Rapp didn’t mind.
He had a unique vantage point into Kennedy’s mind. Her silence did not equate to doubt. In fact, the opposite was true. Irene was probably framing the argument she intended to make to President Alexander on Rapp’s behalf. Like a lawyer deposing a witness, she was identifying vulnerabilities in Rapp’s testimony and considering ways to shore them up.
“Your gut won’t be enough,” Irene said finally. “Not this time.”
“Politics?”
“Partly, but more than that. You know what it will mean if it turns out that one of our allies was harboring the world’s most wanted man. This has implications beyond just the presidency. If Alexander approves the operation and things go wrong, the fallout could undo our progress in Afghanistan.”
Rapp thought about his rather unfruitful meeting with the National Guard brigade commander. If that was progress, he’d hate to see the alternative.
“We need honest-to-God proof,” Irene continued. “The kind the president can slap down on the table in front of the American people.”
Rapp sighed.
“Have preparations for this thing started?” Rapp said.
“Yes.”
“Are the shooters in position?”
“Not yet,” Irene said. “They’re in-country, but still at Bagram.”
“Because the president’s waiting for his proof?”
“Yes.”
Irene didn’t elaborate.
She didn’t have to.
Rapp understood the significance. When fifty of the most highly trained men on the planet showed up at a small outpost like Fenty in Jalalabad, people noticed. Countless foreign nationals worked on each FOB and even if the arrival of the strike package went unnoticed, the men’s presence wouldn’t be. The longer the assaulters sat waiting for strike authorization, the greater the likelihood they would be noticed. If the president forward-deployed the Tier 1 operators, he needed to use them.
Quickly.
“Tell your boss to send the welcoming committee,” Rapp said. “I will identify our mystery guest in time for them to launch. He has my word.”
Another stretch of silence.
This time Rapp thought the quiet was for him. Irene never second-guessed him, but she did occasionally give Rapp room to reexamine his assessments. Rapp had a deserved reputation for being headstrong, but he also possessed the rare quality of knowing his blind spot. Dr. Lewis, the only Agency shrink completely read into Rapp’s operational portfolio, termed the attribute emotional intelligence.
Rapp liked to think of it as common sense.
“Tell him, Irene.”
“Would you like to share with me how you intend to get that proof?”
“I don’t know yet, but as soon as I get off the phone with you, I’ll get on the horn with Coleman and tell him to get his ass here. Between his team and our assets in-country, I will come up with something. Tell the president to send them, Irene. My gut says that they need to go tonight or we risk losing CRANKSHAFT.”
This time, the silence stretched even longer.
“I thought you might say something like that,” Irene finally said, “and I’ve got one more avenue to pursue.”
“What?”
“Ashani.”
“What the hell has he got to do with this?”
“I just received a message from him,” Irene said. “He called one of the encrypted digital dead-drop voicemails he’s been using to pass me back-channel information.”
“I know he’s probably pissed that I blew off my meeting with him, but the missing Ranger was more important. By now Coleman should have interdicted the Iranian convoy from Pakistan. With any luck he’s got a prisoner or two we can interrogate to understand whatever in the hell the Quds Force was planning to do with those missiles. Ashani’s important, but he doesn’t trump CRANKSHAFT.”
“Agreed. Which is why I thought you’d be interested to hear that he’s offering intelligence on CRANKSHAFT.”
Rapp frowned as he replayed Irene’s words, trying to understand if he’d somehow misunderstood. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Ashani is currently in Islamabad, and he claims to know CRANKSHAFT’s whereabouts. He’s willing to trade this information for his family. His wife and daughters are playing tourist in Paris, and he wants my assurance that we will exfil them to America. If I agree, he will relay what he knows to Nash.”
Rapp surveyed the scrum of Agency workers spread out across the living room. His first thought was that their operational security had been breached and the CRANKSHAFT mission was now penetrated. How else could Ashani know exactly what they were seeking?
But that wasn’t the only explanation.
Rapp could feel the compound’s presence as he was caught in the structure’s gravitational pull. Sometimes operations came together through a confluence of seemingly unrelated events. A series of random-appearing happenings that rippled through time and space after originating from a single inflection point.
“Mitch?”
“I’m thinking.”
