Enemy of the State

by Vince Flynn

  Strife and chaos always traveled hand in hand with opportunity, though. It was just a question of whether one was strong and clever enough to take advantage.

  Faisal began to shuffle forward and Nassar followed at a respectful distance. The pallbearers stopped and allowed the king to run a hand over the flag. His face was uncharacteristically hard to read. Was he feeling grief for a self-indulgent boy who had betrayed him? Anger at the fact that the royalty, and not just its subjects, were now at risk? Or was this just a reminder of the mortality that he felt more keenly with every passing day?

  Faisal finally stepped back, allowing the men to continue to the hearse as he returned to his limousine.

  “Who were these murderers?” the king said as Nassar slid in next to him.

  “Former Iraqi soldiers who joined ISIS.”

  “I want them destroyed. I want ISIS destroyed. No more middle ground. No more cowering behind the Americans. I want their heads and the heads of anyone who has even hinted at supporting them.”

  “Your Majesty—”

  “What, Aali? Are you going to say that this is a delicate matter? That we have to proceed with caution? That I have to hide behind the walls of my palace while these cowards plot how to put a knife in my back?”

  “It’s not just a delicate matter, Highness. It’s a complicated one.”

  “Complicated how?”

  “We now have sharpened video composites from MI6 and, based on them, we’re reasonably certain that Mitch Rapp was the man who carried bin Musaid out of the nightclub.”

  “Mitch Rapp?” the king said, twisting toward him. “How certain?”

  “Seventy-five percent.”

  Faisal faced forward again and nodded knowingly. “I wonder, Aali. You seem to have a personal animosity for Mr. Rapp that I don’t share. He risked his life to save my kingdom from a nuclear holocaust. Without him, I doubt we would have a country to discuss.”

  The implication was clear—that Nassar had provided no service in his lifetime that could rival those of this vile American. The king was dazzled by the man, rapt with tales of his exploits and seduced by the illusion of being under his protection. It would be a difficult task to break the old fool of his obsession with Rapp, but not an impossible one.

  “Your Highness, I think you have to consider the fact that Rapp’s appearance in that nightclub just as it was attacked is coincidental to the point of absurdity.”

  “Perhaps the CIA became aware of the threat and he was there to thwart it. I’ve watched the video, too, Aali. And it’s quite apparent that his primary objective was to save the prince.”

  The monarch’s tone was defensive enough that Nassar had to suppress a smile. The man was aware that his argument was ludicrous. He just needed to be forced to admit it.

  “Our analysts do not believe this to be the case, Highness. First, as we both know, Mr. Rapp has left the employ of the CIA, and as far as we can tell has cut off all contact with his former colleagues. Second, we know that he suspected the prince of financing terrorists. The idea that a man like Rapp would try to protect the prince stretches credibility to the breaking point.”

  “And what else do your clever analysts say?” Faisal asked coldly.

  “We think it’s feasible—perhaps even likely—that Rapp was behind this attack.”

  The king let out a laugh strangled by his deteriorating lungs. “That’s insane, Aali. It’s everything he’s fought against his entire life.”

  “True, but consider the following, Your Highness. We know that as a young man he was violently opposed to the pact our governments made to bury the evidence of Saudi involvement in 9/11. And, at a minimum, he would have seen Prince bin Musaid’s activities as a betrayal of that pact. More likely, he would have seen it as an indication of a larger conspiracy.”

  “Your point, Aali?”

  “Why would Mitch Rapp, one of the most powerful and effective cogs in the American intelligence machine, suddenly quit? We suspect that it’s because he wanted to investigate bin Musaid’s actions further and was blocked by the president, who would be concerned by the potential fallout from such an investigation.”

  “I’m not convinced, Aali.”

  “Then let me provide you with additional evidence.”

  He retrieved a tablet from his briefcase and Faisal looked down at the photo on it with red-rimmed eyes. “Ahmed.”

  “Yes, sir. Details of Assistant Ambassador el-Hashem’s murder are now coming in from French authorities. As you can see, he was tied to a chair, tortured, and then shot in the head with a single nine-millimeter bullet.” Nassar swiped to the next photo. “And this, though unrecognizable because of the blood and damage, is Mahja Zaman, a businessman I believe you’re acquainted with.”

  Faisal looked up at him. “One of your closest friends. Isn’t that true, Aali?”

  “Yes, Highness. We’ve known each other since we were children.”

  “What happened?”

  “Precisely the same thing. He was bound, tortured, and killed with a bullet to the head.”

  “And you suspect Mitch Rapp.”

  “This goes far beyond simple suspicion, Your Highness. El-­Hashem’s guard barely escaped with his life, and his description of the man who attacked the ambassador matches Rapp. Further, a man leaving Zaman’s hotel room was confronted by two security guards. He subdued them both in a matter of seconds. They, as well as a French couple who actually spoke with the man, describe someone very similar in appearance to Rapp.”

  “But why Zaman and el-Hashem? Do we have any reason to believe that they were involved in aiding ISIS?”

  “No, but we’re looking deeper. Be mindful of the fact that they wouldn’t necessarily have to be involved for Rapp to come for them. He’s no longer bound by American laws or CIA regulations. All he would need is some vague suspicion that they had information—even unwittingly—that could help him.”

  Despite the cool interior of the limousine, sweat began to glisten on Faisal’s face. It wasn’t surprising. He had been the driving force behind the deal struck with the Americans after 9/11. And, more important, he was responsible for making sure that the Saudi end of the agreement was honored. At that moment he would be wondering if he might be Rapp’s next target.

  “Your Highness,” Nassar said, softening his tone, “this entire matter is easily resolved. We simply need to speak with the American authorities and request a meeting with Mr. Rapp. If he’s not responsible for any of this, it should be a trivial matter for him to prove it.”

  Faisal didn’t react for a long time, but finally he spoke. “You’re right, Aali. With the evidence we have, it is entirely reasonable that we would want to speak with Mitch. I imagine that Irene Kennedy and the president feel the same. All he has to do is provide evidence of his whereabouts during these attacks. As you say, a simple matter.”

  “Precisely, Highness. And if the Americans are unable to produce Mr. Rapp, I think it’s also reasonable that we solicit their help in finding him. Wouldn’t you agree? I’m sure they’re as anxious to clear this up as we are.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Juba

  South Sudan

  TURN left up here,” Rapp said, glancing at the GPS on the dashboard.

  His Glock was resting in his lap, but so far there was no sign of the rebels that Black had warned them about.

  “There is no left turn. Just a bunch of stalls,” Claudia said, weaving through the pedestrians clogging the dirt street.

  Instead of going directly to the abandoned safari hotel his people had retreated to, they were taking a circuitous route to a building behind Black’s repurposed church. The fact that the instructions he’d provided didn’t match the GPS map wasn’t all that surprising—Google’s cartographers had good reason to avoid Juba. It did, however, add to the suspicion lodged in the back of Rapp’s mind.
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  Could Black be leading him into a trap? Was it possible that Nassar had somehow managed to locate the young sniper and make him an offer he couldn’t refuse? Or, even more likely, had Black initiated contact with the authorities himself? He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was sure as hell sharp enough to know that Rapp’s scalp was about to become a very hot commodity on the world market.

  “Mitch? What do you want me to do?”

  They could just find their own path, but that had its own risks. Rapp’s knowledge of the town was limited and its layout was constantly evolving. Impromptu markets sprang up and disappeared, buildings collapsed and were replaced with temporary structures. Roads were rerouted and commandeered. He assumed that the Agency had updated maps, but he didn’t have access to them anymore.

  “Just take the next left you come to.”

  He checked again for signal on his cell and again got nothing.

  “Do you think Kent’s betrayed us?”

  “Maybe, but I’m betting against it. It’s possible that he could get lucky and take out Donatella, but Grisha? More likely it’s just Africa.”

  “Likely, but not certain,” she said, looking a bit worried.

  “This job just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it? I—”

  “I know. You warned me.”

  She swung the car onto a narrow path between buildings and the GPS recalibrated. They were back on the right track.

  After about a hundred yards a man ran out of a doorway to their right and jogged toward the car. The white face was immediately recognizable, and Rapp tightened his grip on his Glock as Kent Black yanked open the back door.

  “Where have you two been?” he said, ducking inside. “I was sweating my ass off out there.”

  “Your directions took a little artistic license,” Claudia said.

  “You can’t find shit in this town from one day to another. Just keep going. Next right. There’s an old gate. We’ll be going through it and parking on the other side.”

  The barrier opened as they approached, and Rapp spotted Grisha Azarov behind. By the time they’d parked, the Russian had the gate locked down again.

  “We’ve got a decent view of the church from the top floor,” Black said, getting out and leading them into a building that looked to be on the verge of buckling. Many of the walls had crumbled and about half of the third floor was now lying on the second. Despite that, a number of people had taken up residence—mostly families, some cooking over fires, others trying to stay out of the sun, but all paying a lot of attention to the four white people in their midst.

  “What’s the story with the people living here?” Rapp asked, slowing to let Azarov pass. He still didn’t like having the man behind him.

  “They’ve got no love for Abdo, if that’s what you mean,” Black said. “He’s the reason most of them are homeless. And we’re paying them ten times more to keep quiet than that scumbag would ever pay them to talk. We’re good.”

  They came out on the top floor and found Donatella standing in the shade on the north end.

  “Mitch!” she said, throwing her arms around him. “I was starting to worry.”

  Claudia’s expression hardened. She was wearing dusty cargo shorts and a sweat-soaked T-shirt, while Donatella looked like she’d just come from the queen’s garden party.

  “Show me the church,” Rapp said, leaving the two women to stare at each other.

  Black led, dropping to his stomach a few yards from the edge of the floor and slithering toward a missing section of wall. There was a pair of Zeiss binoculars hanging on a column, and Rapp used them to scan the area around their former headquarters.

  Abdo’s men weren’t wearing their customary dirty fatigues, having changed into civilian clothes. Still, they stood out. While everyone else in town seemed to have something to do or somewhere to go, they were just standing around, scanning the passing faces.

  “How many in total?” Rapp said.

  “We’ve made five. Three on the ground and two in buildings east and west. Probably at least one inside, but there’s no way to know. Twelve-hour shifts, ending around midnight and noon. I told you, Mitch. You shouldn’t have killed NaNomi. These guys don’t mess around, and they know how to hold a grudge.”

  “Is there anything inside the building I need to worry about?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean did you leave anything in there about us?”

  “Nothing about you. Just my whole life. That’s all.”

  They slid back to where the others were waiting.

  “It looks like we’re going to have to leave this horrible place,” Don­atella observed. “May I suggest Sardinia? Easy to get lost in, good food, and the weather’s lovely this time of the year.”

  “We’re staying here,” Rapp responded.

  “But, Mitch, we—”

  “Those security videos from Monaco are making their rounds to the world’s intelligence agencies, and I’m guessing I’ve already been IDed,” he said, cutting her off. Once she got to complaining, it was almost impossible to get her to stop. “Claudia and Kent aren’t on them, so they’re probably okay. Grisha, are you confident you talked your way out of this?”

  “For now,” the Russian responded. “But as a consulting company executive, it would be better if I’m not filmed in a similar performance anytime soon.”

  Rapp nodded. “That leaves you, Donatella.”

  “Me?”

  “You think the Mossad isn’t going to recognize you?”

  “Of course they will. I’ve hardly aged a day. But the people I worked for are dead or retired. There would be no profit in moving against me.”

  “And if the video goes public?”

  “Then some people from my past will know I’m alive. Not ideal, but manageable with your help.”

  Rapp turned to Claudia. “We’ll stay at the safari hotel and see how much shit hits the fan over the next few days. But I need you to work out an alternate location for us.”

  “I’ll have it taken care of by tomorrow night.”

  Rapp folded his arms across his chest and scanned the faces staring back at him. Claudia was right. He was moving into uncharted territory with a group of misfits whose motivations were all over the place. It was a problem that needed to be acknowledged before they continued.

  “This job was about getting Talal bin Musaid and transporting him to a location where I could question him. We’ve now moved well outside of those operational parameters. It appears that the Saudi intelligence chief, Aali Nassar, is the one calling the shots. Now he’s killing the people close to him and doing a pretty good job of framing me for it. I don’t have to tell you that politicians don’t like these kinds of scenarios. The amount of money, influence, and potential embarrassment we’re talking about is going to make them scramble for cover.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?” Black said.

  Donatella answered. “It means that all of the people who used to be Mitch’s friends are now his enemies. We’re about to have the CIA, the U.S. military, MI6, Saudi intelligence, and the Mossad come down on us like a ton of bricks.”

  “That’s pretty accurate,” Rapp said. “At the scale we’re talking about now, I become expendable.”

  “And if you’re expendable,” Donatella continued, “then we’re just bugs to be stepped on without second thought.”

  Rapp nodded. “Look, it wasn’t my intention to sign you on for anything like this, and if you want to walk away, I’ll understand. You’ll be paid whatever we agreed on and I’ll never give up your names.”

  “When you say ‘walk away,’ ” Azarov said, “walk away from what? What do you plan to do?”

  “Deal with Nassar. He’s been busy cleaning up after himself, but now he’s going to turn his attention to me.”

  “So you wa
nt to kill him,” Azarov said.

  “I definitely want to kill him. But it’s going to be complicated.”

  “Complicated how?” Black said. “Why don’t I just fly to Saudi Arabia and put a bullet in him from half a mile away?”

  “I don’t think he’s going to make it that easy,” Rapp said.

  “And it would blow back against Mitch,” Claudia added. “So far, he actually is innocent. Executing the Saudi intelligence chief would very much alter the chessboard.”

  “Then what?” Azarov said.

  “I’m still working on that.”

  “How confidence inspiring,” Donatella said.

  The Russian disagreed. “I’ve been involved in a number of these kinds of operations, and acting rashly is a recipe for disaster. Mitch is right to consider every possibility before making a move. Aali Nassar isn’t a Taliban enforcer or suicide bomber. He’s a brilliant man with virtually unlimited resources.”

  “So who’s in and who’s out?” Rapp said.

  Donatella was the first to speak. “After everything we’ve been through, I’d never abandon you.”

  The implication was clear—that he’d abandoned her. And maybe it was true. But that was a reflection for another time.

  “Hell, I live for this shit,” Black said with his customary bravado. “I’m in for whatever you figure out.”

  Azarov remained silent for a few seconds before speaking. “I like to finish what I start. And, frankly, I’m not sure that Nassar won’t have more questions for me about what happened in Monaco. I’d prefer to see him neutralized.”

  Rapp looked over at Claudia.

  “You know my answer.”

  CHAPTER 39

  The White House

  Washington, D.C.

  U.S.A.

  I WANT to be perfectly clear, Irene. You believe that was Mitch in the Monaco video.”

  President Joshua Alexander gazed at her over the Resolute Desk. His expression was serious, perhaps even grave, but something in it hinted at fear. As it should.

  Irene Kennedy had always liked and respected the man. He was pragmatic, understood the threats facing the country, and listened to advice. When necessary, he was also willing to look the other way. That said, it was her experience that people could change very quickly when their backs were against the wall. It was a transformation that tended to occur even faster in politicians.