“You did good, Mike,” Rapp said. “If you hadn’t engineered this distraction, the Iranians would have smuggled Ashani home with us none the wiser. You did good.”
Rapp was not one to hand out empty compliments, but any sense of pride the words engendered vanished as Nash’s gaze settled on Noreen.
“Later,” Rapp said, squeezing Nash’s shoulder. “First, we have to see this thing through. Get back to Bagram and clean up my mess. I’ll sort things here.”
Nash nodded, not because he didn’t trust himself to speak but because he didn’t know what to say. Things were a long way from being sorted. Navy SEALs were about to enter Pakistani airspace for a raid on a compound that might or might not hold bin Laden. An Iranian special operations team and their HIG goons were in the wind with a pair of shoulder-fired missiles.
Things were about as far from sorted as Nash could imagine.
“Ready,” Derek said, returning from the cockpit.
Rapp studied the pilot with an intensity that Nash could feel from across the cabin.
Then Rapp nodded. “Let’s get this done.”
Rapp disappeared down the airstairs with Derek in tow.
Rapp’s exit bothered Nash.
He wanted to believe that his irritation was grounded in his friend’s brusque manner or because Rapp was leaving Nash behind to deal with a plane full of Iranian bodies.
It wasn’t.
Rapp was just being Rapp. When things went sideways, he didn’t wait to be tossed from the frying pan into the fire. He leaped for the flames headfirst.
For the first time, Nash wasn’t leaping with him.
CHAPTER 88
RAPP hunched against the drizzle, trying to protect his phone.
The agency’s S&T folks swore the cell was secure. Rapp had his doubts about that, but he was quite certain that the device was not weatherproof. As his long association with the tech geeks who designed James Bond gear for the clandestine service spooks had proven more than once, never assume a scientist will solve the unstated problem. In this case, he was happy for the semi-secure mode of communication he’d pilfered from Nash’s jet before leaving with Derek, but he couldn’t help but notice the lack of an environmental cover for the phone.
One problem at a time.
“Almost there,” Derek called.
Rapp waved an acknowledgment as he punched numbers into the cell’s dial pad. The former Army aviator either knew how to steal the Bell JetRanger or he didn’t. Rapp was of no help in that regard. Judging by the trouble Derek was having getting past the aircraft’s door lock, Rapp thought they might be in for a rough ride, but that was neither here nor there.
He had bigger fish to fry.
After entering the final digit, Rapp thumbed the send button.
As operations went, this would not go down as his finest. Rapp was standing on the tarmac of the general aviation section of the airfield facing south toward Islamabad International’s two runways. Nash’s jet rolled down the active as Rapp watched, the blue and white paint scheme distinct even against the surrounding darkness. Almost as soon as the American jet was in the air, the charter full of dead Iranians taxied onto the runway behind it. With a shriek of engine noise, the nimble Beechjet screamed down the runway, rotated, and then rocketed into the sky, chasing the C-37’s fading position lights.
“Got it,” Derek whispered as he opened the helicopter’s door. “Let me flip on the battery and check fuel levels.”
Rapp nodded but didn’t reply. His call had gone through and a familiar voice was speaking.
“Hello?”
“Irene, it’s me,” Rapp said. “CRANKSHAFT is in Abbottabad. I have confirmation from Ashani.”
An exhaled breath echoed through the phone. “Thank God. The strike package is sixty minutes from the target. This is cutting it close, even for you.”
Rapp knew Irene intended the comment as a joke.
It wasn’t funny.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Rapp said as Derek slid into the JetRanger’s right seat. “Ashani’s dead. So is STORMRIDER. Ruyintan is missing. We think he has the remaining two missiles.”
Over his two-decade-plus career as a covert operative, Rapp had provided Irene with some pretty damning updates. They hadn’t held a candle to this one.
Ashani.
Noreen.
Ruyintan.
Each name felt like a body blow to his liver.
Huddled against the rain in clothes covered in blood with only his pistol and cell phone, Rapp wasn’t sure things could get much worse.
“Quarter of a tank,” Derek said. “We can get to Abbottabad. Barely. But it’ll be a one-way trip.”
“What was that?” Irene said.
“Nothing. Just an update from my pilot.”
