England called his office and told the duty officer to roust the Joint Chiefs. He also directed the woman on the other end, that in twenty minutes, he wanted to talk to someone in Mosul who could give him an on-the-ground assessment of what had happened. Irene Kennedy may have been CIA, but Mosul was the domain of the Defense Department. He knew of Kennedy’s meeting with her Iranian counterpart, but knew none of the details other than the disquieting fact that the Iranians had been adamant that no U.S. military personnel be present.
England raced upstairs, showered, threw on a suit, and grabbed his electric shaver. By the time he came back downstairs his full security detail was waiting in the driveway. England jumped in the back seat of the armored, black Suburban and started running the electric razor over his mostly gray stubble. His thoughts turned to Kennedy almost immediately. All he had been told by the situation room duty officer was that Kennedy’s motorcade had been hit in Mosul. The director of the CIA was believed to be alive and taken hostage. Everyone else had been wiped out.
England liked Kennedy. He liked her style, the way she kept things brief and to the point. Washington, England had found, was a town with an inordinate amount of people who liked to hear themselves talk. Kennedy was a breath of fresh air, highly intelligent and as well versed in Islam and the Middle East as anyone he’d ever met. He had grown to depend on her input.
England was an old acquaintance of the president. He had no government service on his record-military or otherwise. As the president had told him at the time of his nomination, he wanted England for his analytical mind and his ability to not just win an argument, but get others to agree with him. He’d also spent decades trying to anticipate trends, constantly looking into the future, and attempting to predict how things would play out. As his vehicle moved through the predawn streets of DC, he tried to do the same now with this crisis. Unfortunately, the first thought that entered his mind were the tapes of Muslim extremists decapitating their prisoners. The beheading of the director of the Central Intelligence Agency would be a powerful piece of propaganda.
England pushed his personal feelings aside and played out parallel permutations in his mind. As harsh as it sounded, the quick beheading of Kennedy might not be the worst thing for America. The celebration among the Islamic radical fundamentalists would more than likely be short-lived. Europe, Australia, Japan, Russia, and possibly even China were certain to see in the end the beheading of a woman and the mother of a child, not the leader of America’s chief spy agency. Such a barbaric move by the terrorists could end up harming them in the long run.
As cruel as it sounded, Kennedy knew too much. A drawn-out hostage situation would provide her captors with the opportunity to compromise America’s national security on a scale that was almost unthinkable. Just the thought of having to advise the president in such a manner made England extremely uneasy. He was too positive a person to settle for such a dismal outcome so early in a crisis. There had to be a better way to resolution.
As England’s Suburban passed through the Secret Service checkpoint on West Executive Drive, his secure phone rang. The duty officer at the Pentagon informed him that she had General Gifford on the line. England had met Gifford twice before on recent trips to the region.
“Tom,” England said, “I’m walking in to meet with POTUS right now. Can you give me the brief version of what happened?”
England listened while Gifford passed along the condensed version of an already condensed version that had been given to him from the commanding officer of the quick-reaction force. When Gifford was done, England thanked him and told him to stay by the phone. There was a good chance the president would want to talk to him. England entered the West Wing and went straight to the Situation Room, where he found President Alexander, National Security Advisor Frank Ozark, and Attorney General Pete Webber. The three men were sitting at one end of the massive, shiny wood conference table. They all had their elbows on the table and were staring at a gray, star-shaped speakerphone.
“Mr. President, I’m afraid he’s out of control.”
England unbuttoned his suit coat and sat in the leather chair next to Ozark. He recognized the voice coming out of the speaker phone as that of CIA Deputy Director Chuck O’Brien.
The president sighed and sat back in his chair. “Chuck, considering the situation, I think his rage is understandable.”
“Sir, I’m as big a believer in Rapp’s abilities as anyone. I just think that his judgment is clouded at the moment. He’s too close to this thing.”
England cleared his throat and said, “Chuck, Brad England here. What has he done that has you so worried?”
“Apparently several of the attackers were left behind and taken prisoner. One of the men, who we think may be a policeman, was wounded. After the attack was over, Rapp shot the man in the backside while he was lying on the ground.”
“The policeman?” asked a surprised attorney general.
“Yes. We think local law enforcement may have aided the insurgents. Rapp then decided to conduct a battlefield interrogation with one of the other men. According to early reports he pulled out a knife and stabbed the man in the shoulder while he was subdued.”
The attorney general looked extremely uncomfortable. “Were there witnesses?”
“This all happened in a residential neighborhood,” O’Brien replied. “My guess is there were plenty of people who saw it.”
“Oh God,” the attorney general moaned. “Any reporters on the scene?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Again,” England said, “I apologize if I missed something, but why are we so concerned with how Rapp is handling prisoners? I just got off the phone with the base commander in Mosul. He says the local police didn’t merely look the other way. He says they opened fire on Directory Kennedy’s motorcade.”
“That’s correct,” O’Brien’s voice sounded from the speaker phone.
“So let me get this straight. The director of the CIA has been kidnapped, her personal security detail was all shot execution-style, and we are worried about Mitch Rapp roughing up a few prisoners?”
“I personally could care less about these men, Brad, but mark my words, when the dust has settled, the hill is going to have a lot of questions. They are bound to launch hearings into how this happened and how all of us acted in the aftermath. Right now Rapp is out of control.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t he always out of control? Isn’t that one of the reasons why he gets stuff done while everyone else sits around and talks about it?”
“Mitch Rapp is very good. But there have been plenty of times when he’s gone overboard.”
England looked at the president and then said, “Chuck, I’m going to try and be gentle here. You’ve got a lot of pressure on you right now. One of Director Kennedy’s greatest strengths was that she got results. She also knew how to keep the president insulated from some of the less-than-civil stuff that is sometimes required in your covert world. Do you follow what I’m saying?”
O’Brien did not answer right away. After a moment he said, “Yes, but I still think it would be a good idea for the president to talk to him. Just briefly. My point is we can get answers out of these guys without cutting off appendages.”
“I agree,” the attorney general said forcefully.
President Alexander looked to England, who simply shrugged in a manner that said, what harm could it do?
“All right,” the president said. “Have your people put the call through.”
“Will do, sir.”
There was a click as the line went dead. The president leaned forward and pressed a button on the speaker phone. He then looked up at his old friend England and asked, “Your thoughts?”