Rapp ignored them, focusing instead on the building they were approaching. It had a governmental look to it but the sign had been ripped off and dumped facedown in a pile of refuse. So, still no city name.

The interior showed a significant amount of damage from small arms fire but the stairs to the basement were in good shape. After being led past a few wary guards, Rapp found himself standing in front of a man wearing the uniform of one of Saddam Hussein’s generals.

“I was told what the Americans did to you, Eric, but now that I see it, I’m shocked,” the general said in respectable English. Rapp couldn’t put a name to him, but there was something familiar about his face. Had it been on one of the playing cards they’d handed out to U.S. troops? Had they met when the Agency was trying to get its arms around the tangled web of religious, political, and tribal alliances that plagued Iraq? Back when the politicians in Washington still thought there was some hope of sorting the good from the bad?

“My sources say you faced the CIA’s Mitch Rapp.”

Rapp nodded. “Sources” almost certainly meant that piece of shit Umar Shirani. Fortunately, the man was as predictable as he was corrupt.

“I’m also told that you said nothing. I’m impressed. Rapp has broken great men. Devout men.”

Rapp nodded a silent acknowledgment of the compliment.

“What can you tell me, Eric? What do the Americans know? What do they suspect?”

Now the truly dangerous game started. How much to say? He needed to draw the man into conversation, but it would only take one slip to guarantee a summary beheading.

“They said that we’ve taken fissile material from Pakistan’s missiles.”

“How many?”

“They believe six.”

“So they know of all of them,” the general muttered. “Do they know anything of our plan?”

“They believe that we’re building nuclear weapons and that we’re going to smuggle them into the United States.”

“Fools. How I would love to see the look on the American president’s face when he learns the truth.”

What truth?

“Yes, sir.”

“The nurse who examined you said that none of your injuries are life threatening. You will recover. But, I’m afraid, not quickly enough to play a role in our operation. I’m sorry.”

The expression of deep disappointment that settled on Rapp’s swollen face wasn’t entirely manufactured. It was unlikely that anyone knew where he was or even if he was still alive. With no way to communicate with the outside world, he had no choice but to handle this himself. And that wasn’t something that was going to happen from the bleachers.

“Please, General. I’m already healing. Test me. I can still carry out my part.”

“I admire your devotion, Eric. And you’re right. You will heal and play an important role in spreading God’s law across the world. But not over the course of the next three days.”

So now Rapp had a time frame, but no plan. And still no way to tell anyone even if he did.

“Sir, I beg you-”

“No,” the soldier said, displaying a hint of anger at having his orders questioned.

There was nothing Rapp could do but bow his head submissively.

“I’m truly sorry we can’t use you in this, Eric. But there are more ways than one to reward your courage and devotion.”