“Yeah, you just help fund and train Hezbollah suicide bombers so they can blow themselves up in supermarkets and kill pregnant women.” With a sarcastic sneer Rapp added, “That’s much better.”

Kennedy looked at Rapp and cleared her throat. It was a signal for him to back off. She then looked at Ashani and said, “It is my hope that this experience will serve as a lesson that our two countries need to open relations. The lack of communications only allows the zealots to advance their ideas.”

“I agree,” Ashani responded.

Rapp made a face like he might get sick.

“Now, why did you travel all this way?” Kennedy asked in a congenial voice.

“The short answer…Imad Mukhtar.”

“What about him?” Rapp said.

“He is back in Lebanon.” Ashani placed a thick manila envelope on the glass table and slid it toward Kennedy. “I have prepared a dossier for you.”

Kennedy opened the package and began flipping through the pages. “This is a lot of information.” She looked at him with her searching eyes and asked, “Why?”

“Because he wants us to clean up his mess,” Rapp said.

Kennedy help up her hand, signaling to Rapp that she would like him to butt out for a minute. “Why?”

“Ayatollah Najar has asked the senior leadership of Hezbollah to arrest Mukhtar and send him to Tehran. They have assured him that they would put their full resources behind it.”

“Let me guess,” said Rapp, “they’re not putting a lot of effort into finding him.”

“They are putting no effort into finding him. They are putting all their effort into hiding him.”

“Where?” Rapp asked.

“North of Tripoli.”

“Lebanon?”

“Yes.” Ashani pointed to the file in Kennedy’s hands. “It is all in there. Bank records, known associates, et cetera…”

“There’s a lot more than that in here,” Kennedy said.

Ashani shrugged sheepishly.

Kennedy studied his face for a moment and in search of a more full answer, repeated her question. “Why?”

“Only one other person in my country knows about my trip to see you. That person and I agree that Iran’s future would be better served if we were to cut our ties with Hezbollah.”

“And by giving this to us you hope to accomplish…what?”

Ashani thought about his answer carefully and then said, “I think it will help us close a very ugly chapter in our shared history, and hopefully give you personally a sense of justice.”

Kennedy considered the thick file for a moment and said, “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Ashani stood and said, “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

“You are welcome. Please excuse my not getting up, but I’m still a bit sore.”

Rapp escorted Ashani to the door and handed him off to Ridley. He closed the door and walked back to Kennedy, who was staring out the window lost in thought. Rapp stood there for a moment and then asked, “What would you like me to do with Mukhtar?”

Without looking, Kennedy handed the file over her shoulder to Rapp and said, “Kill him.”

The G-5 landed shortly after midnight. Rapp looked out the window and was pleased to see that the police escort was there as promised. It had taken Rapp three hours to read the file from cover to cover, and by the time he was finished, he knew exactly what he was going to do. He had his secretary make two copies of the file. He sent one to Marcus Dumond with instructions to scan everything into the system, so they could begin the collection of intercepts, and the other file went to Kennedy with instructions for it not to be distributed until he gave the okay. The last thing he needed was some gung-ho analyst, or worse, someone from the Justice Department getting in his way before he had a chance to permanently resolve the outstanding issue.

The next thing he did was call a certain Middle Eastern monarch who had a deep fondness and respect for Kennedy. This monarch had called in the aftermath of Kennedy’s kidnapping and offered to do anything to help bring Imad Mukhtar to justice. The king also happened to be from the Sunni sect of Islam and despised the Shiite terrorist group Hezbollah. Mukhtar himself had been behind a plot to kill one of the king’s brothers. Rapp explained the situation, and told the monarch what he would like to do. The monarch did not hesitate to offer his significant assistance, and in fact told Rapp he would like to incur the costs the operation. This actually became the stickiest part of the conversation. Rapp had to eventually invoke tribal honor to get the monarch to back down.

Operations like this were often very tedious and drawn out-usually taking months and sometimes even years. Every so often, though, a shortcut presented itself. The trick was to know when to take it. In this instance, Rapp was influenced by several factors. The first, simple fact was that every government and organization, with the exception of Hezbollah, had turned its back on Mukhtar. And according to Ashani’s information there were even a few high-ranking members of Hezbollah who thought it was time for the man to simply disappear. The second reason why Rapp was willing to take the shortcut was because he knew if anything went wrong, the president would have his back. Alexander had told him personally that he wanted Mukhtar’s scalp and he didn’t care how long it took. The third and final reason Rapp decided to take the quick route was simple poetic justice.

Rapp looked at his satellite phone and punched in a number from memory. After a few rings someone answered on the other end and gave Rapp the confirmation he needed. Rapp thanked the person and put the phone back in his pocket. He unbuckled his seat belt, and opened the storage closet near the cockpit. After putting on his suit coat he grabbed a large, heavy black duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder. On his way past the cockpit, Rapp poked his head in and told the pilots he would likely be back in an hour. Rapp walked down steps and across the rain-slick tarmac. Two police officers were standing by the squad car; one a detective and the other a patrolman. Rapp shook hands with the detective, who informed him that the chief was waiting for him at the station.

Rapp climbed into the backseat and they were off. Where Beirut was a city of mixed religions and sects, Tripoli was predominantly Sunni. They arrived at the station a few minutes later. Rapp lugged the heavy bag up two flights of stairs and was shown immediately into the chief’s office. Introductions were extremely brief. Neither man wanted to get to know the other. They simply wanted to complete the transaction and go their separate ways.

“Is that what I think it is?” the chief asked, pointing at the bag on the floor.

Rapp nudged it with his foot. “Sure is. Would you like to take a look?”

The chief nodded eagerly.

“Before we do that I want to verify one thing.”

“What is that?”

“You spoke to his majesty directly?”

“Yes.”

“And I assume he told you that I am the last guy you want to double-cross.”

The chief grinned uncomfortably. “Yes, he did. He actually said you are the second-to-last guy. He is the last guy.”

“Whatever works,” Rapp smiled amiably. He bent down and unzipped the bag, revealing five tightly shrink-wrapped packets of money. Stepping back, Rapp said, “Five million dollars.” Rapp figured it was cheap. The leadership of al-Qaeda all had price tags of twenty-plus million on their heads. Mukhtar at five million was a bargain. Especially when one took into consideration that based on Ashani’s information, they could easily clear that much, once they started raiding the Hezbollah accounts they now knew about. If Mukhtar could bribe Sunni cops in Mosul, Rapp saw no problem in offering a cash reward for one of the most-wanted terrorists in the world.