Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(22)

“What you believe isn’t important to me. Only what you do.”

? ? ?

After a life dedicated to battle, the scene playing out in front of Halabi seemed laughably banal. The Crimean documentary filmmaker whose artistry had thus far exceeded all expectations was now entirely in his element. He had the three Westerners dressed up in elaborate hazmat suits and was orchestrating their every movement as they dissected the sheep. Lighting was constantly adjusted, camera angles were tested, close-ups were taken and retaken. He’d even experimented with some rudimentary dialogue, though it was unclear whether he thought it would be dramatic enough to make the final cut.

For their part, the three Westerners seemed content to play along. And why not? In their minds, nothing they were doing was real. Much of the equipment, while impressive looking, wasn’t fully assembled or even relevant to the task of producing anthrax. The elaborate computer terminal they were pretending to consult wasn’t plugged in. For now, they would be allowed to believe that they were nothing more than actors trading performances for survival.

The truth, though, was so much grander.

With biology, God had created a class of weapon infinitely more powerful than anything ever devised by man. Halabi now understood that pathogens and the skillful manipulation of information were the only weapons that mattered in the modern era. While the Western powers spent trillions maintaining massive armies and involving them in meaningless skirmishes, he had assembled the tools necessary to set fire to the earth.





CHAPTER 10


CENTRAL YEMEN

CONDITIONS were solid, with a half-moon, a sky full of stars, and light winds. Rapp’s Saudi pilot was keeping the chopper high, making it unlikely that they’d be noticed by the scattered al Qaeda and ISIS forces that controlled the area.

Rapp scanned the dark terrain through the open door but couldn’t pick up so much as a cooking fire. Maybe they’d get lucky and this operation would go quickly and smoothly. The best intel they had suggested that the village they were on their way to was completely devoid of human activity. Sayid Halabi’s men had been admittedly efficient at turning it into a tomb, leaving nothing but the charred bodies of its inhabitants sealed in their burned homes.

The main dangers they expected to face were a few potential booby traps and the germs that Claudia was so afraid of. Time on the ground would have to be limited, so if they were going to come up with any clues as to where Halabi had taken the medical team, they’d have to do it fast. The Saudis were definitely committed to wiping what was left of this village off the face of the planet, but were being cagey as to exactly when. Better not to be standing in the middle of it when the bombers showed up.

The wind gusting through the door intensified and he pulled back, turning his attention to the dim cabin and the men sharing it with him. Scott Coleman, Joe Maslick, Charlie Wicker, and Bruno McGraw were all sitting calmly, lost in their own thoughts or lightly dozing. They’d been with him almost since the beginning. Long enough to accumulate a few too many years and a few too many injuries. It didn’t matter, though. The kind of trust they’d developed over that time couldn’t be replaced by one of the standout SEALs or Delta kids that Coleman occasionally got wind of.

This team had always been there for him and not a single one of them was replaceable as far as Rapp was concerned. He knew what they would do before they did it. He knew that every one of them was one hundred percent loyal to him and to each other. And he knew that not one of them would stop until five minutes after they were dead.

“Everyone’s clear on the drill,” Rapp said over the microphone hanging in front of his face. “We’re looking for anything that could even have a chance of being useful—equipment left behind, shell casings, tire tracks. The guys in Langley said they’d take gum wrappers if that’s all we can find. Get pictures of everything, and you’re authorized to use flash. We don’t have any choice, and I don’t think anyone in that village is going to mind. The far building to the west is what they were using as a hospital. Don’t get any closer than thirty feet. Hazmat protocols are in effect for the entire op, and anything we collect goes in the bags.”

“What if we find a survivor?”

“Keep a twenty-foot interval and get ’em on the ground. We’ll question them like that and call in an army medical team to make sure they’re not sick.”

“And if they don’t follow directions?” Coleman asked.

“If they get inside that twenty-foot perimeter, give them one warning shot, and if they still don’t get the message, put ’em down. Then we burn the body.”

The shadowed faces around him seemed slightly more nervous than normal. Stand-up fights were one thing but bacteria and viruses were another. They’d all been there. Smoldering with fever in some godforsaken jungle. Trying to be quiet while puking your guts out behind enemy lines. Dengue. Malaria. Dysentery. Infected wounds oozing puss. Everyone’s least favorite part of the job.

The nose of the aircraft dipped and the pilot announced that they were on their final approach. The plan was to never let the runners touch the ground. As soon as they were out, the chopper would climb to a safe height and wait for them to call it back in. There was no reason for ISIS or al Qaeda to be hanging around here, but it didn’t make sense to take chances.

Rapp grabbed the edge of the door and hung partway out the side as they descended. The darkness was too deep to discern the charring on the walls of the stone buildings. The collapsed roofs and the inky graves beyond, though, were easy enough to pick out in the moonlight.