Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(20)
“And?”
“The Saudis want to incinerate the village from the air as an additional safety measure. It appears that they’re already making plans but they’re not sharing the details with the Agency. I don’t think there’s any point to you going there. It seems high risk, low return.”
While her assessment was hard to argue with, high risk, low return was a front-runner for the engraving on his tombstone. Currently in third place behind Do you think they’ll be able to stitch that up? and Does anyone else hear ticking?
It was a thin lead but it was better than sitting around Al Hudaydah giving himself emphysema. There was always a chance that Halabi or one of his men had left something useful behind.
“Can I assume you disagree with my analysis and insist on going?” Claudia said, filling the silence between them.
“Yes.”
“I thought you’d say that, so I sent the village’s coordinates to Scott in Riyadh. They know a Saudi chopper pilot who’s willing to pick you up and take you to the village.”
“Where and when?”
“Before I tell you that, you have to listen me. I know you always want to charge in, but are you sure it’s worth it to spend a couple of hours looking around a burned village? Al Qaeda and ISIS control that area. We have no eyes there and no idea of their strength or distribution.”
“Understood,” he said, swallowing his natural urge to just bark orders. It was the main drawback to having the woman he was sleeping with handling his logistics. The upside was that she was one of the best in the business.
“I’m not finished.”
His jaw clenched, but he managed to get go ahead out in a relatively even tone.
“The Saudi pilot isn’t one of ours. He has a solid reputation, but he’s not Fred and he’s not loyal to us.”
“He’ll be fine.”
There was a brief pause as she translated his words in her head.
“One last thing. Doctors Without Borders gave us information about the virus that the medical team was dealing with and it sounds terrifying. Without going into detail—”
“This is your definition of not going into detail?”
She had no idea what he’d said but chose to ignore it based on his tone. “It’s incredibly dangerous, Mitch. And more important, it can survive on surfaces for days. Don’t take the idea that the fire killed it for granted. You need to use the biohazard protocols you’ve been trained in. I’m serious. If there’s even a vague possibility that you or one of Scott’s men has been exposed to this, you’ll have to be quarantined and you’ll probably die.”
He was starting to think that she was enjoying his inability to give anything more than one-word answers. “Understood.”
“So, you promise to be careful and not touch anything?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then. The chopper will pick you up outside of town at exactly 2 a.m. I’ll send the coordinates to your phone.”
CHAPTER 9
WESTERN YEMEN
SAYID Halabi stood on the ancient minaret looking out over the landscape hundreds of meters below. The village’s tightly packed stone buildings dominated the top of the peak, offering 360-degree views of mountains dotted with cloud shadows. Steep slopes had been terraced for agriculture over the centuries, and some were still green with the coffee plants that Yemen had once been so famous for.
Up until about a year ago, this place had been home to a community of farmers who had contracted with an American company to produce and export coffee beans. The hope had been that the industry would regain its economic foothold and stabilize the region.
The foreign businessmen had quickly recognized the realities of trying to carve a secular commercial paradise from this war-torn country and given up on the enterprise. Most of the farmers and other workers had moved on shortly thereafter, leaving a core group of thirty villagers who were either too rooted to this place to abandon it or had nowhere else to go.
Their bodies were now piled in a low building to the southeast. Halabi couldn’t see it from his vantage point, but knew from reports that the work bricking up the windows and doors was nearly complete. By the end of the day, the godless collaborators would be sealed in the tomb where they would stay for all eternity. Forgotten by their families, by history, and by Allah.
He limped to the other side of the minaret and looked into the narrow street below. Two of his men were visible, one dressed in traditional Yemeni garb and the other in a chador. It was a bit of an indignity for the battle-hardened soldier, but an unavoidable one. The Saudis and Americans were always watching from above and they couldn’t be permitted to see anything but the normal rhythms of rural Yemeni life.
The wind began to gust and he closed his eyes, feeling the presence of God on the cool, dry air. The path to victory became clearer every day as Allah blessed him with an increasingly detailed understanding of His plan. The objective, so indistinct before, now seemed as well defined as the landscape around him.
Halabi finally turned and began descending the spiral steps that provided access to the minaret. His injuries forced him to use the stone walls to steady himself, but he was grateful for the struggle. Every stabbing pain, unbalanced step, and constricted breath reminded him of his arrogance and God’s punishment for it.
As expected, Muhammad Attia was waiting patiently for him on the mosque’s main floor.