Pursuit Of Honor (28 page)

KARIM vented more of his rage by smashing several lamps and knocking all the photos off the fireplace mantel. Hakim sat in the big leather chair and didn’t dare twitch a muscle. Under Karim’s untucked shirt the bulge of his pistol was obvious. It was best to let the storm pass. It took a few minutes, but Karim eventually composed himself. He announced that they would leave in precisely one hour. He wanted everyone showered and clean-shaven for the trip. He told Ahmed to go through the kitchen and pack any food that he could find, and then he took the big road atlas he’d found on the bookshelf and threw it at Hakim.

“Find the best way to get there.”

“Get where?” Hakim asked in as nonthreatening a voice as possible.

“To Washington!”

Hakim got the impression Karim was looking for an excuse to get rid of him, so he nodded and began flipping through the pages.

“And keep an eye out the window,” Karim barked.

Hakim watched him leave. He stopped in the kitchen and said something to Ahmed, and then he went to the owner’s room. A moment later the shower came on. Ten seconds after that, Ahmed came around the corner with a nervous look on his face. As he crossed the room he looked over his shoulder twice.

When he got to Hakim he whispered, “Can you move?”

Hakim didn’t understand, and then suddenly Ahmed was pulling something from his pocket and handing it to him.

In a hurried whisper he said, “He’s going to kill you. He told me. Take these.” Hakim pushed the car keys into his hand. “There is a white car in the garage. I put your backpack in the front seat. Go! Go now, before he gets out of the shower.” Ahmed pulled him out of the chair and got him to his feet.

Hakim’s body was screaming at him from virtually every point. He was in such pain he didn’t know if he could move, but somehow he did. They were short steps at first. More like the shuffle of an old man. He reached the front door on his own and looked over his shoulder to thank Ahmed, but he was already gone. Cupboards were being noisily opened and slammed in the kitchen. Hakim opened the door and closed it behind him. He moved across the porch to the steps and then froze. There were only three steps, but they might as well have been a cliff. Hakim grabbed the railing and willed himself down. His torso twisted stiffly with the first step and he instantly felt a white-hot pain. It was as if someone were stabbing him in the ribs with a knife. Having already diagnosed himself, he guessed that was exactly what was happening. One of his broken ribs was tearing into the soft tissue of his left lung with a jagged, serrated edge.

He practically fell down the next two steps and then he was shuffling across the gravel, his right foot first, and then he’d drag his left foot to catch up. The pain was nearly unbearable. He felt that at any moment he would launch into a coughing fit and then it would be over. He would collapse right there in the middle of the gravel courtyard and pass out. Karim would then saunter out with that arrogant, disapproving look on his face, and before killing him he would have something stupid to say. Some phrase that would elevate his act to something noble while decrying the betrayal of his best friend. That more than anything was what drove Hakim toward the garage. The hate that he felt for Karim at the moment was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

Hakim wanted to win. He wanted to survive and he wanted his arrogant friend to feel the sting of betrayal. He wanted the narrow-minded fool to try to make the journey to Washington on his own, and he wanted the Lion of al Qaeda to fail, and feel the sting of death, just like his six brave warriors.

Fortunately, the garage was closer than the big barn where they had stashed the RV. Hakim lurched for the side door, taking shallow breaths as he went. It was the only way to prevent the stabbing pain. He didn’t dare look back until he got to the metal service door and then he did so for only a second. There was no sign of anyone leaving the house. Hakim twisted the knob and practically floated over the threshold. The overhead lights were automatically triggered by a motion sensor. Hakim slammed the door closed behind him and was about to open the big garage door and then stopped. He decided he would get into the car first. There had to be an automatic opener inside.

It was a big four-door white Cadillac DTS. The owner had been kind enough to back it in for him. Hakim opened the driver’s door and was relieved to see his backpack sitting on the front seat, just as Ahmed had said. Placing one hand on the roof and the other on the door, he carefully lowered himself into the seat. At some point he couldn’t bear the pain and just let go, falling the last foot. Holding the steering wheel, he dragged his right leg into the car and then the other, and then he just sat there completely immobile, wondering if he would pass out.

It seemed like an eternity, but it was probably no more than five seconds. A voice seemed to be guiding him. Walking him through each step. It was now telling him to put the key in the ignition. He did and it turned over on the first try. The dashboard lit up with various gauges and lights. Hakim looked for the door opener on the visor but there was none. It took him a moment, his eyes scanning every inch of the dashboard for the button, and then he realized it was on the rearview mirror. He stabbed the button and the door lurched up.

Hakim put his foot on the brake, pulled the gearshift into the drive position, and prepared himself for the worst. If Karim was blocking his path he would have to run him over. The optimistic side of him was hoping he would be greeted by nothing but daylight, but the vengeful side of him hoped the arrogant asshole would be waiting for him. He slid lower in the seat and prepared to duck farther and hit the gas should his friend attempt to block his escape. With each passing foot of open space the conflict deepened until the door was open and he saw that the courtyard sat empty. Hakim stayed low and slid his foot from the brake to the gas.

Back inside the house Ahmed continued to rifle through the kitchen cupboards, making as much noise as possible, all the while silently counting to himself. His biggest fear was that Hakim would not be able to make it to the car. How would Karim react if he found him outside passed out on the gravel? He turned to head into the dining room and look out the window, but stopped himself. He would give him another thirty seconds. He couldn’t risk helping him any further or he would be the one facing a one-man firing squad. Ahmed prayed to Allah over and over, harder and harder, begging that he would heal Hakim’s wounds and give him the strength to get away.

Ahmed did not understand any of it. He had nothing but respect for Karim. He was an amazing commander and was as good a leader as he had ever seen, but when it came to his childhood friend, he was not himself. There had been times in the past few days where he had felt as if he was watching two eight-year-old kids fight. The constant bickering. The back and forth about every petty thing they could dream up and then the decision back in Iowa to kill the father and son. It was the first time he honestly thought Karim had made a tactical mistake. Everyone made mistakes, but this one was obvious, and Ahmed couldn’t help but think it was rooted in the jealousy Karim harbored for Hakim.

Karim needed to be the hero, and everyone around him had to offer absolute subservience. That was why he stepped from the house back in Iowa and destroyed all of the careful plans and set them on this dangerous and uncharted course.

Ahmed finished counting to thirty for a second time and then kicked a pan as he walked across the kitchen floor and back into the dining room. He looked past the living room and through the big picture window. His heart leaped as he saw the hood of the white sedan ease out of the garage. He glimpsed Hakim through the windshield and thought he saw blood on his chin.

“Keep going,” he said to himself. “Don’t pass out. Allah, please give him strength. Please protect him.” Ahmed watched the car turn and accelerate past the big barn. It started winding down the driveway, a faint trail of dust kicking up, and then the taillights vanished. Ahmed exhaled a sigh of relief, but it didn’t last long. From the bedroom the noise of the running shower suddenly stopped.

RAPP parked underneath the building and took the elevator up to the first floor. He was grinning with anticipation as he walked past the CIA’s gift shop and cafeteria. The wide double doors to the Award Suite were open and he could see a good number of people milling about inside. He crossed the threshold and paused for a brief second, his eyes sweeping the room from right to left, scanning faces just long enough to see if there were any land mines waiting for him, but not so long as to make eye contact with any single individual. Rapp tended to skip these events. Better to come and go from HQ and make as little actual contact as possible. This afternoon, however, was worth the exception.

It was a virtual who’s who of the national security community, the top dogs from every agency and department that had a hand in the alphabet soup of counterterrorism. As was standard procedure, there wasn’t a single reporter or photographer in the room. There would be plenty of time for that later, but for now, this was the one chance for the men and women of the clandestine service to poke their heads out of their rabbit holes and celebrate the bravery of a colleague. Most of these folks had the security clearance, or at least the connections, to know the full story of what had happened the afternoon of the attacks, and a good number of them were turning to get a look at Rapp-the other man who had risked his life. These professionals would whisper among themselves, but they would honor their oath. They all knew there were valid reasons for a man in Rapp’s position to keep his head down. Rapp had to be realistic, though. His role in the affair would be passed from one person to the next, and with each retelling, it was likely the facts would be warped like a rain-soaked piece of wood- impossible to know in advance just how it would turn out.

Rapp heard the squawk of a child to his left and moved in that direction. He figured there couldn’t be too many toddlers at the reception, so the odds were the noise was coming from Charlie Nash. He wanted to get in, give his congratulations to the kids and Maggie, and tell them how proud he was of their father and husband, if possible track down Art Harris for a brief update, and then get the hell out of Dodge.

Rapp made it three steps before a smiling Julie Trittin cut him off. Barely five feet tall in her heels, the petite brunette was the hotshot rising star over on the National Security Council. She’d come up through the ranks on the military side, and until a few months ago was helping run a highly sensitive operation at the Defense Intelligence Agency.

Trittin looked up at Rapp and with a mischievous smile said, “Well, well, Mitchell. Just how in the hell did you pull this off?”

Rapp cracked a dry smile and said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Julie.”

Trittin held up her champagne flute and gave him a minisalute. “I thought you would say that.” She swung around Rapp’s right side and hooked her arm through his. Leading him off to the nearest corner she whispered, “This is good.”

Rapp nodded and continued to scan the crowd. “Nice turnout.”

“You know what I mean. For morale. And by the way, where’s your medal?”

Rapp laughed off the comment.

“My sources tell me the story is a little backward about who shot who last week.”

“Your sources?”

“Don’t try to play me. I know you were the one who charged that line of men, and I know Mike was up on the catwalk firing down at them.”

“You know how some people get confused in the heat of battle. Don’t believe everything you hear.”

Trittin looked over to where Mike Nash was standing. He was surrounded by a good number of well-wishers. They were all smiling and beaming at the hero of the hour. “Well… I’m happy for both of you.”

“Both of us?” Rapp asked.

“Yes. The president was a little disappointed that you managed to sneak out of the White House this morning.”

Rapp sighed. “You know how it is, Julie… I don’t do so well around politicians.”

“Perfect segue,” Trittin said in a more serious tone. “The president wanted me to tell you that he thinks you’re an insubordinate little shit, and that your medal is waiting for you on his desk. He’d like you to personally stop by and pick it up, though.”

“I get one, too?” Rapp said in mock surprise.

“Yes, you do.” Trittin shook her head and smirked. “You really are something.”

“Thank you, Julie. I think you’re pretty special, too.”

Trittin laughed at him before turning serious. “Two more things for you. The FBI now has the lead on the search for Glen Adams.”

“Pretty standard, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but you can thank Senator Ogden for putting you at the top of the list.”

Rapp showed no outward sign of concern, but Trittin had just gotten his attention. “What list would that be?”

“The list of people who may have had something to do with his disappearance.”

“The way I heard it… he just up and left the country.”

Trittin shrugged her small shoulders and gave Rapp a who-knows-what-could-have-happened expression.

Rapp spotted the Nash kids and out of the side of his mouth said, “I also heard he’d been drinking a lot.”

“I heard the same thing, but as you know… the FBI will follow every lead.”

“Even if it comes from a vengeful partisan hack like Ogden?”

“Especially if it comes from a vengeful partisan hack like Ogden.”

“Great.”

“She might be vulnerable at the moment,” Trittin said without looking at him.

“How so?”

“A new friend of ours told me Ogden’s been telling those close to her that she thinks the attacks last week were not on the up and up.”

Rapp froze for a second and then turned to Trittin. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Trittin checked to make sure no one was near and then said, “She thinks it may have been a plot by certain people in this building to eliminate their critics and whip up anti-Muslim sentiment.”

“Come on.” Rapp didn’t know if he should be pissed off, concerned, or just laugh. He decided to go with the first one. “And kill a bunch of innocent people in the process. Including a lot of colleagues over at NCTC.”

“Like most conspiracy theories, it’s heavy on motive and very weak on evidence.”

“It’s also crazy… I mean don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought of plugging a few of those self-serving idiots, but actually doing it is nuts.”

“The president agrees, and that is why he’s asked me to quietly see if I can leak it to the press.”

“Why?” Rapp asked in shock. “That’s not the kind of thing you want floating around out there.”

“It already is. At least on the internet. It’s all the same jokers who think 9/11 was a conspiracy. The bottom line, Mitch, is that the president is willing to make a move against her. He’s sick of her antics. He’d never say it publicly but he thinks she’s come unhinged.”

“Thinks… shit, I could have told him that years ago.”

“Well… I just wanted to let you know we have your back on this one. You stay focused on finding this Lion of al Qaeda, and we’ll deal with Ogden and the FBI.”

“Thanks, Julie. I appreciate it.”

Trittin gave him a quick hug and then moved off. Rapp circled the perimeter until he reached the Nash kids. They’d staked out their own turf near the back wall. Not an adult within fifteen feet. Just the four Nash kids and Tommy Kennedy, Irene’s ten-year-old son. When Rapp pulled up they were standing in an informal circle with Charlie the toddler waddling around in the middle looking like a drunken British sailor-his mom had dressed him in a white sport coat and white shorts with white shoes. The other kids, including Tommy Kennedy, were dressed in their prep school uniforms. They all turned to greet Rapp, and Charlie saw his chance. He broke out of the circle and charged his dad’s friend. Rapp bent over, snatched him up, and tossed him up in the air. Charlie let out a squeal before landing safely in Rapp’s arms.

“Kids,” Rapp said, “how’s it going?”

Jack Nash stepped forward. “My dad is really mad at you.”

“Me… come on… you can’t be serious.”

“He was trying to talk all quiet on the way over here, but he’s half deaf from that explosion, so he doesn’t know we can hear everything he says. He was really mad.”

Shannon stepped forward with a smile and said, “My mom was laughing at him, so I don’t think he was that mad, but he did say some not-very-nice things about you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Did you kids enjoy meeting the president?”

“Yeah,” Jack said excitedly. “We got to take photos and everything.”

“Heads up,” Rory said, while looking over Rapp’s shoulder. “Here he comes.”

Rapp turned and saw Nash coming straight for him, his eyes locked on him as if he were a ram-hell bent on knocking something off his ledge. A few people tried to stop him and offer their congratulations, but Nash kept moving. Rapp was suddenly glad he was holding Charlie. He figured the little fella would deter any serious physical confrontation. He turned so Charlie was in the direct line of fire.

Nash pulled up to the group. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Nice medal,” Rapp said, pointing at Nash’s chest.

Nash looked down and fingered it. “I’ve already taken it off twice. My wife and Irene and some PR handler keep making me put it back on.”

Rapp laughed over his friend’s obvious discomfort.

“You think this is funny? I swear if you weren’t holding Charlie I’d take a swing at you.”

Rapp tried to turn serious. “You have to admit I got you.”

“Yeah… and I’m going to get you,” Nash said as he leaned in. “This is bullshit and you know it.”

Rapp cupped his free hand over Charlie’s ear and feigned shock at his friend’s choice of words. “Hey!”

“Dad, I heard that,” Jack announced as he appeared at Rapp’s side.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Jack, but it’s my day. When you’re thirty-eight and the president of the United States gives you a medal you can swear all you want to. Now take your brother. I need to have a word with Mitch.”

Rapp handed Charlie over to Jack and then followed Nash to a nearby open spot.

Nash looked at the people who had gathered on his behalf. “I can’t believe you ambushed me like this.”

Rapp couldn’t stop smiling. “And I can’t believe how easy it was to dupe you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been a little preoccupied lately.”

“You do work for the CIA… you know. You’re supposed to see shit like this coming.”

“I don’t want to hear it from you. Not now… probably not ever. You had no right to make this shit up.”

“Well, you’re welcome.” Rapp pointed across the room at Nash’s wife. “I haven’t seen Maggie this happy in years.”

Nash looked at his wife. She was talking with Kennedy, Dickerson, and a few other big shots, and Rapp was right. She looked as if the weight of the world had been taken off her shoulders. “That doesn’t mean it was okay for you to out me. How the hell would you like it if I did it to you?”

“You’d be breaking the law.”

“Why isn’t it breaking the law when you do it to me?”

“Because the president didn’t say you could. He gave me the go-ahead… and besides, I don’t have a wife and four kids who depend on me.” Rapp looked back at the Nash brood and said, “Trust me… you don’t want to turn out like me. They need you, and you need them.”

The words seemed to at least make Nash stop and think. He considered them for a moment and said, “I would have at least liked to have a say in it.”

“And you would have said no.”

“You’re damn right I would have. I didn’t do all those things the president said I did. You did!”

“I did some of them, and don’t get all Semper Fi on me. You were a big part of it. If you hadn’t zipped that first guy, I’d be dead and so would a hell of a lot of other people, including you.” Rapp poked him in the chest. “You deserve that medal.”

“What about you?”

“Shit… I already have three of them.”

“Bullshit.”

Rapp shrugged. “See for yourself. Now that you’re getting promoted you might be able to read about some of the stuff I’ve done.”

Nash suddenly lit up. “Irene says I’m your boss now. About the only good thing that happened today.”

“Quit your pissing and moaning. Look at how happy your wife and kids are. Once you calm down you’re going to look back on this day and thank me.”

Nash looked over both shoulders and said, “I’m going to ride your ass is what I’m going to do. I’m going to be the worst boss you’ve ever had.”

Rapp laughed. “Good luck. You’re not the first guy who’s told me that.”

Art Harris, the deputy assistant director of the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division, ambled over with a huge grin on his face. Rapp matched it and Nash frowned. Harris stuck out his big mitt and said, “Mitch, nice work! You got him good!”

“Thanks, Art, I appreciate it, but it’s not the first time someone’s duped a jarhead.”

“They’re like Labs,” Harris said, “extremely loyal, but at the end of the day not real smart.”

“Boy… you two are a regular Rowan and Martin.”

“Who?” Harris asked.

“Never mind.” Nash turned away from them and saw the CIA’s director of public affairs headed their way. “Oh, shit.”

Marian Rice approached her new hot commodity and said, “Good news-60 Minutes wants an exclusive with you. They’re willing to put all their best people on it.” When she saw Nash hesitate she said, “This is huge. I know you don’t like it, but it’s huge, and we have to strike now while you’re hot. Come on,” she said, grabbing him by the arm. “There are a few more people who would like to meet you.”

Nash resisted for a second, and then when he saw the shitass grins on Rapp’s and Harris’s faces he said, “Keep laughing. Great friends you two turned out to be.” He started to walk away and then looked over his shoulder with all the excitement of a man being led to his own execution.