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Rapp snatched the two-way radio from his hip. He hit the talk button and said, “Rob, get me a number for Minister Ashani.”
51
TEHRAN, IRAN
The helicopter ride from Mosul to the border had taken just twenty minutes. The Air Force had a relatively small Dassault Falcon 10 waiting to take him to Tehran. For most of the hour-and-ten-minute flight Ashani made notes to himself. They were cryptic so as to protect him if somehow they should fall into the wrong hands, which was doubtful since he planned to destroy them as soon as he got to his office. He’d hesitated even making the notes, but he wanted to organize his thoughts and be very clear about what Kennedy had offered on behalf of the U.S. government.
There was another reason he had opened the notepad. Ashani wanted to make a list of objections, or more precisely a list of who would object. There were more than a few people in Tehran whose power would evaporate if peace was made with America. It would make no difference that the American offer made complete sense. President Amatullah would do everything in his power to make sure the offer was rejected. That was why Ashani had opted not to call the president during his brief border stop. He needed to talk to Najar first. As head of the Guardian Council he could influence many people if he was persuaded. If Amatullah found out first, he would find some way to have his P. R. machine kill the offer before it was ever seriously considered.
Shortly after the plane landed in Tehran, Ashani looked out the window and got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. In addition to his normal car and driver there were two additional vehicles and another eight armed men. Ashani looked at his security chief, Rahad Tehrani, who had the same look of concern on his face.
“Stay here,” Tehrani said, “and I will see what the problem is.”
Ashani glanced out the window and watched his security chief approach the group of men. At that precise moment he realized he had forgotten to turn his cell phone on upon landing. Ashani hit the power button and watched the color screen come to life. A picture of a spinning globe flashed on the screen before it changed to a list of icons and then the phone started to beep as it retrieved voice mails first and then e-mails. After a few seconds the beeping stopped, and Ashani saw that he had eight voice mail messages and twenty-thre
e new e-mails. The amount was not unheard-of, but it was a bit high. He was about to begin scrolling through the e-mails, when the phone began ringing. The readout on the phone would tell him only that the information on the person who was calling was unavailable.
Ashani pressed the talk button and said, “Hello?”
“Minister Ashani?” the caller said in English.
“Yes.”
“This is Mitch Rapp. I work for Director Kennedy. Do you know who I am?”
Ashani glanced nervously out the window and said as casually as he could, “I’m afraid everyone in our line of work is aware of your reputation.”
“Good. Then you’ll know how serious I am when I tell you that I’m going to kill you.”
“Excuse me?” Ashani said in genuine surprise.
“I know what you’ve been up to. If Director Kennedy is not released in the next hour, I’m coming after you. And if, as you say, everyone in our line of work is aware of my reputation, then you know I will succeed. I will hunt your ass down and kill you, and no level of security will stop me.”
“Mr. Rapp, I can assure you that I have no idea what you are talking about, and I do not take kindly to your threats.”
“What are you going to do…take out a fatwa on me? Well, let me tell you something. I’m not some defenseless author who’s going to go into hiding because you thin-skinned little pricks decide I’ve offended Islam. I bite back, and I’m going to hunt down every single one of you fuckers that had anything to do with this.”
Ashani was literally speechless. He was all too well aware of Mitch Rapp’s abilities. On at least two occasions the American operative had sneaked into Iran. Both times his targets were terrorists who had traveled to Iran in an attempt to avoid the reach of the U.S. government. Both men were extremely well protected, and neither had survived his run-in with Rapp.
Despite his dry throat and trembling hands, Ashani attempted to sound calm. “Mr. Rapp, I have no idea what you are talking about and, as I said, I do not appreciate being threatened.”
“Well, you’ll have to excuse my poor manners, but in light of the fact that my boss has been kidnapped and her entire security detail killed, I really don’t give a shit what you appreciate and don’t appreciate.”
Ashani’s mind was swimming. All he could think to say was, “In Mosul?”
“No, in Paris! Of course in Mosul.”
“I can assure you that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well…I have a stack of photos, and three prisoners who say otherwise.”
Ashani looked up as Tehrani came back on the plane. The security chief started to talk, but was silenced by Ashani, who waved him off the plane. “Mr. Rapp,” Ashani said with as much sincerity as he could muster, “I do not know what you are talking about. I have a great amount of respect for Director Kennedy.”
“Go sell your bullshit to some moron who’s buying. I don’t have the time for this, and if you want to live, you’ll get your ass in gear and have her released within the hour.”
“Mr. Rapp,” Ashani said with a trace of panic in his voice, “I have no idea what you are talking about!”
“You’re telling me that she left a meeting with you, traveled a block and a half, and was attacked by a platoon of Quds Force commandos and you had no idea?”