Kline looked amused. “I can’t wait to hear this. A knuckle-dragger from the CIA is going to impart a pearl of wisdom.”

“It’s your ego. It’s not a sense of duty. You want to make a name for yourself. You want to climb the ladder of success. Maybe run for office someday or open your own law practice. You’re nothing but a big pussy in a suit. You wouldn’t last a day out there doing what we do.”

“I would never stoop so low as to do your work.”

“You mean killing terrorists and saving lives. Of course you wouldn’t, because you’re a selfish little prick.”

“You know what I think?” said Kline hotly. “I think you’re a sick man. I think you get off on beating defenseless men.” Kline circled around and whispered in Rapp’s ear, “I think it’s a real thrill for you.” He placed his hand on the back of Rapp’s neck and began to squeeze.

“I’m only going to say this once,” Rapp said in a firm voice. “Take your hand off me, right now.”

“What?” Kline laughed loudly. “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”

In an almost disembodied voice, Rapp said, “You have no idea who you are dealing with.”

“I’m dealing with a guy who gets his jollies slapping around men who are handcuffed.” Kline playfully smacked Rapp across the back of the head with an open hand.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Rapp asked, his anger building.

Kline slapped him harder and then grabbed a handful of Rapp’s thick black hair and yanked his head back. “Why should I play by the rules when you don’t? Huh, Mr. Tough Guy?”

“Because I got out of my handcuffs, you idiot.”

Kline’s eyes froze for a moment and then moved from Rapp’s face down to his lap, where he saw the handcuffs and chains lying in his lap.

Before Kline could move, Rapp’s right hand shot up and grabbed him by the tie. Spinning out of the chair, Rapp stood and drove the Department of Justice employee back into the corner and delivered a quick knee strike to the groin. Then, grabbing Kline’s tie with both hands, Rapp began to cinch the knot tighter and tighter.

As Kline’s face began to turn purple, Rapp asked, “Who’s the tough guy now?”

CHAPTER 39

FLORIDA KEYS

HAKIM turned on the surface radar, noted the location of several vessels sitting just on the other side of U.S. territorial water, and then turned the radar off. Everything seemed normal, at least compared to the other three test runs he’d taken with the boat. He’d decided months ago that they would make their run on a Monday. For the Coast Guard down in the Keys, every weekend was a pain. Thousands of boaters took to the waterways, and while the vast majority were respectful and law-abiding, there was still a significant number who drank too much, acted like idiots, and caused a lot of trouble. So the Coast Guard was always a little slow to start after a busy weekend.

Now came the part that his friend would never understand. Karim was far too rigid. In many ways it was what made him such a great leader, but his lack of trust and inflexibility had also made things almost impossible. At some point they needed to move outside their group. Without help from within America, Hakim knew it would be impossible for them to succeed, so he had acted unilaterally.

Pretending as if he’d dropped something, Hakim bent over and withdrew his mobile phone from his cargo pocket. He quickly punched in the number and held the phone to his ear. He counted the rings, each one making him more nervous. On the sixth, the person on the other end answered.

“Hello.”

“Mike,” said Hakim, “it’s Joe. How are you doing?”

“Good.”

“Are we still on for breakfast?”

“Yes. I’m here waiting for you.”

“Good. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Hakim stuffed the phone back into his pocket and stood. He looked over at Karim and gave him the thumbs-up signal. Karim, looking as serious as ever, gave him a slight nod. Hakim had a moment of hesitation. Not for himself, but for his friend. For all of Karim’s drive, intellect, and talent, he lacked polish. He was too stiff, and in a relatively laid-back country like America, Hakim feared he would stand out too much. He had a plan for that as well. At least to get them as far as D.C.

Hakim grabbed the large headphones off the dash and held them high above his head. He waved them back and forth until Karim saw what he was doing and then he put them on his head. Once they started the engines it would be the only way they could hear each other. Karim put on the headphones as well, and after a brief radio check they turned the powerful outboard engines on. One by one they rumbled as the pistons started cranking. Outside of the offshore racing circuit these boats were about as fast as you could get. Even so, they could never outrun the helicopters the Coast Guard used.

A gust of wind blew across the bow, forming ripples on the calm water. Hakim cranked his head around and looked to the east. The seas still looked pretty calm, but it wasn’t likely to last. Weather was one thing he did not want to have to contend with. If they had to open up the boats to near full throttle in rough seas, they were in trouble. Karim was nowhere near a good-enough seaman to contend with big swells.

Thumbing the transmit button on the headset, Hakim said, “Charlie, I’ll race you in for breakfast.” Hakim had gone over the plan the night before. This was just like Afghanistan, where you had to assume the Americans listened to everything. “Remember, don’t stop for me.” He looked across the water at his friend, who gave him the thumbs-up.

Hakim pushed the three throttles forward a fifth and marked his heading. He’d done this exact run before. Point the boat straight at Marathon and head in at a steady 20 mph. Karim fell in behind him, fifty meters back. Two minutes later, Hakim turned on the surface radar and left it on this time. As they prepared to leave international waters, Karim called down below for Ahmed. He handed the young Moroccan the binoculars and told him to start scanning the sky for helicopters.

All of the drugs had been transferred onto Hakim’s boat, and all of the men, except Ahmed, were now on Karim’s boat. Hakim had revealed this part of his plan while they were at sea during the night and Karim had been none too pleased. He hadn’t realized until they had left Cuba that all of the cargo and all of the men could have easily fit onto one boat. Karim had learned firsthand in Afghanistan that the more simple the plan, the better chances there were of success. The idea of using two boats, when one would suffice, made no sense to him. Hakim explained his reasoning, but Karim, stubborn as always, held his ground and disagreed.

“Why can’t we simply transfer everything onto one boat and set the other adrift?” he had asked.

Hakim wanted to strangle him. They had ended up out on the bow of Hakim’s boat arguing in hushed angry tones. It finally ended when Hakim told his old friend he was acting like one of those overfed Taliban commanders who never ventured to the front, but claimed to know everything. Karim, having spent months without a soul questioning anything he said, almost threw his friend into the water. With great restraint, he calmed himself down and consented to allow Hakim to continue to run this part of the operation.

The two boats crossed into American water without fanfare. Knowing that his friend was a bit overwhelmed with the task of staying on course, Hakim doubted he even noticed the significant event. They continued on for two more miles, heading directly for Marathon. This was the trickiest part. The American Coast Guard was very well funded, and had some of the best equipment that money could buy, but there were limits. With thousands of vessels coming in and out of the Keys every day, the Coast Guard had to deploy its assets judiciously. If a vessel were on course to enter port at a decent-sized city like Marathon, the Coast Guard would deal with it when it got there or send one of its many vessels out to inspect. The helicopters were expensive and far more rare than the hundreds of patrol boats that were used to keep the waterways safe.