Ashani knew with a discomforting level of certainty that the very office he was sitting in would be decimated by the first wave of cruise missiles. Before he could even attempt to think what his next move would be, his office door burst open. His deputy minister for covert activities wanted to know why he had not been consulted. Within seconds, the deputy minister in charge of Hezbollah was in front of his desk demanding to know the same.

Ashani attempted to explain to them that he had also been kept in the dark. It was obvious from the looks on their faces, though, that they did not believe him. Then the phones began to ring and ring; office phones, cell phones, secure phones-every single phone he had. His wife reached him on his personal cell phone after trying to get past his secretary. She was in a panic and wanted to know if she should load up the girls and leave the city. Ashani told her to stay put and tried to reassure her. Before getting off the phone he promised he would call within the hour.

Then he kicked everyone out of his office, told his secretary to hold all calls, and closed and locked the door. After a moment’s hesitation he decided to ring Ayatollah Najar’s private line. For the third time in as many hours he was told by his assistant that Najar was unavailable. Ashani hung up the phone and began to wonder if Najar and the Supreme Leader being out of the capital hadn’t been planned. What if they had given Amatullah their blessing?

The possibility shook Ashani’s faith in the leaders of his country. What if they had all been in on this plot from the beginning? What if they had knowingly sent him to meet Kennedy, knowing full well that she would be kidnapped? Ashani stared down at the list of phone numbers on one piece of paper, and Rapp’s information on the other. With one phone call he could defuse the entire situation. If for a second he thought that either Amatullah or Mukhtar possessed the ability to do what was right, he wouldn’t even think about passing along this information, but he had his doubts. In the end, Amatullah was likely too much of a narcissist to risk the full might of the U.S. armed forces, but he might be able to convince himself that their planes would never find him. In the end, America would never invade. They had neither the troops or the stomach for what would be a very costly battle on both sides.

But Mukhtar was an entirely different matter, a true believer, with a martyr complex. Mukhtar could not be counted on to turn Kennedy over. Since their close call at Isfahan, the man seemed hell-bent on plunging the region into conflict. He had made it abundantly clear that Iran had not sacrificed enough blood in the war against the Jews and the Americans. Ashani decided Mukhtar could not be trusted.

Would he be committing treason, or would it be an act of patriotism? Ashani believed the American president when he said if Kennedy was not returned safely in less than two hours he would declare war. Despite the bravado of the generals and admirals, every Iranian pilot who took to the sky would be downed, and those planes that stayed on the ground would be blown to bits. Every ship and sub foolish enough to try to engage one of the mighty strike groups would be sent to the bottom of the Persian Gulf. It would be recorded as the most lopsided naval engagement perhaps in history. Thousands would die, and that was before the Americans turned their bombs on the civilian leadership.

Ashani shook his head at the heartbreaking thought of all the chaos and destruction. The loss of life. And for what? So a group of men could say that they refused to back down. Ashani knew the nonsense had to stop.

He picked up the list of numbers that Amatullah had given him, as well as Rapp’s information and moved his chair over to his computer. He quickly composed an e-mail to Rapp listing all of the numbers. Even the two that had been used. Afraid he’d lose his nerve, Ashani hit the send key. He then grabbed his satellite phone and dialed Rapp’s number. After a few rings a man answered on the other end.

Ashani recognized Rapp’s voice. “I just sent you an e-mail. It contains a list of numbers that I was given so I could reach the man you are looking for. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“The first two numbers have already been used. I am going to call the third one in two minutes. Is that enough time for you to make the proper arrangements?”

“Yes.”

“Good. There’s one more thing.”

“I’m listening.”

Ashani glanced nervously at his door, half expecting it to be kicked in at any moment. “I want to be clear that I had nothing to do with this. I am acting on my own right now.”

“Why?”

“Out of respect for our mutual friend, and my hope that we can avoid further bloodshed.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

Ashani set the phone down and looked at his watch. He was only halfway there. In two minutes time there would be no turning back.

59

Rapp paced anxiously behind Dumond, as the younger man worked feverishly to make sure everything was in place. The eavesdropping assets in, around, and over Mosul comprised an all-encompassing net. The mobile phone networks were tapped, as were the fiber optic lines running in and out of the city. Keyhole and Voyager satellites circled far overhead in geosynchronized orbit snapping images and sucking every desired signal from the air. Predator drones hovered above to provide real-time imaging as well as radio intercepts. There wasn’t a call made in the city that wasn’t intercepted.

The complicated part lay in sifting the valuable calls from the 99.999 percent of them that were absolutely worthless. To do that normally required the deciphering of the signal and then the translation and analysis of the conversation. The National Security Agency in Fort Meade, Maryland, accomplished this by employing complex voice recognition software and more sheer computing power than any other entity in the world. So much information was collected that the analysts at the NSA were the modern-day equivalent of the prospectors who worked the rivers and streams of the California Gold Rush. Except in this case, intel intercepts were like produce in a grocery store. Each bit of information came with a “best if used by date.” Provided that Minister Ashani had really given them the numbers that Mukhtar would use, all of these hurdles could be avoided.

Dumond pounded on his keyboard with a final few strokes and then pushed his chair back, removing his headset. He looked over his shoulder at Rapp and said, “It’s all set to go. We’re at the top of the list on every system. The numbers are programmed in. The second they go active we’ll be able to isolate them.” Dumond pointed at the screen on the far left and said, “The two numbers that you said were already used…We’re mining the records right now, to see which towers relayed the most recent calls.”

“What about the third number?” Rapp asked. “If he has the phone turned on, can’t we pick it up?”

“He doesn’t even have to turn it on.”

“I know,” Rapp said with frustration in his voice. “Now’s not the time to get technical with me.”

“Sorry. We’re searching for it right now. As you know, it’s standard field practice to turn these on sparingly. It greatly reduces the risk of being tagged.”

“I know, but ten phones is excessive.”

“He’s probably just switching out SIM cards.”

“Marcus,” Rapp shot him a cautionary look, “I’m well aware of how it works. Can we please focus on what is important and stop talking about semantics.”

Dumond nodded quickly and swore at himself for being so stupid. He’d known Rapp for a long time. Had worked with him on a lot of operations. Kennedy was like family to Rapp. The stress of this situation understandably had shortened his already short fuse.