Turning to Adams, he said, "Do you think you can handle the monitor and the devices at the same time?" Adams nodded.
"Yep."
"Good. That'll free me up to keep an eye out for any surprises."
Rapp then grabbed the small fanny pack and took out all of the micro surveillance units except five. Handing the pack to Adams, he pointed at the blueprints and said, "We'll place them in the five locations you suggested. After we put each one in place, we'll check it on the monitor and make sure it's working." Rapp then grabbed the monitor and helped Adams get strapped into it When he was done helping Adams, he began checking out the rest of his gear.
As Rapp slid the bolt on his submachine gun back, Rielly asked, "Is that an MP-Five?"
Rapp looked up, frowning, more than a little surprised that she could even make a guess let alone get the manufacturer correct.
"Close. It's the new MP-Ten. How do you know what an MP-Five looks like?"
"My dad's a police officer in Chicago."
"Oh, that's right."
"What are you going to do?"
"A little reconnaissance."
"Where?"
Rapp placed the submachine gun on the ground.
"You sure do ask a lot of questions."
"I'm a reporter. It's my job."
Rapp frowned and nodded as if he had just been reminded of a particularly bad thing.
Rielly picked up on the expression and asked, "Is there something wrong with that?"
"Normally"—Rapp shrugged his shoulders—"probably not. But under the current circumstances, I can see where we might have a problem."
"And why would that be?"
"Why?" Rapp tilted his head. "Because when this whole thing is over, you will probably have one hell of a story to tell."
"I owe you a lot. I wouldn't report anything that you didn't agree to."
Rapp slid his pistol out of his thigh holster and pulled back on the slide. The cylindrical brass round was where it should have been, and Rapp let the slide go forward.
"What if I don't want you to report a single word of this mess? What if I want you to act like we never met, and none of this ever happened?"
"That's not realistic."
"Well, then we have a problem."
Looking at him, she wondered why he would have to be so secretive.
"Who do you work for?"
"I can't tell you that." Rapp shoved his pistol back in its holster.
"Seriously, I'd like to know."
"And seriously"—Rapp shook his head and opened his eyes wide—"I can't tell you."
"It must be the CIA." Rielly kept her eyes on him, trying to get the slightest hint of a reaction. She got nothing.
"It has to be the CIA, otherwise you could tell me."
"Wrong. Are you a woman of your word?"
"Yes."
Good. Then someday, if we both make it out of here alive, I'll tell you my life story." Rapp smiled, showing a set of long dimples on both cheeks.
Rielly smiled back and nodded.
"So you work for the CIA."
"I never said that," replied Rapp.
IRENE KENNEDY STOOD over the secure phone in General Flood's office and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. On the other end was Colonel Fine of the Israeli foreign intelligence service, Mossad. Fine had just given Kennedy a brief overview on the three names she had given him the night before. There was no surprising information on the first two terrorists, but the third was an entirely different matter.
Mustafa Yassin was the man in question, and Kennedy was curious. The colonel had come up with three matches on the name Mustafa Yassin. The first was a fifty-seven-year-old officer in the Jordanian army, and the second was an eighteen year-old suspected Palestinian dissident.
When Colonel Fine finished giving the background on the individuals, Kennedy asked, "Could you repeat the info on the last Yassin, please?"
"Sure, but let me caution you, Yassin is a fairly common name over here, so this might not be the same guy. The last Mustafayassin is an Iraqi.
We don't have a lot of information on him, but what we do have all revolves around the invasion of Kuwait. Since then there has only been one update added to his file. According to our intelligence, his alias is the Thief of Baghdad When the Iraqis rolled into Kuwait and started looting, it was this Yassin fellow who they put in charge of breaking into all of the bank vaults."
"What else do you have on him?" asked Kennedy.
"Not a lot, but this isn't the guy I would worry about. My bet is Aziz recruited this eighteen-year-old fellow from Gaza as cannon fodder."
Kennedy looked down at Flood's desk and thought about the possibilities.
"Can you locate him?"
"I already have my people checking on all three. So far I've only been able to confirm the whereabouts of the Jordanian officer."
"I thought you kept close tabs on these dissidents."
"We do" started Fine, "but things are a little stressed over here right now. What is the phrase you like to use?… The natives are restless. We have another indfada on our hands. Aziz seems to have motivated every Palestinian between the age of two and seventy to pick up a rock and protest."
Kennedy had been so focused on the immediate concerns of the crisis that she hadn't thought of the repercussions it might be having abroad. What Fine said made sense, and if they didn't step in and handle things more firmly, it would only get worse.
"Ben, it would be a big help if you could track down this kid as soon as possible."
"I have my best people on it, Irene. I can assure you of that."
"Thank you, Ben. Is there anything else?"
"Well…" There was a four-second pause.
"The word on the street is that you grabbed Sheik Harut, the night before last."
"Where are you hearing that?"
"Several sources, actually. The Huns are all guessing it was either you or me, and since I know it wasn't me, then it must be you."
"I'm not in a position to discuss that matter right now, but I can assure you when I know anything about it, you will be briefed fully."
Fine didn't say anything for a long while and then said, "Irene, this is uncomfortable for me, but there are those in my government who are very unhappy with the way this crisis is being handled."
Kennedy turned around and sat on the edge of General Flood's desk. There were many that, put in her shoes, would simply have told the colonel that the U.S. was doing just fine managing the crisis, and that it would appreciate it if its allies would keep their opinions to themselves.
Fine continued.
"It is our fear that you may make a short term decision that could be catastrophic to Israel's interests." Kennedy thought about Fine's words honestly and refused to let nationalism seep into her thought process.
There was no doubt that Israel had a lot on the line, and it didn't take a Rhodes scholar to figure out how they "would like the crisis resolved.
Kennedy usually stayed out of this type of discussion, but in the current situation, and considering her own frustration with Vice President Baxter, she felt it prudent to try to assuage some of Fine's fears. She also knew that whatever she said would be relayed up to the highest levels of the Israeli government, "Ben, people like us don't make policy; we only advise.
Having said that, however, I can assure you that at every juncture of this crisis, there have been those of us who have forcefully stated our concerns over our relationship with your country—our concern that we don't lose focus on our long-term commitment to Israel's security and stability in the Middle East."
Fine again digested the comments in silence and then added tensely,
"There are those in my government who are very nervous." Pausing, again Kennedy could hear the stress in his breathing.
"There are many who don't like the fact that you are dealing with Aziz… that you have done an about-face on your position of not negotiating with terrorists."
Kennedy chose her words carefully.
"There are many in my own government who do not like this change in policy, but this is an extremely difficult situation."
"Who has made these decisions to negotiate?"
"Ben, you are moving into an area that I am not comfortable discussing."
"Well, then let me say this last thing. We have a good idea where this is headed, and we will do whatever it takes to protect our own security." Fine stopped and then repeated himself.
"Whatever it takes."
"I understand," replied Kennedy. The colonel couldn't have been clearer, and Kennedy knew that he had been told what to say by someone above his pay grade. Quite possibly the prime minister himself.
"Is this something that I should pass on as an official or unofficial position of your country?"
"It has always been our position that we will do whatever it takes to protect ourselves."
"Then why the need to remind me?"
"Because," started Fine,"this is an unusual situation, and we would not want anyone to question where Israel stands on this issue."
"Fair enough, Ben. I will make sure that your position is well known."
Running a hand through her hair, she added, "I need to check on some things. Could you do me a favor and let me know just as soon as you track down your eighteen year-old dissident?"
"Of course. When can I expect to hear more about Sheik Harut?"
Kennedy knew she had to give him something or at least the promise of something.
"You can expect me to brief you fully when I have a chance to take a breath." Kennedy intentionally let loose a tired sigh.
"I understand. Please keep me informed, and I will do the same."
"Thank you, Ben." Kennedy kept the phone in her hand and disconnected the call by pressing the button in the cradle.
Quickly, she punched in seven numbers, and when the person on the other end answered, she asked to be connected to a certain location via code word. Approximately twenty seconds after that Dr. Hornig was on the phone.
"Jane," started Kennedy, "I need you to ask Harut what he knows about one of the terrorists named Mustafa Yassin.
Specifically, ask him if Yassin is a teenage Palestinian or an Iraqi."
"May I ask what this is all about?"
"I can't really get into it right now; I just need some verification."
"All right. I'll see what I can do."
The door to General Flood's office opened, and the general himself entered with General Campbell and Director Stansfield. Kennedy turned away from them and said, "I have to go. How long do you think it will take to get the info?"
"I don't know… We seem to be losing him a bit."
"How do you mean?" asked Kennedy as her face twisted into an expression of concern.
"The techniques we use are not exactly beneficial to the long-term health of the human brain."
"You mean you're losing him as in, he's turning into a vegetable?"
"Crudely put, yes… but we have extracted an extraordinary amount of information. I have found out some very interesting things that will give us terrific insight into the minds of—"
"That's fine, Jane," Kennedy cut Hornig off, "but I really need you to ask him those questions about Yassin. And the sooner I get the answers the better. I have to go now. Call me as soon as you get anything." With that Kennedy hung up the phone, just as General Flood made his way around the back side of his desk.
Flood looked at Kennedy and asked, "What's wrong now?" Kennedy exhaled and said, "We might have a problem."
"What kind of problem?" asked Flood.
Looking across the room, Kennedy placed her hands on her hips and said,
"I'm not sure, but I hope to know more within the hour. "Then looking to her boss, she said, "Colonel Fine passed on a little message for us."
Stansfield nodded knowingly and said, "I was beginning to wonder when they would weigh in."
Kennedy walked over to where Stansfield and Campbell were standing.
"He said that they will do whatever it takes to protect themselves."
Approaching the group several steps behind Kennedy, Flood pronounced,
"Good for them. At least someone is sticking by their guns in this mess."
"What happened after I left?"
The group settled into their seats, and General Flood began to recount for Kennedy the strategy laid forth by Vice President Baxter. Judging from the facial expressions around the room, even Thomas Stansfield's, it was clear what was thought of the vice president's plans. It seemed as if things were only going to get worse.
THE DOOR WAS so hot in one spot that warch could only touch it for a second or two at a time. He took this as a terrible sign. That, and the fact that nightfall had come and gone and there had been no abatement in the drilling. Things were getting bleaker by the moment, and you could see it on the faces of the tired agents.
To make matters worse for the Secret Service agents. President Hayes had done the unthinkable. He had ordered all of them to place their weapons on the small table near the kitchenette. The president made it clear that there were to be no acts of bravado. That they would surrender without a shot. In Hayes's opinion, if the terrorists got the door open, there was no sense in further bloodshed. At that point the battle would be over.
Warch had tried only once to change President Hayes's mind, but it was to no avail. Hayes was steadfast in his decision that there would be no more bloodshed. As Warch stood by the vault door, Hayes came over. The president placed his hand on the door.
"It's getting warmer."
"Yep," answered Warch.
"Any bright ideas?"
"Nope."
Hayes gestured for Warch to follow him. They walked over to the couches and sat, Warch on the love seat, and Hayes on the couch. Hayes looked at Warch and said, "Jack, stop beating yourself up. There's nothing else we can do."
"It's not in my personality to give up, sir."
"Well, that's admirable, but I just want you to know that I appreciate everything you and your men have done."
"Thank you."
A question had been burning in Warch's mind since the attack. With the president in such a complimentary mood, Warch decided to ask it.