Chapter 57 #2
Rapp stuck his thumb into the open wound on the imam’s kneecap.
“Unit 910! He’s the commander of Unit 910!”
Rapp tried to cover his surprise.
Unit 910 was Hezbollah’s expeditionary organization.
A black-ops unit charged with carrying out overseas assassinations, bombings, and establishing international sleeper cells.
Unit 910 had a global reach and had successfully executed clandestine operations as varied as the bombing of the Israeli embassy in Argentina, to the assassinations of Iranian dissidents in Europe, to surveillance operations in the United States.
Unit 910 operatives received their training and funding from the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, and they possessed the linguistic and cultural abilities, as well as the required documentation, to pass as citizens from any number of countries.
They were a deadly organization’s deadliest killers.
“What about the Lebanese guy who sent me here?” Rapp said. “Ali?”
“He launders money for Hezbollah using his import-export business.”
“What’s his true name?” Rapp said.
“I don’t know.”
Rapp struck Arab Gandalf’s knee with his pistol.
“I don’t know!”
“What about the name of his business?”
“Something Imports.”
That triggered a memory.
Reaching over to the pile of trash, Rapp quickly sorted through the scraps of paper until he found what he was looking for. Wiping a dollop of what looked like hummus from the top of the invoice, he read the company name.
“Standard Imports?”
“Yes! That’s it. I’m sure of it.”
Baby Face moaned and his eyelids fluttered.
Decision time.
“I’ve told you everything,” Arab Gandalf said, his voice pleading. “That’s all I know.”
Rapp centered the pistol on the prone man’s forehead.
“I’m telling the truth!” the imam screamed.
“I believe you,” Rapp said.
Then he pulled the trigger.
Ten minutes later, Rapp was outside the mosque, walking down the street with his hands in his pockets and his face angled toward the concrete. Rage still coiled in his chest, looking for a target, so when a sedan pulled up next to him, he almost hoped it was more of Haider’s Hezbollah thugs.
It wasn’t.
“Get in,” Hurley said.
Rapp wordlessly complied.
“How did it go?” Hurley said.
“I’ve got a couple names. A money launderer for Hezbollah who goes by Ali. He runs a company called Standard Imports. He’s who recruited me in Verona.”
Rapp passed Hurley the invoice.
“Nice work, kid. Anything else?”
“Yeah. The guy who sent me on the mission to kill the Kuwaiti ambassador was Abu Hassan. Also Hezbollah. He’s the commander of—”
“Unit 910. Holy shit, kid. He’s been on our radar for years, but we’ve never gotten close to him. That son of a bitch has more blood on his hands than anyone else in Hezbollah, and that’s saying something.”
“Then you’re really gonna like this,” Rapp said. “I got his name—Haider Nasser.”
Hurley looked over at him. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“That’s big, kid. Really big.”
Hurley looked at him again.
“What’d that info cost you?”
Rapp stared out the window for a long moment. Finally, he turned to meet his mentor’s eyes.
“Too much.”
“Did you break the Orion team’s protocol?”
Rapp shook his head. “But there’s an Italian police officer with a broken wrist and probably one hell of a headache. He’ll also have some explaining to do.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s currently handcuffed to a bed and a piece-of-shit imam with a hole in his head is on the ground next to him.”
“Did the hole happen to be caused by his service weapon?”
Rapp nodded.
Hurley shrugged. “That’s tough for your Italian cop, but it seems like a fair trade to me. Why the long face?”
“There was a woman. A teenager really. They were abusing her. I offered her help. She refused. After I left, they killed her. The Hezbollah son of a bitch was afraid she’d heard too much.”
Hurley sighed. “That’s a shit sandwich, kid. No two ways about it. You can’t save everyone who needs saving any more than you can kill everyone who needs killing. Sometimes, you just have to let it go.”
“Not this time,” Rapp said with a snarl. “I want to track that fucker down and put a bullet in his head.”
“He’s gonna have to get in line, because you have a tasking. Irene’s sending you to Iraq.”
Rapp turned toward Hurley. “What do you mean?”
“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you since I picked you up from the hotel. The snake eaters from special operations are planning something in Iraq. Something big enough that they want an asset on the ground to be their eyes and ears.”
Rapp stared at Hurley for a long moment, not sure what a CIA collection tasking had to do with him. Then he got it.
“Me?”
“This is the big show, kid. I did my time working on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain, but my German isn’t going to be much use blending in with the locals. You’re backstopped, have the language ability, and look the part. This opportunity is tailor-made for you.”
“Except I’m not a case officer. I don’t run assets or service dead drops.”
“You don’t say.” Hurley’s reply dripped with sarcasm.
“Give me a little credit, kid. I know what you do. Hell, you do it better than anyone I’ve ever trained.
You’re not going to Iraq to conduct a brush pass with some Iraqi general.
JSOC is going to take a hammer to Hussein’s chemical weapons program.
You’re going to point them to the nail.”
“What about Haider?”
Hurley scowled. “I understand you want this guy’s head.
I get it. I’m not saying you won’t get a chance to plug him at some point, but the Orion team’s kill list is prioritized for a reason.
Go to Iraq and help our pipe hitters do their job.
I’ll keep working the Hezbollah angle. You have my word.
Once the Iraq operation is complete, I’ll pitch Irene on moving Haider to the top of the target list. Deal? ”
“Deal,” Rapp said, looking back out the window.
This wasn’t because he wanted a final view of the Roman skyline.
Rapp didn’t want Hurley to see his expression. He would do as his mentor asked and travel to Iraq to help the special operators accomplish their mission.
But that wasn’t all he’d do.