“DIRECTOR Kennedy speaking,” Irene said, clutching the phone to her ear.
“Irene, it’s me.”
Irene grabbed the desk for support as her knees suddenly went wobbly. The voice on the other end of the line did not belong to Rapp.
The caller was Mike Nash.
Maintaining her balance took more effort than Irene cared to admit. After checking over her shoulder to ensure that she was still alone in the little huddle room, Irene sank into a leather chair.
“What’s happening, Mike?” Irene said.
She tried to keep her tone neutral, but it was hard not to let her disappointment seep through. Nash was in Pakistan to keep the Pakistanis occupied while Rapp and the NOC officer did the real work. Though it was perhaps unfair to Mike, Irene couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather hear from less at this moment.
“I need to pass along an operational update,” Nash said.
Irene straightened as the room swam back into focus.
“On CRANKSHAFT?” Irene said.
“In a manner of speaking. Ruyintan just arrested Ashani. He intends to rendition him to Iran.”
“Okay,” Irene said, drawing out the word. “Can you provide specifics?”
“Not really. Moradi was the source. That’s all he knew.”
“How confident are you in Moradi’s reporting?”
“Very,” Nash said. “Rapp was the one asking the questions.”
Kennedy paused to consider the ramifications of that statement.
Was Rapp known for employing extreme measures when interrogating terrorists who might have knowledge of a pending attack against US interests?
Absolutely.
But Moradi wasn’t a run-of-the-mill jihadi. He was an influential cleric and the second-in-command of the MOIS. The KGB was infamous for employing rough-and-tumble “Moscow Rules” tactics during the heyday of Cold War espionage, but this was not that. Assaulting the senior leadership of another intelligence service could be grounds for war.
Except the Iranians had allowed Hezbollah to do just that to her.
Perhaps a little turnabout was fair play.
“What is Mr. Moradi’s current condition?” Kennedy said.
“Other than a small cut above his right eye and a couple of bruises, he’s fine. Physically, anyway.”
An enemy combatant who encountered Rapp and lived to tell about it undoubtedly came away with more than just a few bumps and bruises. As Irene knew firsthand, there was an emotional component to being manhandled. Chances were that Moradi would wake up in a cold sweat more than once with thoughts of Rapp hovering at the edge of his consciousness.
Good.
“Where is Mitch now?” Kennedy said. “And why isn’t he the one on the phone?”
While she didn’t know the answer to her first question, Irene thought she could guess at the second. Rapp wasn’t on the phone because he was in the middle of making things happen. But she wanted to hear this from Nash. He needed to show the strength of character required to inform his boss that her top counterterrorism operative hadn’t made it a priority to personally keep her abreast of what he was doing. Either Nash was going to grow into his new role, or she’d need to find him another.
His response would be a good indicator of which way the wind was blowing.
“Our surveillance team confirmed that the Iranian delegation left their embassy minutes ago,” Nash said. “Based on Moradi’s information, we believe they’re en route to Islamabad International Airport with Ashani. Mitch is putting together a plan to interdict Ashani before Ruyintan renditions him from Pakistan. I’m currently idling on the tarmac in the Gulfstream. I’m the one calling because Rapp is busy and I’m not.”
“Why aren’t you in the air already?” Irene said.
As part of Nash’s pre-trip briefing, Irene had discussed with him the possibility that the CRANKSHAFT operation might launch during his trip. If this happened, she wanted him out of Pakistan before the commandos hit bin Laden’s compound. Tensions were bound to run high in the mission’s aftermath no matter its outcome. The last thing Irene wanted to do was provide the Pakistanis with potential bargaining chips in the form of American CIA officers.
“Because Rapp needs my help.”
“Help how?”
“It would probably be better if you didn’t know.”
Irene swallowed her instinctive reply, determined not take out her frustration with Mitch on Nash. Was she angry that her top operative was running an unapproved and ad hoc kinetic operation on Pakistani soil moments before the launch of the riskiest clandestine undertaking of the last decade?
Yes.
Was she surprised?
Not in the least.
“Did Mr. Rapp happen to relay any information that might be helpful?” Irene said.
She managed to keep the sarcasm from her voice, but not the disappointment. For this to work, Nash needed to come into his own as opposed to just being Rapp’s errand boy. Then again, she’d run Rapp for years and knew firsthand the struggles Mike was facing. Managing Rapp wasn’t so much riding a bridleless mustang as trying to surf a tsunami.
