Order to Kill

CHAPTER 49

NORTHEAST OF RIYADH

SAUDI ARABIA

THE sun was up, but visibility was only about a hundred yards due to the swirling sand. The SUV Rapp was driving had been modified to handle the terrain but was still struggling where the unpaved roadbed had softened or drifted over.

They’d crossed into Saudi Arabia about five hours ago at a checkpoint manned by guards sympathetic to ISIS’s mission. Rapp’s best guess was that they were now somewhere east of Hafar Al-Batin, headed south.

He glanced in the rearview mirror at the four men crammed into the backseat and then at the man next to him-Mihran. Rapp hadn’t caught the names of the others and it was hard to ask because he assumed that Eric Jesem had trained with them at the girls’ school. In fact, he was fairly certain that the one sitting directly behind him had been there the night he’d attacked the facility.

“I’m losing the road,” Rapp said in English.

“Shut up and keep going straight,” Mihran responded. He was staring at the screen of a Toughbook attached to a satellite link.

“It would help if I had a sense of where I’m going,” Rapp probed.

“You’re going south, idiot! Now find the road again and drive on it.”

It was clear that he and Mihran were never going to be friends. The man had been clear from the beginning that he despised Americans-even radicalized ones. And while he spoke English quite well, he seemed embarrassed by the fact. His education at the hands of a “godless British female” had been forced on him by moderate Muslim parents and he was determined to make the world pay.

“The weapons reached al-Hofuf and are in the process of being distributed,” Mihran said, switching to Arabic in an unsuccessful effort to isolate Rapp. “The operation has begun.”

Excited conversation erupted in the backseat but Mihran quickly put a stop to it. “We will continue for another half hour and then hold and wait to see if we’re needed. Pray to Allah that we are not.”

“What’s happening?” Rapp asked, as would be expected.

“Drive the car. Don’t speak again unless I address you directly.”

Rapp nodded submissively. It looked like Irene and her people had guessed right. If he had to put money down, he’d bet that they smuggled the weapons up the Gulf in a dhow. After landing it on an uninhabited beach, they’d transport them by truck to al-Hofuf, which would put them within striking distance of the Saudi’s most productive oil fields.

Rapp glanced over at the computer on Mihran’s lap and saw their position marked in red on an empty section of map. More interesting was a similar dot moving southwest from al-Hofuf. He assumed that it depicted the position of one of the primary teams.

It was something he hadn’t considered and he mentally kicked himself for the lapse. His initial reaction had been to try to convince the Iraqi general to put him on one of the attack teams, but now he realized that would have been a fatal mistake. If Krupin was behind this, he’d keep everyone on a need-to-know basis. No individual team would be aware of the status or destination of the other teams. That kind of secrecy wasn’t possible for the backup, though. They would need a view of the entire game board.

“Go left here,” Mihran said, pointing through the windshield at a barely visible fork in the dirt road. Rapp did as he was told and they soon arrived at a cliff band tall enough that the top disappeared into the dusty air.

“Pull in.”

Rapp gunned the vehicle into a hollowed-out section of rock probably thirty feet deep and the sound of sand blasting the paint off the vehicle’s exterior subsided.

They all piled out, Mihran immediately taking his laptop to the mouth of the shallow cave in order to maintain satellite reception. The others went around to the rear gate to get water. Three grabbed bottles and went for the cliff wall to maximize shelter from the wind. The fourth grabbed the last water jug and put it to his lips, taking a long pull before replacing the cap. Rapp pointed, but the young man just pulled back with a cruel smile.

He was probably no more than eighteen, with a scrawny body and scraggly beard. He’d obviously picked up on Mihran’s dislike for their American comrade and was going to take a run at asserting a little authority of his own.

Rapp pretended to search the back of the vehicle for more water, but was really taking stock of what was there: primarily a zipped bag of weapons and a well-thought-out assortment of replacement engine parts. Food was minimal, suggesting that the operation wasn’t expected to go on for long. Other than that, there was little more than a couple of five-gallon gas cans and some wooden stakes in case they needed to use the winch to pull themselves out of the sand.

The kid behind him took the top off the water container and started drinking again, glugging loudly in an effort to regain his attention. Teenagers. They were the same the world over.

Rapp glanced through the windshield, confirming that he couldn’t be seen by the men who had taken shelter at the back of the cave. Behind him, Mihran was in clear view but completely consumed by his computer screen, waiting for a signal that one of the primary teams was in trouble.

The boy tapped him on the shoulder, holding up the water and making a show of putting the lid back on. In response, Rapp grabbed the handle of a jack and swung it full force into the side of his head. His lifeless body hit the sand with a muffled thud and Rapp stuffed it under the vehicle before picking up the fallen container and draining a third of it.

A quick search of the weapons bag turned up several handguns and a collection of spare magazines. Rapp passed over a Kel-Tec P11 and a Ruger SR9-neither was a weapon he favored, particularly in these conditions. The Sig Sauer P226 he found at the bottom, though, was another matter.

He started around the front of the vehicle and after a few moments spotted the three men huddled at the back of the cave. He would have preferred to get in close, but without a silencer, there was no way to make this stealthy. Mihran would hear it and Rapp wasn’t sure how he’d react. Better to not be too far away.

By the time he’d closed to within fifteen yards, all eyes were on him. Over the endless hours in the car, he’d become reasonably satisfied that Mihran wasn’t armed but had no idea whether these men were. Now he was going to get a chance to find out.

Rapp slid the P226 from his waistband and extended it, watching the men’s reactions carefully. The one on the far left dove to the ground while the one next to him crouched and began sprinting along the back of the cave. The remaining one stood his ground and reached behind him with his right hand. Rapp put him down first, hitting him in the side of the head and sending him toppling backward into the rock face. Next was the running man. His head was hidden by the angle so Rapp went for his lower back, severing his spine and dropping him into the sand. He wasn’t dead, instead screaming in pain while trying to drag himself away, paralyzed below the waist.

The last man was still just lying on the ground, frozen by a combination of terror and confusion. He was staring up with wide eyes and Rapp put a bullet between them before running toward the mouth of the cave.

As he’d expected, Mihran was in a full sprint, angling toward the truck and the weapons it contained. When he saw Rapp on an intercept path, he reversed course, scooping up his laptop and heading out into the desert.

The Arab wasn’t particularly fast and Rapp was content to give chase, closing from behind. When Mihran tried to open the laptop, though, Rapp stopped and lined up the P226’s sights. He squeezed off a round, hitting the man in the ass and sending him rolling down a short slope to his right. The Toughbook flew from his grip and landed a few yards away. Hopefully, it would live up to its branding.

“What are you doing?” he yelled as Rapp approached. “You swore your allegiance to God!”

“Changed my mind,” Rapp said, crouching next to the laptop and opening it. Still running and still logged in.

He stood and walked over to the man, aiming the pistol at his terrified face.

“Stop! What do you want? Information? I can give it to you.”

“Go ahead.”

“If I do, will you let me go?”

“No.”

These ISIS pricks were fundamentally different than the al Qaeda operatives he’d spent much of his life fighting. Beyond having somewhat hazy goals, they lacked a consistent level of personal commitment. They fed off each other, working themselves into a frenzy using the energy of the mob. Cut off from that, many seemed small and weak.

“I want-” he started but then went silent when Rapp slammed a foot into his side.

A number of the man’s ribs collapsed and Rapp just stood there watching him writhe in pain. What he really saw, though, was Laleh. The expression of terror when Mustafa’s man began dragging her out of Jesem’s apartment. And the relief when Rapp leveled his weapon at her.

He was only vaguely aware of the man’s screams and couldn’t be certain when they finally stopped. Eventually, Rapp took a step back, breathing hard and looking down at Mihran’s broken neck, shattered skull, and open eyes caked with sand.

Finally, Rapp returned to the laptop, kneeling next to it and starting the process of linking to the CIA’s mainframe. The security was extensive and the connection was spotty-probably due to dust interfering with the satellite connection. After a solid ten minutes, he managed to initiate a software download and route a call to Kennedy’s office.

“Hello?”

“Jamie!” Rapp shouted. “Can you hear me?”

There was a long delay before she came back on. “Mitch? Is that you?”

“Connect me to Irene.”

“Trans”-she dropped out for a moment-“now.”

Kennedy’s voice came on a moment later. “Mitch! Are you all right? Where are you?”

“Fine. About a hundred miles east of Riyadh.”

“That puts you right in the middle of the Saudi’s main oil-producing region,” she said, though her words were difficult to decipher. “We were right.”

“Yeah. Look, I’m downloading software that will allow Marcus to take control of this computer. At a minimum, it’s tracking one of the teams that ISIS has in Saudi Arabia. I’m guessing it will have the capability of tracking all six once they go active.”

“Marcus is on his way to my office now.”

“What do the Saudis know, Irene?”

“I told them I had a man inside ISIS and that there was a potential nuclear threat, but I didn’t give them any more details than that. Their special operations group is on alert and waiting for a target.”

“Do they have anyone who can get to me?”

No answer.

“Irene!”

“I can do you one better,” she said, coming back on. “I sent Fred Mason to Riyadh in case you needed an extraction. He and his copilot have been sleeping in their helicopter since they got there. Give me your coordinates. The weather looks bad, but I’ll see if I can get him in the air.”