“Did Moradi say what Ruyintan had been planning?”
Irene brushed an errant strand of hair from her eyes before replying. “Ruyintan’s primary objective was to shoot down at least one plane carrying diplomatic attendees from the regional security conference as they departed Islamabad International Airport. Preferably our diplomatic attendees.”
“Why?”
“To drive a wedge between America and Pakistan. The missiles the Iranians were helping the jihadis smuggle into Afghanistan were meant to target our helicopters, but that wasn’t their only purpose. Ruyintan wanted us to establish a linkage between the HIG fighters in Afghanistan and the shootdown in Pakistan.”
“HIG fighters that the ISI had a history of funding,” Rapp said. “It would look like their attack dogs went rogue.”
“Or that members of the ISI had sanctioned the Islamabad operation,” Irene said. “Either way, our relationship with Pakistan would have been strained to the breaking point.”
“Why didn’t Ruyintan go through with it?”
“Disrupting the bin Laden operation was an even bigger opportunity. If you hadn’t stopped him, Ruyintan would have destroyed two Black Hawks loaded with Navy SEALs, saved the world’s most wanted terrorist from capture or death, and cast blame on the Pakistanis in the process.”
“How did he know we were coming for bin Laden?” Rapp said.
Irene shrugged. “I’m not sure he did, at least not with one hundred percent certainty. After he learned Ashani was offering us bin Laden, maybe he put a call in to an asset in Abbottabad and realized we were manipulating the grid or that our safehouse was jamming the electronic spectrum near the compound. Or maybe someone breached operational security during the lead-up to the raid. Perhaps Ruyintan just took a gamble. He’d been in this business a long time. Long enough to know when to put all his chips on the table.”
Rapp nodded. “Either way, Ashani saved us. Did you take care of his family?”
“Ashani’s wife and daughters have been relocated to California. Moradi assures me that the regime has no further interest in them.”
Rapp nodded again but didn’t speak. For a time, Irene was content to sit in silence. Only when a buzzer signaled the end of the match did she turn back to Rapp. “You missed Noreen’s ceremony.”
“I know. If there was any way I could’ve made it back in time I would have.”
Irene had lost officers under her command before, and it never got any easier. Watching the master stonemason chisel Noreen’s star into the Memorial Wall’s white Alabama marble had been gut-wrenching, but Irene had also felt a strange sense of dissonance. As all of America celebrated the successful bin Laden operation, a select few citizens were grieving the passing of a CIA officer. Noreen Ahmed had worked under non-official cover status so her contributions to the raid would probably never be made public.
That was the life of a clandestine operative.
A life Noreen had willingly chosen.
But Irene still felt the weight of the new star gracing the lobby of the CIA’s Original Headquarters Building. Noreen would probably not be the last officer to die during Irene’s tenure, but Irene was determined to ensure those deaths were not needless or in vain.
This was difficult to do when one of her officers decided to go off the reservation.
“Would you like to tell me what you’ve been up to?” Irene said.
Irene was a bit irritated that she had to be so direct. When it came to operational matters, there were no secrets between them. She’d covered for his unexplained absence with the president and run interference for the corpses piling up all over the Islamic Crescent. She’d expected Mitch to return the favor with candor rather than obfuscations.
“I know about the panic attacks,” Rapp said.
On the other side of the field, Tommy was engaging in a bit of adolescent jubilation with his friends. Between the rancorous recap of each boy’s role in the win and the obligatory postgame speech by the coach, Irene figured she had about ten minutes alone with Rapp.
That would not be long enough.
“What do you mean?” Irene said.
“I had them too. After Anna died.” Rapp paused as he ran his hand over his freshly shaved jaw. “I failed her, Irene. Anna and our unborn daughter were murdered because I didn’t protect them. After my family was killed, I started wondering who I would fail next. The racing heart, chest tightness, debilitating anxiety, and sleepless nights weren’t far behind.”
The part of Irene that regarded Rapp as a younger brother wanted to hug him. The part that was his boss was furious that she hadn’t noticed the changes in her top counterterrorism operative. She placed a hand on his arm and felt his muscles tense. “Mitch, I—”
“I’m okay now, Irene. I really am. You will be too. I noticed, but no one else has. Talk to Dr. Lewis—he can help.”
Irene never imagined she’d be on the receiving end of mental health advice from Mitch Rapp. At her insistence, Rapp had spent a good deal of time in Lewis’s office, not because she’d thought he had a problem, but because she hadn’t wanted him to develop one. Rapp hated the sessions and wouldn’t speak of them unless pressed. Lewis was only slightly more enthusiastic about the forced talks. Even though he’d served as the CIA’s therapist for countless clandestine operatives, when it came to tough patients, Lewis claimed that Rapp was in a league all his own.
Perhaps the doctor had accomplished more than he knew.
“Thank you, Mitch. Really.”
Rapp nodded. “I can’t help you process what you’re feeling, Irene. That’s just not my gift. But I can help in a different way.”
Irene stared at Rapp, wondering if she really knew him at all.
But she did.
A little too well.
“The string of assassinations,” Irene said, trying to keep the emotion from her voice. “You did that for me.”
“Not just you,” Rapp said. “The world needs to know that kidnapping and torturing the director of the Central Intelligence Agency is not conducive to a long or full life. But off the record, yeah. Anyone who planned, aided, abetted, or even looked the other way while it happened has paid for their sins. Talk to Lewis, take up yoga, try meditation, whatever. Do what you need to do to get over this, but know this: I will never fail you like I failed them, Irene. Never.”
Irene swallowed, trying to get past the lump in her throat. Rapp squeezed her shoulder and walked away. As she watched his broad back disappear into the milling crowd, the knot of tension in her chest began to loosen.
“Mom—are you okay?”
Irene turned to see Tommy in front of her. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around her son and he hugged her back.
