Thirty-One

AFGHANISTAN

Rapp stepped into the tent and in the dim light spotted Urda sitting at a small table with one of the prisoners. As he approached and his eyes adjusted he saw it was Ahmed Khalili, the young man from Karachi. Two mugs were sitting on the table in front of them. Khalili's hands were still bound, but in front of him so he could drink. Rapp took all of this as a good sign. As he approached the table the young Pakistani looked away from him.

"Ahmed, don't worry," said Urda, sensing the young man's nervousness at the sight of Rapp. "Nothing will happen to you as long as you continue to cooperate." The CIA's Kandahar man stood. "I'm going to step outside for a second. Continue enjoying your tea, and I'll be right back."

Once the two men were outside Urda said, "He's talking."

"Good, but is he telling us anything useful?"

"I think so. He's their computer guy. That's how he knew who you were, by the way."

"How so?"

"They asked him to get his hands on everything the press wrote about you. They wanted to know about your wife, and he was told to find out where you lived."

A look of proprietary concern spread across Rapp's face. "And did he find out where I live?"

"I don't think so."

Rapp looked back in the tent. None of this came as a surprise to him, but it was still worrisome. He would have to look into it further, but right now there were more important things to deal with. "Did he say anything about where they got this bomb, or how they transported it to the U.S.?"

"Not so far."

"Then what has he been talking about?"

"The cells they have in the U.S." Urda raised an eyebrow.

Rapp liked the sound of this and motioned for Urda to spill the beans.

"He explained how they've been contacting their people in the states via e-mail. He can give us the accounts they were sending the e-mails to, and he said something else very important."

"What?" asked Rapp.

"Supposedly, somebody big was going to America to help carry out the attack."

"Did he tell you who?"

Urda nodded. "Mustafa al-Yamani."

Rapp's hands balled into tight fists upon hearing the man's name. "How and when?"

"They knew they couldn't get him in on a commercial flight so they were going to do it by water."

"How?"

"I haven't got that far yet."

"Let's get back in there and find out."

Urda reached out and grabbed Rapp's arm. "Take it easy on him. He thinks you're the devil and I'm not exaggerating."

"I'll go easy on him so long as he cooperates."

Urda took his seat at the small table and Rapp grabbed a folding chair, flipping it around backwards and sitting down between the two men. "Ahmed," started Rapp in a calm voice. "As long as you tell me the truth, you have nothing to fear. How did Mustafa al-Yamani plan on entering America?"

"By boat." The young Pakistani slid his trembling hands under the table.

"Do you know when?"

"Yesterday."

Rapp remembered that Abdullah had told him the bomb was to have arrived yesterday. "Was he accompanying the bomb?"

Khalili shook his head.

"Are you sure?" Rapp asked suspiciously.

"Yes. He was to fly to Cuba where he would take a boat and enter Florida somewhere on its eastern coast."

Rapp wanted to know more about al-Yamani, but there was something else of even greater importance he needed to know first. "How was the bomb to enter the country?"

"I'm not sure." The Pakistani looked down and away when he answered this.

Rapp reached out with his right hand and placed it on the table. The move caused the prisoner to flinch. "Ahmed," said Rapp in a stern voice. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, he did so.

"You know more than you are telling us. How were they planning on getting the bomb into the country?"

"I'm not sure," he answered in a shaky voice, "but I think by ship."

"And why do you think that?"

"About three weeks ago it was loaded onto a freighter in Karachi."

If Ahmed was telling the truth, that meant Abdullah was lying to him, that was unless the bomb had been off-loaded at a port somewhere and then transferred onto a plane for the rest of the journey. To Rapp that seemed like more work than it was worth. Why not just put it on a plane to start with?

"Ahmed, an hour ago you seemed to know a lot less. How can I be sure you're telling me the truth?"

He looked up at Rapp with a pleading expression. "These are things I am not supposed to know. Things I overheard the others talking about."

"Did you hear Abdullah talk about any of the details?"

Ahmed, confused, just looked at Rapp.

"Did you hear Abdullah talk about how they were getting the bomb into America?"

"Yes. By ship."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Rapp took a moment to study the man's face. "At any point did they talk about putting it on a plane?"

The young Pakistani shook his head. "Not that I heard."

"Did you hear what port they were going to bring the bomb in to?"

"No." He shook his head. "I heard them mention several cities."

"Which ones?"

"New York and Baltimore were the two I remember."

"What about Miami and Charleston?"

"I think those too."

Rapp leaned back and looked at Urda. "I need to go make a call. Maybe you two could discuss how Mr. al-Yamani got into America and who is helping him."

Urda nodded knowingly. As Rapp left the tent, Urda told his young prisoner he was doing a good job and asked him if he wanted more tea.

Outside, Rapp made no effort to retrieve his satellite phone. The call to Kennedy would have to wait until he had the chance to ask Abdullah why he'd lied to him, and this time each lie would cost him a finger.

Thirty-Two

Rapp found Abdullah about fifty yards away. They'd placed him in an ammunition storage bunker that was partially underground and surrounded by sandbags. Two Delta troopers were sitting in front of the bunker playing a hand of cards, while Abdullah lay inside on a stretcher. If the medic had given him the right dose of morphine it should be wearing off right about now.

Rapp went down the steps and had to tilt his head so as to not hit the header. Two things were instantly apparent: Abdullah wanted more morphine, and he was not happy to see the man from the CIA. Rapp stood over him for a moment assessing his next move. Even though he told him he'd cut his fingers off if he lied to him, Rapp thought the better approach now would be to dangle the relief of morphine in front of him.

"Waheed," Rapp used his first name. "How does your knee feel?"

The Saudi turned away from Rapp and bit down on his lip.

Looking down at the terrorist, Rapp took the steel toe of his boot and nudged the bloody and bandaged joint. Abdullah let out a scream that was ear-piercing in the confined space. Rapp reacted by bending over and backhanding him in the face. In Arabic he told the terrorist to stop screaming like a woman.

After the Saudi stifled his cries, Rapp asked, "Waheed, would you like more morphine?"

The man did not answer at first, and then finally through a clenched jaw he said, "You know I do."

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem. We have plenty of it."

Abdullah, who was half on his side and turned away from Rapp, opened an eye and looked at his tormentor with a glimmer of hope.

"That's right...we have enough morphine to make all the pain go away. It's going to be a long flight back to America, and I want you to be comfortable." Rapp noticed Abdullah had lost his zeal for flinging verbal insults.

"You told me a lie earlier." Rapp lifted up his boot and again nudged Abdullah's bloodied knee. The terrorist screamed in response. When he was done Rapp said, "If you want more morphine, I'm going to have to send someone to get it. It could easily take thirty minutes...so the sooner you tell me the truth, the sooner you'll get your shot."