Protect And Defend

49

Congressional oversight was a nuisance Rapp had been working feverishly to circumvent for the majority of his career. In theory it was fine; Congress doled out the money, and someone had to keep an eye on how it was spent. When it came to national security, though, things got a little more complicated. The number of elected officials who were willing to put the good of the country ahead of their own ego, and the success of their political party, was minuscule. Given the chance, they would tout freedom of speech, a person’s right to privacy, and any other platitude they could come up with, rather than shut their mouths and grapple with the hard fact that they were fighting an enemy who didn’t play by the rules. Invariably, only a small handful had the dignity to resist the call of the camera and personal fame. The politicians, for the most part, were lawyers; men and women who’d been trained to argue both sides of an issue with equal passion and vigor.

Rapp knew Ridley was right on this front. Washington was run by people like the attorney general, who had little if any practical experience with the war on terror. People who, if in Kennedy’s perilous position, would be praying frantically that someone like Rapp would be there to do absolutely everything it took to make sure they were rescued. These were the same men and women who would eventually sit him down in a committee room and dissect every move he’d made to save his boss and protect America’s most important secrets.

Rapp had no doubt they would be revolted by what he was about to do, but he didn’t give a shit. When the time came, he would go to them, raise his right hand, swear to tell the truth, and for perhaps the first time in his entire career, he would do exactly that. And then he would ask them what they would want Rapp to do if they were ever taken hostage. Would they want the State Department to begin negotiations for an exchange that might take years, while they were tortured and tormented? While their teeth fell out and they lost a third of their weight? Is that what they would want or would they want someone like Rapp to throw away the rule book, climb down in the gutter, and begin bashing heads?

Kennedy was too important to him personally, and too important to the country, for him to get squeamish. The three men in the holding cells were not merely suspected terrorists who’d been turned in by their neighbors and snatched out of bed in the middle of the night. These three had been caught in the thick of it, and that made what Rapp had to do significantly easier.

The door to the first cell on the left was wide open. Inside, the floor was covered with naked hairy men, piled one on top of the other. Blood was everywhere; smeared across fleshy, pale skin and pooling on the uneven, dented floor. Most of the bodies had bullet wounds to the head or chest. A few had wounds beneath the waist as well. Rapp figured he’d killed a good number of them. He surveyed the scene with a flicker of reservation. He told himself that the task before him was necessary to convince the prisoners that his threat was real. Three tugs and three quick slices, and he was done.

Rapp left the cell, wiped the blood from the blade on the thigh of his coveralls and put the knife away. He walked all the way to the end of the hall and stood in front of the last cell on the left. Rapp slid back the metal cover on the peephole and looked at the youngest of the three prisoners. He was sitting in a galvanized metal chair, his ankles handcuffed to the legs of the chair and his hands cuffed behind his back. Rapp stepped to the side of the door, undid the lock, and then swung it open just enough to toss one of the severed appendages into the cell.

Rapp closed and locked the door and then moved back to the peephole. The prisoner looked at the hunk of flesh at his feet. A look of confusion quickly melted away as he realized what he was looking at. The young man shut his eyes and began shaking his head vigorously. Rapp closed the peephole and moved to the next cell. He undid the door, entered the cell and stood over the man he thought was the commander of the group. The man was still strapped to a stretcher.

Rapp held the severed organ in front of the man’s face. He casually bent over, dropped it onto the man’s chest, and said, “I found out this guy was lying to me.”

Without saying another word, Rapp left and went to the last cell, where he did the exact same thing. He then found Stilwell and told him he wanted only audio recordings of the interrogations. Rapp checked the time and then continued back to the first cell. He grabbed an extra chair and brought it in with him. He positioned the chair four feet from the prisoner and sat. On the floor almost exactly between them was the severed penis. Rapp didn’t speak at first. He looked at the severed organ, up at the man across from him, and then back.

The prisoner was sweating. His knees were beginning to tremble, and his eyes were darting all around the small cell. He took in everything except the hunk of flesh at his feet. Rapp studied him. He tried to lock eyes, but the prisoner wouldn’t commit. The speed he had been given would only heighten his anxiety.

“I’m a soldier,” the prisoner blurted out in a panicked voice. “I shouldn’t be treated like this.”

Rapp smiled. “A soldier. That’s interesting. Most of the soldiers I know wear uniforms.”

The man closed his mouth tightly and shut his eyes.

“That body part there,” Rapp pointed to the organ on the floor, “belongs to one of your comrades. I told him not to lie to me. I told him I had plenty of ways to verify what he was saying. He thought he was smarter than me. Do you think you’re smarter than me?”

“No.”

“Good…then this should go much smoother. Let’s start with your name, and look me in the eye when you answer.” Rapp cocked his head slightly to the left and studied the man’s face.

“Corporal Nouri Tahmineh.”

“Where were you born?”

The man hesitated.

“This is the speed round, buddy. Rapid-fire. You don’t have to think about these. Just answer. I got five guys in another room that can hack into any computer system in the world. I’ve got another room full of people back in Washington working the phones. We’ve got spies in every frickin’ government in the region. Right now they’re calling around about you and if what you say is true, and you’re a soldier, we’ll find your military records. If the photo doesn’t match the name, or we can’t find you, I’m going to cut off your left nut just like I told you I would. Your friend there,” Rapp pointed to the object on the floor. “He gave me the wrong name, the wrong town, and a bullshit date of birth. He made it real easy for me. I just cut everything off in one fell swoop. You probably heard him screaming like the peckerless little pussy that he now is.”

Rapp pulled out his knife and extended the blade. “Here’s how dumb the guy is. After all that…he’s in so much goddamn pain he ends up telling me his name anyway. The point is, you’re going to end up telling me everything, so you might as well hold on to your manhood.” Rapp pointed the tip of the knife at the man’s crotch. “Now, are you ready for the speed round?”

The prisoner nodded quickly.

“Name?” Rapp fired the question like a drill sergeant.

“Corporal Nouri Tahmineh.”

“Place of birth?”

“Qom.”

The only city Rapp knew of by that name was approximately 100 miles southwest of Tehran. “Date of birth?”

“Fourteenth of January, nineteen-eighty-two.”

“You said you’re a soldier. What unit?”

“Twenty-Third Special Forces Division. Jerusalem Force.”

Rapp kept his emotions in check. The man sitting before him was not some insurgent volunteer. He was an Iranian soldier. A member of their elite Quds Force or, as some of the more anti-Semitic men referred to it, Jerusalem Force. His involvement in the kidnapping of Kennedy caused Rapp to see things in an entirely different light.

“How long have you been in Iraq?” Rapp asked while he tried to think of the implications of direct Iranian involvement.

“Almost two months.”

“All of it in Mosul?”

“Mostly…and the surrounding area.”

Rapp wondered if Minister Ashani had ordered this. Up until now, he had thought the man very reasonable. Now he wondered if the sincerity he had shown Kennedy was all an act. “You married?”

The man looked away nervously and hesitated.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Engaged.”

Good leverage, Rapp thought to himself. He unzipped the thigh pocket on his coveralls, and pulled out the stack of Polaroids. He flipped through until he found the one he was looking for. He held the stack in front of Tahmineh’s face and said, “Careful on this one. Name and rank, just like it says in the Geneva Convention. Which also says you’re supposed to be in uniform, but we’ll talk about that later.”

The young Iranian looked at the photo and hesitated.

“Your fiancée,” Rapp started, “will never marry you if the goods are damaged.” Rapp could tell the speed had taken full effect. Tahmineh’s knees were shaking and his eyes were darting around the room. “Look at me!” Rapp screamed. “Is she pretty?”

“Who?” the man asked genuinely confused.

“Your fiancée.”

“Yes.”

Rapp stuck the tip of the knife up against the man’s crotch. “Then you’re screwed. No way in hell a good-looking Persian woman is going to marry a guy without a dick. Now quit fucking around, and tell me who this is and remember I might already know his name. This could be a test and if you fail, off comes the first nut.”

“Captain Rashid Dadarshi…my commanding officer.”

Captain was the equivalent of a captain in the U.S. Army. “When were you told who you would be kidnapping?”

Tahmineh looked nervous. “I was never told.”

“Never?” Rapp said forcefully.

“Never. We were only told it was an American, and that we were not to harm her.”

Rapp looked at him skeptically even though he had a suspicion the man was telling the truth.

“We were only told yesterday of the plan.”

“Who told you?”

“Captain Dadarshi, of course.”

“No one else?”

Tahmineh shook his head.

“Then who the hell is this?” Rapp shuffled through the photos and held up the one of the man who had been dressed as a police officer.

Tahmineh took one look at the photo and his face twisted into a disgusted scowl. “That is a Palestinian dog. He is not part of my unit.”

“Name?” Rapp barked.

“Ali Abbas,” the man offered willingly.

“If he isn’t Quds Force, then who is he with?”

“Hezbollah.”

“Hezbollah,” Rapp repeated as he stood. “What the fuck is Hezbollah doing in Mosul?”

“I do not know. I am only a corporal.”

Rapp had a good sense that the man was telling him the truth, but he needed to keep him on the edge for a bit longer. He stuck his knife under the Iranian’s chin and lifted it until he was looking straight into his eyes. “I’m going to go check your story, and if I find out you lied to me about a single thing, I’ll be back for your nuts.”