Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(100)

The Agency had been concerned that the people trapped in the trailer might be able to communicate out, but the risk turned out to be low. A couple of the CIA’s tech geeks had physically closed themselves up in the back of a truck full of frozen food and confirmed that getting cell or satellite signal was virtually impossible.

“All is well,” Rapp said in Arabic. “I’m about an hour from the border crossing.”

“Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”

Rapp found himself mesmerized by the man’s voice—as though it were emanating from beyond the grave. He’d dropped an entire cave system on the ISIS leader and still he’d managed to survive. Would the NSA be able to locate him? And would Rapp live long enough to look into his eyes before putting a bullet between them?

“This is the first call I’ve received. It’s possible that the cell coverage isn’t as good as we anticipated.”

There was a brief silence as Halabi processed what he’d heard.

“Very well. God be with you. Contact me when you’re across.”

It was incredible how much you could get away with in the modern world by using bad cell coverage as an excuse.

“God be with you,” Rapp responded, though it seemed that Halabi had already disconnected. A moment later Claudia came back on.

“Mitch, do you copy?”

“Yeah. Was that long enough? Did they get him?”

“I’ll try to find out, but in the meantime I have Gary Statham on the line. Can you talk to him?”

“Yeah, put him on,” he said, rolling the window back up.

“Mitch? How’re you holding up?”

“I’m covered in blood, I’ve got a corpse jammed under the dash, and I forgot my driver’s license. Other than that, fine.”

“Understood. We’re at the border quietly setting up. We don’t want to tip off the Mexicans that it’s not business as usual. The border’s still open and operating normally. Still not too much activity and the Mexicans aren’t stopping anyone leaving their side. When you get here, you’ll just be waved through. Once you’re on the U.S. side, stop. And whatever you do, don’t get out of the truck.”

“Roger that.”

“Then we’ll see you in about fifty-three minutes. Good luck.”

? ? ?

“Mitch,” Coleman said over the comm. “You’ve got a cop coming at you on the opposite side of the highway. ETA is about two minutes, but he doesn’t look like he’s in a hurry. Likely he’ll just pass on by.”

“Good to have you back. How’s the chopper? Is it going to hold together?”

“Fred says fifty-fifty. But we’re due a little luck, right.”

Just over a half an hour to the border and everything was going as smoothly as could be hoped for. Gauges all looked good and the only vehicle visible was Bruno McGraw in his mirror.

“Cop just went by me,” Joe Maslick said. “Still normal speeds.”

The police cruiser appeared in the distance and Rapp followed it with his eyes as it passed and began to recede in his mirror. Then, after about a hundred yards, taillights flashed.

“Are you seeing this?” Rapp said.

“Yeah,” McGraw responded as the police car crossed the median and began coming up behind them with siren wailing.

“Then deal with it.”

His man drifted into the right lane in what appeared to be an effort to let the cop pass. But when it came even with the pickup, McGraw swerved left. The unexpected impact was enough to send the cruiser back into the median, where it flipped three times before coming to a rest on its roof.

“Claudia,” Rapp said. “A cop just came after us and McGraw took him out.”

“Copy that. We haven’t heard anything over the police radios about you. Did you do anything to get his attention?”

“Negative.”

“Then they may be communicating by cell phone, which is probably not a good sign.”

“Looks like the Mexicans have finally decided to join the party,” Coleman broke in. “You’ve got two more cruisers coming in on you from the east. They’re still about five miles out but their lights are on and they’re hauling ass. Hold on . . . Looks like they’re slowing down. Yeah. They’re crossing the median and setting up a roadblock. And you’ve got another cop coming up behind you. A ways back though and he’s struggling to close the gap. You’ll have a visual on him before you get to the roadblock, but I don’t think he’ll be on top of you yet.”

Rapp glanced at his speedometer. Eighty-seven miles an hour. It was about all he was going to get out of the truck on this road. “Can I get around it?”

“That’s a negative. They picked a place with rocky terrain and trees on either side.”

“Mas!”

“I’m on it, Mitch.”

? ? ?

When the roadblock finally came into view, it was chaos. Maslick had his pickup sideways in the road and was firing his assault rifle across the hood at the cruiser blocking the right lane. From that distance, Rapp couldn’t tell what the cops were doing in response and at this point he didn’t care.

“What the fuck?” he said over the comm. “I’m less than a minute out and I’m not planning on slowing down. Get me through.”