Separation of Power

by Vince Flynn

  Embarrassed that his personal life had interfered with his professional life, Rapp was determined to put an end to this line. of discussion and get down to business. "I don't want to talk about Anna."

  "Well, I would like to know-" Rapp cut her off. "I said I'm not going to talk about it, Irene. I made some bad decisions. It's over. Let's move on."

  Rapp's words gave Kennedy great concern. "When you say it's over, you don't mean it's over between you and Anna?"

  "That's exactly what I mean."

  Rapp replied with an intensity that told Kennedy it would be unwise to probe further. It was clear that more had happened in Milan than she knew. Kennedy decided that if Rapp wouldn't call Rielly, she would. With Ben Freidman in his current state of mind she didn't think it was wise to simply let Anna roam about Italy. She would make arrangements to bring Anna home and then she would talk to her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY.

  The Pentagon, Friday morning

  General Flood's office was located in the E Ring of the Pentagon on the second floor. He'd arrived at work well before sunup. He didn't usually come in so early, but the Iraqi problem was weighing heavily on his mind. The President had made it very clear that he wanted to keep a tight lid on the recent developments with Iraq. If Saddam got even the slightest whiff that they were on to him the nukes would be moved, and their chances of ever finding them would vanish. This presented one hell of a problem for General Flood and his people. How do you prepare to wage war without telling your own people? In this regard Saddam had done the U. S. military a great service. He had provided them with the best peacetime live-fire training ground the U. S. had ever seen.

  Since the end of the Gulf War the U. S. military's Southern Command had kept a very active presence in the region. Most notably they enforced the northern and southern "no fly zones." On a lesser note, the army and Marine Corps regularly conducted exercises in the deserts of Kuwait and Saudi Arabia.

  On the clandestine front, the air force and navy conducted almost nonstop photographic and electronic aerial surveillance of Saddam's kingdom. In addition to the military intelligence that was gathered, the National Security Agency and the National Reconnaissance Office probed deep into the heart of Iraq with their billion-dollar satellites orbiting the earth. The Middle Eastern dictatorship had become enemy number one of the U. S. " and with such distinction came great attention.

  Back on the ground a full time contingent of Delta Force commandos and Green Berets had been added to the region. They trained regularly with the Special Air Service, Britain 's elite commando unit. The American and British commando units had made a habit of ignoring the Iraqi border and running operations that penetrated hundreds of miles into the Iraqi desert. They did not seek out Iraqi troops, but they had been known to engage them from time to time and the battles were very lopsided.

  It was all part of a coordinated strategy, to keep the U. S. troops sharp and the enemy wary. The men manning the Iraqi air defenses were loath to turn on their targeting radar for fear that a patrolling U. S. fighter might slam a missile down their throats. The unlucky Iraqis charged with operating in the deserts of southern Iraq and the mountains of northern Iraq had heard one too many stories about their comrades going out on patrol and never returning. The few survivors who did make it back told stories of being ambushed in the middle of the night by men they never saw or heard. Morale in the Iraqi military wasn't good. But for General Flood it was the opposite. His men were well trained, well equipped and ready to go. The Iraqi theater was one massive ongoing drill. The wealth of information that was collected was constantly fed to air force, navy, Marine Corps and army experts who continually updated their target assessments. The result was that an effective and concise battle plan was never more than twelve hours away.

  In essence. Flood did not need to let a half million American troops in on the secret. All he needed to do was tell the Joint Chiefs that the President wanted options. That Saddam had once again pissed off President Hayes. None of this was unusual. Since the Gulf War a single year hadn't passed without some type of military action being leveled against Baghdad 's Bad Man. Flood could tell the Southern Command that he wanted them to put together a comprehensive bombing plan, and he would have a preliminary report on his desk within the hour. The whole force would be ready to strike in a day or less. General Flood wielded a mighty stick.

  It was no small comfort to him that his front line troops were ready to commence such a large operation on such short notice. It gave him the peace of mind to tackle a far more complicated problem, the problem of trying to steal three nuclear weapons out from under Saddam's nose.

  His intercom buzzed and one of his four administrative assistants announced that his visitors had arrived. Flood said to show them in. He stood and as he buttoned his green jacket, he looked down at the shelf of brightly colored ribbons on his barrel chest. He remembered in detail how each one had been obtained. Many of them were B.S. Given to him for things that he thought had little to do with soldiering, but there were a few that he was very proud of.

  A strange thought occurred to the general. How many ribbons and medals would Mitch Rapp have been awarded if he'd been in the army instead of the CIA? Flood had seen some great soldiers in action over the years, and there was no doubt in his mind that Mitch Rapp was one of them. Maybe the best. Flood desperately wanted to believe in Rapp's abilities. He'd told no one of his dreams lately, but they horrified the old soldier. He had been visited in his sleep by the specter of nuclear battle. On a nightly basis he found himself looking out over a charred battlefield. The golden soft sand of the desert was burnt and black. The bodies of his soldiers were strewn about, thousands of them, charred from the heat wave of a nuclear detonation.

  General Flood had never met Saddam face-to-face. He'd never even talked to the man, but he'd studied him and felt he knew him well. Or at least he knew his type. The pages of history books were sprinkled with megalomaniacs just like him. It seemed that every century could count a half dozen as their own.

  Flood was willing to risk his entire career to make sure Saddam never got the chance to use those weapons. This would be the biggest gamble he'd ever taken. Sending a dozen Delta Force commandos into the heart of Baghdad, during the middle of an air strike, to steal three nuclear warheads was pushing the odds a bit. If the mission failed the critics would stone him from the bleachers and then they would go after the President. At a bare minimum he wanted Rapp leading the way. The man with the Midas touch. He had a way of succeeding where others failed.

  Irene Kennedy entered the room first. Her small stature was perfect for her profession. She was not the first person noticed in a crowd. Mitch Rapp, on the other hand, was a different matter. In his black leather jacket and two-day-old beard, he stood out like a sore thumb. Fortunately, General Flood's staff practiced discretion with his visitors, especially when they arrived before 7:00 a. m. and were in the company of the director designate of the CIA.

  Flood met them midway across his large office. "Good morning, Irene."

  "Good morning, General."

  Flood reached out for Rapp's hand. "Thanks for coming in to see me, Mitch."

  "Not a problem, sir." Rapp liked Flood, so he lied. There were other things that he would rather be attending to, but he would hear the man out.

  "Please, sit." Flood motioned to an arrangement of two couches and several chairs on his right. There was a small table in the middle. On top was a basket of muffins, a coffee pot, sugar and cream and several cups, as well as side plates. "I figured you'd be hungry, Mitch. Help yourself to whatever you want." Flood leaned forward and poured a cup of coffee. "Irene?"

  "Please." Kennedy took the cup, but passed on the muffins. "Thank you."

  Rapp poured himself a cup and took a muffin. "Irene tells me you have a little bit of a problem."

  "I'd say so. How many times have you been in Baghdad?"

  "Before the war I spent a lot of time there, but since the war I've only b
een back three times."

  The general looked at Kennedy. "How much does he know?" "Unfortunately, I didn't have time to brief him. We had some other things that we needed to discuss."

  Flood didn't bother to ask what, but he was a little surprised that they could have something else cooking that would take priority over his current problem. "Mitch, you're about to become part of a very select group. The Joint Chiefs don't even know what I'm about to tell you. The President has asked us to keep an extremely tight lid on this."

  "Understood."

  "A week ago one of our allies came to us with some pretty damning intelligence that Saddam is about to go operative with three nuclear weapons." Flood stopped so Rapp would have a chance to absorb the seriousness of the problem. To his surprise Rapp smiled.

  "I knew it." "Knew what?" asked Flood. "Don't tell me you already knew."

  "No. I just knew sooner or later it would come to this. That's why I disagreed when we stopped back in 1991. We should have gone all the way to Baghdad and ousted the nut bag."

  "You don't need to tell me. I was over there with my Rangers preparing a nighttime assault on several bridges when the truce was announced. We could have been in Baghdad in two days, but the man who previously occupied this office, in his infinite wisdom, convinced President Bush to stop. Thanks to him I am now confronted with a much bigger problem than the invasion and occupation of Kuwait."

  "How much time do we have?" asked Rapp.

  Flood looked to Kennedy. She turned to Rapp and said, "This information was provided by the Israelis. We have a little more than a week to take the bombs out, or they will do it themselves."

  In light of his recent trip to Italy, Israel was not at the top of his favorite country list. Rapp was tempted to say, let them, but kept his mouth shut. When he and Kennedy were alone he would probe deeper in regard to the veracity of the intelligence provided by Israel. "I assume we know where the bombs are?"

  "Yes." Flood got up and went over to his desk. He came back with a file containing aerial photographs of the target. "We don't have anybody on the inside, but we've been told they are located here." Flood pointed to a building circled in red. "That's the Al Hussein Hospital."

  Kennedy added, "About a year ago they built a hardened bunker under the hospital."

  Rapp looked up. "Saddam figured we'd never find it, and if we did, we wouldn't have the balls to bomb it."

  "Exactly," Kennedy answered.

  "Do you know where the hospital is?" Flood asked.

  "Yeah." Rapp threw the photos on the table. "I've been in the area before." Not one to beat around the bush, Rapp added, "So, where do I fit in?"

  Flood sat back down and let out a sigh. "We've already put a plan in front of the President to take out the bunker with some new bombs that are designed to penetrate command and control structures." Rapp didn't like the idea of dropping a bunch of bombs on a hospital. He liked the people of Iraq. They were caught between an inhumane dictator and a superpower that was hell-bent on destroying them. "What are the odds for success?"

  "Good. My fly-boys tell me they can virtually guarantee the destruction of the facility."

  "Then why am I here?" Rapp knew at least part of the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Flood. He'd done this type of stuff before. Sneak into a country, sit on a rooftop and paint the target with a laser designator. The fly-boys weren't quite as good as they liked to advertise. When they really needed to hit something, they usually put someone on the ground first.

  "Several reasons, actually. First of all, your old friend Colonel Gray asked for you. Apparently he thinks you're pretty good at your job." Flood grinned. "And as soon as the President heard your name mentioned, he insisted that you be involved."

  "In what capacity?"

  "Bombing the target has some drawbacks."

  "Like killing a bunch of innocent civilians?"

  "Mitch, we didn't put those nukes under that hospital."

  "I know we didn't. I'm just pointing out the shitty reality of the situation."

  "As always I appreciate your frankness, and I agree with you. So do a lot of others, and that's one of the reasons we're working on a second plan"

  Rapp raised an eyebrow. "And would that involve Colonel Gray?"

  "Yes, it would. The colonel has come up with a bold but ingenious plan." Flood went on to explain the use of the white cars to ferry the Delta team into Baghdad under the cover and mass confusion of an all out aerial bombardment. He also told Rapp that the President hoped one of the bombs could be brought back as proof that Saddam was working on acquiring the ultimate weapon of mass destruction. Flood ended by saying, "This plan is quite a bit riskier than simply bombing the facility, but it offers two distinct advantages."

  "We don't have to kill a bunch of innocent noncombatants."

  "Exactly, and we also make sure that the bombs are taken out. We could bomb the facility and still never really know if all three weapons were in the structure at the time." Rapp leaned back, thinking about the plan, trying to calculate the odds of success, the areas where it was weak. There was no doubt that Colonel Gray had come up with one hell of a plan. After a lengthy period of silence, Rapp looked at Kennedy and said, "So, one more time, where do I come in?"

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

  Milan, Friday evening

  She'd returned to the hotel after midnight, relieved to find that Mitch and the bitch from hell were gone. Rielly was in no mood for confrontation. The feeling of relief was short lived, however. It lasted as long as it took to take one lap through the suite. Mitch's bag was gone, and there was no note. No letter saying he was sorry. No letter saying he blew it and that he loved her dearly, that he would do whatever it took to make it up to her.

  Rielly had collapsed on the bed in a huff of tears. She couldn't understand what had happened. How two people with so much attraction and genuine love for each other could part so quickly. The tears turned to anger, as she placed all the blame squarely on Rapp's shoulders. She did blame herself for one thing, however. Allowing herself to fall in love with a man who would just walk out on her was the dumbest thing she'd ever done.

  Rielly was well aware of the fact that she'd told him to get out of her life, but if he truly loved her, he would have ignored her request and proved his love. He hadn't, though. He'd left with the little Italian slut, and he hadn't even bothered to leave a note. A simple sorry would have gone a long way.

  When Rielly awoke the next morning she was still in her clothes from the night before. A hangover gnawed at her, the result of the three vodka tonics and the three glasses of wine she'd downed at a bar after she'd stormed out of the hotel. Her eyes were puffy from all the crying and in general she felt like shit, both emotionally and physically. Before entering the shower the thought occurred to her to go home, to just pack up and get the hell out of Italy.

  By the time she got out of the shower she was resolved to stay. She would not simply run home. None of this was her fault. She had six days of vacation left and she was going to enjoy it. Rielly dressed with a determination to make the best of the trip. To enjoy her day in Milan and then head south for warmer weather and a few days in the sun.

  The day had turned out to be a real roller coaster of emotions. There were tears and determination, longing and anger, second-guessing and righteous indignation. Anna Rielly was, in short, miserable. She'd explored the Duomo, the magnificent cathedral of Milan that had taken over 400 years to complete. The awe-inspiring beauty of the church could move even the most emotionally stable person. In Rielly's fragile condition the tears flowed frequently, and she found herself asking God why. Why had he allowed her to fall in love with Mitch Rapp? Of all the men in the world, why him?

  God didn't answer her question. After spending the entire morning at the Duomo she moved on to shopping. That helped for a while, but all too frequently she found herself looking at clothes and wondering if Mitch would like them. All in all the day had proved one thing to her. That she loved Mitch
Rapp more than she had ever realized.

  Her last act of bravado was to go out for dinner. Anna Rielly was nothing if not stubborn, and she'd be damned if she was going to sit in her room and pout. The concierge at the hotel got her a reservation at Leo, a nice restaurant within walking distance of the hotel. The place was known for great fresh fish and an unpretentious atmosphere. Rielly dressed conservatively for the evening. She didn't want to sit in her room and hide, but she had no desire to attract the attention of any male company.

  Upon arriving at the restaurant she was seated at a table for two by the front window. She ordered a glass of foradori Pinot Noir and began perusing the menu. She was there for all of five minutes when a man approached her table. He asked Rielly if he could join her, and she politely declined. For dinner she ordered pen the with prawns and grilled razor riams and a second el ass of wine. It was delicious. Midway through her meal a second man approached her table and sat. He was dressed nicely in a dark suit and tie. He looked to be around fifty. Rielly was immediately irritated, and was about to tell him to get lost when something unusual happened.

  "Good evening, Ms. Rielly. I apologize for intruding like this, but a mutual acquaintance asked me to give you a message."