“Thanks, Marcus,” Rapp said. “We’ll handle things from here.”
“Wait,” Marcus said, “I can give you something. I got a hit on the first number you referenced. The metadata is ninety minutes old, but I can interpolate the cell’s direction of travel. The mobile was heading northeast on Highway M-15.”
The most direct route from Islamabad to Abbottabad.
“That helps,” Rapp said. “Anything else?”
“Sorry, no. I hope that’s enough.”
So did Rapp.
CHAPTER 91
“TIME to shit or get off the pot,” Stan said. “How we doing this?”
While Rapp had been on the phone with Marcus, Hurley had been kitting up. The clandestine operative had strapped on a plate carrier and loaded the chest rig with magazines. His HK was resting across his lap with a magazine seated in the well. No doubt he’d also verified the optics and made minute adjustments to his equipment.
Fifty percent of Rapp’s assault team was ready to go.
Now they just needed a target.
Rapp grabbed his own gear as he thought about how to answer.
The countryside below slid by in a blur, and a yellow ribbon of highway stretched out his left window. At this time of the night, the road was mostly empty of vehicular traffic.
Mostly, but not completely.
Headlights cut through the darkness in twos and threes. As with any metropolitan area, a handful of night owls still prowled the streets, but even a handful was too many. Contrary to Stan’s earlier sarcasm, there would be no waving a pistol at the Iranian vehicle and asking them to cooperate. He and Stan had to hit the target hard and fast to make up for their disadvantage in manpower. There would be no quarter offered or accepted, which meant that Rapp had to be right or else innocent Pakistanis would die.
“That’s N-35 at nine o’clock,” Derek said, “and Abbottabad’s at our one. Where’re we going?”
Something about the aviator’s question grabbed Rapp and wouldn’t let go.
Where’re we going?
Then he understood.
Rapp didn’t need to find the Iranians.
Ruyintan would come to him.
Rapp grabbed one of the tactical tablets, activated the mapping feature, and zoomed in on Abbottabad. “We’re headed for a compound in Bilal town. Follow N-35 until you see an intersection with a divided, four-lane road heading east. From that intersection, take up a northeasterly heading for about two and a half klicks. You should see a rectangular farmer’s field orientated from southwest to northeast. The field is about three hundred meters long and fifty wide.”
“I’ve got the intersection,” Derek said, “and I think I’ve got the field as well.”
The Army aviator was flying the helicopter with the transponder off and the position and collision lights blacked out. This low to the ground, running into another aircraft wasn’t really a risk, but Derek had still appropriated one of the sets of Stan’s night-vision goggles.
The pilot’s foresight was now paying dividends.
“If it’s the correct field, you should see the Pakistan Military Academy about five hundred meters to the northwest,” Rapp said.
“Tally field and the academy,” Derek said.
“Great,” Rapp said, scrolling across the map as he thought. “The target compound is about one hundred and fifty meters southwest of the field’s center point. Stay west of the field so we don’t spook the target. There’s a north–south running creek about four hundred meters from the western edge of the field. Don’t proceed east of that creek.”
“Got it,” Derek said as he put the helicopter into a slow turn to the left. “I’m already well into my reserve fuel. We’ve got maybe ten minutes.”
“Lay it on me,” Hurley said.
“Ruyintan’s on the clock too,” Rapp said, fiddling with the tablet. “He’ll take the most direct route to the compound. That means heading northeast on Kakul Road from N-35. He’ll pick up the Bilal Town Road turnoff and follow it south to Nazim Street. From there it’s a straight shot northeast to the compound. Three hundred meters, maybe less.”
“If I was delivering a pizza, those would be great directions,” Hurley said. “But I still don’t see—”
“Ruyintan has two shoulder-fired missiles and at least four or five fighters,” Rapp said. “Odds are they’re in a van or truck. How many vans or trucks do you think we’ll see cruising toward bin Laden’s house this time of the night?”
“At least one,” Derek said. “I’ve got a van driving northeast on Kakul Road. Three o’clock at about eight hundred meters. Is that them?”
CHAPTER 92
SINCE the helicopter was heading south and the potential target northeast, Rapp had the best view of the van.
It wasn’t much of a view.
Unlike Stan and Derek, Rapp wasn’t wearing night-vision goggles. Without optics, he could only see bits and pieces of the vehicle as it passed through the weak light cast by the occasional streetlamp. Brake lights glowed red as the vehicle approached the entrance to the Pakistan Military Academy.
A moment later, the vehicle vanished.
“Come around to the right,” Rapp said. “Nice and slow in case anyone’s watching. I lost the van as it was coming abeam the military academy. Stan—you’ve got the eye.”
