Pursuit of Honor

The bus stop was up ahead. Forty feet of empty curb space. Perfect for what they had pla

When he closed to within thirty feet he gave the signal by putting the map in his back pocket. There was no gu

The big side door of the van slid open. Rapp focused on the target’s head and watched it begin to turn in the direction of the van. He moved as if he was going to pass the target on the left, brought up the epipen, and punched it down on the back left side of the man’s neck. His right hand clamped down firmly on the target’s shoulder and he half-pushed, half-spun him toward the open door. The guy moved like a rag doll. Rapp tossed him into Reavers’s waiting arms and followed right behind him. Coleman was already pulling back into traffic as Rapp was yanking the door closed.

Rapp patted down the target’s pockets. He found two sets of identification, one of which was for Adam Farhat. The photo matched the sketch. “We got the right guy. Nice work, guys.”

Rapp continued rifling through the man’s pockets. He found a phone, a battery for the phone, a room key for a hotel, a money belt stuffed with cash, and a manila envelope stuffed in the back waistband of the guy’s shorts. He put it all in a small duffel bag and then began to go through the contents more closely. He was in the middle of opening the big envelope when Butler came over his earpiece.

“We might have a problem. One of the shop owners is on the street. We think he wrote down your tag and he’s now on his phone. We think he might be talking to the police.”

“Shit.” Rapp looked at Coleman’s reflection in the rearview mirror and said, “Start making your way out to Paradise Island. Just in case.”

Coleman did so without having to ask why.

Rapp pulled out his mobile phone and called the pilots. He told them they might have to make a hasty departure. It was standard procedure to have the plane fueled and ready for this very reason. Rapp tore open the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers. He fa

He stuffed them back in the bag, grabbed the phone, and placed the battery back in its place. It took a while for the phone to power up. Rapp wanted to see if he’d made any calls recently. The message light was on, so he decided to start there. He hit the button and held the phone to his ear. “You dare call me a coward.” The voice had an Arab accent and Rapp thought the man sounded very angry. “What are you? You sneak out of here like some frightened woman while I am in the shower and leave me to fight for myself. Stuck in the middle of America. You will pay! Allah will make you pay. I will tell everyone that you are a traitor. Nothing more than a woman with a man’s genitalia. And that I’m not even sure about. When I am done with my mission I will find you. I will hunt you like a dog and I will make you endure unimaginable suffering and humiliation. And trust me, I will not fail. I will find you.”

“Stuck in the middle of America,” Rapp mumbled to himself. He looked over at the body of al Harbi. His sunglasses had fallen off and his face looked as if someone had beaten the piss out of him. Rapp was trying to make sense of it all when Butler came back over the radio, his voice more urgent than before.

“The police are now on the scene.”

Rapp thought about the message he’d just listened to and made a decision, “Got it. We’re out of here.”

“What about your computer friend here?” Butler asked.

Rapp had almost forgot about Dumond. “I’ll send another plane. And another thing . . . I have a room key here for the Towne Hotel. Number twelve.”

“I’ll have it gone over.”

Coleman hit the gas and Rapp ordered Reavers and Wicker to stuff al Harbi into the canvas bag they’d brought along. While they wrestled with the limp body, Rapp called the pilots back and told them they were inbound and he wanted to be wheels up as soon as they arrived. The customs stamps and paperwork had already been taken care of. Rapp cringed at the thought of the police catching a CIA black ops team with a heavily medicated terrorist, one they’d abducted in broad daylight in the middle of one of the world’s most well-known tourist destinations. Whether al Harbi was guilty or not, this was the type of thing that could set off an international incident. Coleman went straight to the private aviation section of the airport.

By the time they pulled onto the tarmac the duffel bag was zipped up and the engines on the G550 were spooling up. Coleman wheeled the van around to the rear cargo door. Rapp jumped out with the small duffel bag and headed straight for the ground-crew guy who worked for the local aviation company. Rapp slid him a hundred-dollar bill and made small talk while Wicker and Reavers wrestled the big duffel bag into the rear cargo compartment. Coleman dumped the van in the lot and trotted back to the jet while the cargo door was secured. Rapp followed him up the steps and hit the button to raise the stairs. There was a moment of hesitation while he wondered if they should retrieve Dumond, and then he decided he could do without him for a few hours. What they didn’t want right now was for the tower to lay down a ground stop.

All four men took their seats and buckled in as the plane taxied. Rapp tapped his earpiece and said, “George?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t forget the tags on the van.”

“I won’t.” There was a pause and then Butler asked, “Do we have confirmation?”

Rapp looked down at the small leather duffel bag and grabbed both passports. The photos matched the sketch Butler’s man had provided. “It’s him,” Rapp said. “Nice work, George. We owe you big.”

“Maybe you could get me one of those medals like Mike got yesterday.”

Rapp laughed at Butler’s dry attempt at humor. “I’ll do one better. I’ll make sure you get knighted.”

“That would be much better.” Butler laughed. “I’ll talk to you in a few hours. Nice work.”

“Thanks.” Rapp pulled out the earpiece, took the small radio from his belt, and set it on the table in front of him.

Coleman looked at him and smiled. “Is there any feeling better than this?”

Rapp returned the smile. “Not in our line of work.” The plane reached the end of the runway and didn’t even pause. It spun around, put its nose into the wind, and kept going, the two Rolls Royce turbofan engines propelling the plane forward like a rocket. Seconds later they were airborne and banking to port over the water. Rapp looked across at Coleman and said, “One down and two to go.”

“Yeah. We’d better wake him up and see what he knows.”

Rapp looked over his shoulder at the rear pressurized cargo door. “In a minute. I wa