One of the Quds Force commandos was standing guard outside the door. Mukhtar straightened his jacket as he approached and asked, “How is she?”

The man shrugged. “No problems so far.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

Mukhtar threw the door open and entered the dank, stone walled storage room. It was approximately ten feet wide by twenty feet long with a ceiling of only seven feet. A single lamp was plugged into an extension chord that ran back down the hallway. The stench of mold and stale air was oppressive. Mukhtar walked across the dirt floor to Kennedy and looked down at her bare legs protruding from the blanket they had thrown on her. Mukhtar bent down and pulled the canvas bag off Kennedy’s head. She looked up at him with blinking eyes as he reached down and covered her legs with the blanket.

In English, Mukhtar said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, Dr. Kennedy.” Mukhtar was very proud of the research he’d done and the ingenious angle he’d come up with. He’d read in a Washington Post piece that she was referred to as doctor by her close friends. “I only found out thirty minutes ago that you had been taken hostage. Have they treated you all right?”

Kennedy stopped blinking and looked up at Mukhtar with searching eyes. “I’m sorry…you are?”

Mukhtar smiled and said, “Someone who would like to see this mistake rectified before anyone else gets hurt.”

“That is very nice of you. Do you work for the regional government?”

“You could say that. I’m a freelancer of sorts.”

Kennedy was well aware that kidnapping for ransom was rampant across all of Iraq. It had grown into a cottage industry complete with neutral negotiators who collected upwards of a third of the ransom. “I see,” Kennedy said as she struggled to prop herself up on her left elbow.

“Here,” Mukhtar offered as he grabbed her around the shoulders and helped her sit up. The blanket fell partially away exposing her bra and bound wrists. Mukhtar drew a knife and cut the plastic flex cuffs on her wrists and then her knees and ankles.

Kennedy clutched the blanket and covered her exposed skin. “Thank you…I’m sorry, you never told me your name.”

“You may call me Muhammad.”

“Of course,” Kennedy replied a bit suspiciously. He might as well have said John Doe. “You said this was a mistake. I’m sorry, but I find that a bit hard to believe.”

“I’m sure you do, but I think I can explain.” Mukhtar glanced at the guard sitting in the corner and in Arabic asked him if he could have a moment alone with the prisoner. The lumbering man slowly got off his chair and left the room.

“The police force here in Mosul is extremely corrupt. They were not told that you were in that convoy.”

Kennedy knew they had not told the police for that very reason. “Then who did they think was in the convoy?”

“They are not telling me that. All they’ve said is that it was someone who they would be able to ransom for a lot of money.”

“Have you contacted my government?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Mukhtar glanced nervously over his shoulder and then in a much quieter voice said, “Some of them want to kill you, some of them want to negotiate with your government, and some of them would like to sell you to another government.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“A local group, but very powerful. More like your Mafia than one of our militias.”

“Sunni?” Kennedy asked.

Mukhtar shrugged off the question. “I cannot say, but I wanted you to know I am working on your release…and that I will do everything I can to make sure you remain unharmed.”

“Thank you.”

Mukhtar stood. “Now I must go, but first if you will allow me I need to take your photo.”

Kennedy looked hesitant.

“It is for your own good. So I can prove that you are alive.”

That sounded like a good idea to Kennedy. She clutched the blanket around her shoulders and sat up as straight as her broken rib would allow her.

Mukhtar snapped her photo with a digital camera and said, “I will be back to check on you in a bit. Is there anything I can get for you?”

There were a lot of things she would have liked, but she decided to keep it brief. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“I will see if I can arrange that. Anything else?”

“Some clothes would be nice.”

“Of course. I will see what I can do.” As Mukhtar left the room he gave Kennedy one more comforting smile and then closed the door behind him. He waved for the guards to follow him down the hallway.

When they were far enough away Mukhtar lowered his voice and in Farsi said, “Wait five minutes and then bring her a pot to go to the bathroom in. I want you to watch her do it. If she gets shy, rip her panties off, but do not rape her. At least not yet. When she is done you can slap her around a bit, but do not hit her face. Then put the hood back on her. Do you understand?”

Both men smiled and nodded.

“Good. I will be back in one hour.”

48

Rapp stood behind Marcus Dumond and watched the younger man’s fingers fly over the computer keyboard with the skill of a concert pianist. Dumond was by far the most accomplished hacker at Langley, and perhaps in all the U.S. government. The MIT graduate had scanned the photos Rapp had taken and was now running a search through multiple databases to see if he could come up with a match.

“How long will it take?” Rapp asked as he zipped up the khaki flight suit Stilwell had given him.

“It could take five minutes. It could take five hours. That’s even if we have them in one of the databases.”

“You talked to NSA?”

“Yep. They came up with nothing.”

Rapp had asked Dumond to contact the National Security Agency and see if they could locate Kennedy’s secure mobile phone. Even if it was turned off they should have been able to locate it. The fact that they couldn’t meant her captors must have destroyed it.

“Any other ideas?” Rapp asked.

“Not really.” Dumond kept working the keyboard. “I’ll keep pounding away on this while you start pounding on them.” Dumond nodded at the stack of photos.

“I want you listening to the interrogations. I’ll try to do as much as I can in English, but if I switch to Arabic or Farsi, Stan will be with you to translate. Once we find out where these guys are from, I’ll need you to work your magic and try to confirm what they’re saying.”

“No problem.”

“All right. Let me know the second you find anything.”

“Will do.”

Rapp walked down the short hallway and poked his head in Stilwell’s office. It reeked of cigarette smoke. The chief of base was working his contacts, trying to find out where the local police commander had run off to. Stilwell interrupted the person he was talking to and told him to hold on for a moment. He covered the phone and said, “What’s up?”

“I need a video camera and some rubber gloves. Some drugs too.”

Stilwell held up a finger and put the phone back to his mouth, “Faris, I’m going to have to call you back.” Stilwell tried to hang up, but it was obvious the man had more to say. “Yes, there will be money. Lots of it.” Stilwell looked at Rapp and asked, “How much?”

“For the police chief or Irene?”

“Irene.”

Without flinching, Rapp said, “A million dollars cash and a U.S. citizenship…no questions asked.”

Stilwell repeated the information.

“Tell him the offer’s only good until midnight,” Rapp added. “And it has to lead to us getting her back.”

Stilwell listened and said, “Yeah, tax free, Faris. Sure…whatever you want. Just find out who took her and where she is…Yes, your wife and kids can come with you. If you help get her back, Faris, I will personally find you a house and help you move in. Now get going.” Stilwell stuffed the phone back in the cradle before the person could ask any more questions.