Page 99

“So no information on the teams’ final destinations?” Rapp asked.
“None. We do have projections from our people, though, and I think they’re going to be fairly close. Krupin would be working off the same weather and geological data we have. Marcus is almost done integrating all that information into the map on the Toughbook. In the meantime, I’m sending overhead photos of the areas we think they’ll target. We can’t reliably narrow it down to anything much less than a one-mile radius, but we’re fairly confident at that resolution.”
A moment later one of the photos she’d promised flashed onscreen. It depicted a nondescript area of desert with a longitude and latitude printed at the bottom. He scrolled through four similar pictures before landing on one depicting a massive tangle of gleaming pipes and tanks.
“Is this an oil refinery?”
“Abandoned production facility. It’s right in the middle of those targets.”
Rapp nodded silently. “Have you found the man who attacked Scott?”
“We know he’s a former Russian soldier who goes by the name Grisha Azarov. Have you heard of him?”
The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. After a few seconds it came to him. “That Russian mobster in Africa. Before he died he said something. That Grisha was going to come for me.”
“I don’t know if that’s true, but what I can tell you is that we don’t have a current location on him.”
“He’s there,” Rapp said. “At the production facility.”
“It’s a possibility we’ve considered. Our people agree that it would be an ideal command post. It’s centrally located and provides shelter from the wind as well as a place to set up equipment. The question is whether Krupin would send his man personally.”
“My gut says he would. This operation is too important and has too many moving parts to trust it to a bunch of ISIS idiots.”
“I tend to agree.” She paused for a moment. “Mitch, Scott’s going to make a full recovery and my understanding is that Joe injured you fairly seriously.”
“Your point?”
“I don’t want you going up against this man. Not now.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
“Don’t patronize me, Mitch. I’m serious about—”
As Rapp had been expecting, the door at the far end of the suite suddenly burst open. He disconnected the call as four armed men rushed him. Two aimed their U.S.-supplied weapons at his head while the others snatched the laptop from his hands and the Toughbook from the desk next to him.
Once the room was secured, a man wearing the uniform of a Saudi army colonel strode through the door. Bazzi was right behind, with an even younger man who had the unmistakable look of a computer tech.
“What took you so long?” Rapp said.
Bazzi gave a weak smile but Wasem just pointed to the computers now sitting next to what was left of Rapp’s lunch. The hacker knelt and went to work on the Saudi-supplied laptop.
“The operating system has been bypassed, Colonel. There is a telephone application on-screen but the call has been disconnected.”
“Who was the recipient of the call?” Wasem asked.
“There is no record.”
“What do you mean no record?”
“This operating system appears to be exclusive to the CIA. I assume that all information is permanently wiped the moment it’s no longer necessary.”
The young man moved to the Toughbook and woke the screen. “This computer is password-protected, sir.”
Wasem turned his attention to Rapp. “What’s the password?”
“Don’t waste my time, Colonel.”
“I don’t think you understand your position,” Wasem said, pulling his sidearm and aiming it at Rapp. “My country is under nuclear threat and you’re withholding the information I need to protect it.”