“Pilot?”
“Yeah—I’ve got to track down Ruyintan and those missiles.”
“Why?”
“He’s headed for Abbottabad.”
After a moment of silence, Irene said, “I assume Ruyintan’s choice of destination is not a coincidence?”
“Correct,” Rapp said. “Ashani said Ruyintan is taking them to bin Laden’s compound.”
“Why?”
“Because of me.”
What had been a slight drizzle was now becoming a respectable downpour. Rain bounced off the tarmac in fat drops. The airfield’s rotating white beacon sliced through growing fog, but Rapp knew they needed to get this show on the road or risk being grounded by the weather.
“What does that mean?” Irene said.
“No idea. That’s one of the many questions I plan on asking Ruyintan face-to-face.”
“Well then how does he know we’re coming for CRANKSHAFT?”
“How did Ashani even know CRANKSHAFT was in Abbottabad?” Rapp said.
Rapp made eye contact with Derek and made a circle in the air with his index finger. The former Army aviator nodded and started flipping switches.
God bless helicopter pilots.
“I might be able to answer that one,” Irene said. “CRANKSHAFT’s wives must be in the compound. We know they took refuge in Iran with his children shortly after 9/11. It didn’t work out. The Iranians expelled them in 2010, and the family fell off our radar soon after. I assume the MOIS did a better job of keeping track of where the wives and children landed than we did.”
A pair of headlights burned through the darkness, tracking toward the flight school from the service road to Rapp’s right. In theory, that road was open to the general public so that members of the flying club could gain access to the facility, but Rapp didn’t imagine that anyone was planning on grabbing some stick time in the middle of the night. Maybe Derek had triggered an alarm on the JetRanger or perhaps the airfield security officer, Bilal, had suddenly sprung a conscience.
The end result was the same—he and Derek were in trouble.
“I don’t know how Ruyintan put the pieces together,” Rapp said, “but Ashani was in bad shape. I think Ruyintan broke him and learned that Ashani intended to trade us information on CRANKSHAFT’s whereabouts for his family’s safety. Maybe Ruyintan figures we’re coming for CRANKSHAFT tonight, or maybe he just wants to arrange a final fuck you before he ducks out of country. Hell, it could be that Ruyintan only intends to warn CRANKSHAFT that we’re onto him. At this point, the why doesn’t really matter. Bottom line—Ruyintan can’t be allowed to get to Abbottabad, and I’m the only one who can stop him.”
Rapp slid the phone between his cheek and shoulder so that he could use both hands to eject the pistol’s magazine and verify the remaining rounds.
Eight.
David had once gone into battle against a giant with just five smooth stones and a sling. Then again, Israel’s future king been the recipient of divine intervention. Rapp didn’t make a practice of asking the Almighty for help, but he wouldn’t turn down an extra magazine or two right about now.
The headlights slid right as the vehicle turned from the perimeter road to the gravel driveway leading to the flight school.
Go time.
“Fifty-nine minutes, Mitch. Men will be fast-roping onto that compound in fifty-nine minutes.”
“If you tell the president about the missiles, his advisors will pressure him to abort,” Rapp said as he slid into the copilot’s seat. “We’ll lose CRANKSHAFT. Maybe forever. I’ve got this, boss. Keep those helicopters on course.”
Rapp plugged his right ear with his finger and squeezed the phone against his left, trying to hear Irene over the engine noise.
Headlights played across the JetRanger as the vehicle accelerated.
“I thought you might say that,” Irene said, “so I sent you some help.”
“What kind of help?”
“You should see a vehicle coming toward you. I think you’ll like what’s inside. Godspeed, Mitch.”
Irene disconnected.
Rapp stared at the approaching headlights with equal parts irritation and curiosity. Was he bothered that Irene had inserted herself into his operational planning? A little. Rapp didn’t appreciate back seat drivers whether the person offering suggestions was his longtime boss or the president of the United States.
And yet.
And yet he needed to find, fix, and finish an Iranian intelligence officer in the company of an unknown number of underlings and two shoulder-fired missiles. Missiles that had been modified specifically to acquire and destroy aerial targets at night.
Maybe he could use a bit of help.
“Hang tight,” Rapp said as he unbuckled his seat belt.
“Where you going?” Derek said.
“To see what’s in the car. I’m leaving the cockpit door open. If I start shooting, hover over and get me.”
“No problem,” Derek said, “but if you’ve gotta kill someone, do it quick. We’re burning gas.”
