Chapter 78
CIA OPERATIONS CENTER
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
IRENE almost missed the crowd’s noise.
The murmur of conversations, clatter of keyboards, and buzzing of phones had signified life. Analysts reviewing intelligence feeds, case officers debriefing assets, and their operational partners providing real-time updates. Yes, the operation had gone sideways, but they weren’t out of the fight.
Not yet.
Now, hours later, the silence was deafening and the air smelled like despair. Occasional voices whispered here and there, but the room felt more like a wake than a battleship’s bridge. After six hours of bringing every asset in theater to bear, Irene’s team had come up with nothing.
The convoy had vanished into thin air and Mitch along with it.
“Can I get you anything?”
Irene turned from the wall-length electronic display to see Hannah standing beside her. “No, but thank you.”
Irene softened her refusal with a smile, but the analyst’s shoulders still slumped.
As the efforts to find Rapp had continued to come up dry, Irene began releasing the Operations Center’s workers back to their normal jobs, or in some cases, home if their shift had ended.
What could be done had been done. With the operation’s air and ground assets having long since returned to their bases of origin, it made no sense to keep people here just for the sake of manning the center.
Irene told herself that this decision wasn’t because she was giving up as much as it was a tacit admission that locating Rapp would now transition into a long-term effort.
That this was true did nothing to alleviate her feeling of failure.
Judging by her reaction and refusal to abandon Irene, Hannah felt the same way.
“Dr. Kennedy? You have a call.”
Irene turned toward the person speaking—a woman in her sixties.
“Who is it?”
“He said his name is Mitch Rapp.”
Irene didn’t remember crossing the room.
One moment, she was standing by the board with Hannah.
The next, she was holding the handset against her ear.
“Mitch?”
“It’s me.”
Save the moment when her soon-to-be husband had looked at her across the altar and said, I do, Irene didn’t think she’d ever heard two more beautiful words. She pressed her fingers to her lips and stifled a sob.
“Thank God you’re alive. I was so worried.”
“Alive for the moment. I’m also on the clock. Hezbollah hit the Iraqi weapons convoy and stole the chemical weapons, which they fashioned into some kind of vehicle-borne IED. They’re going to use it imminently, but I don’t know the target. I need your help.”
Half of Irene was already cataloging the damage this unsecure call would cause if it were intercepted, while the other half was trying to come to terms with what Mitch had just said.
Chemical weapons in the hands of terrorists?
An imminent attack? She had so many questions, but not nearly enough time to ask them.
“Where are you?” Irene said.
“Sorry—should have led with that. Kuwait City.”
Irene closed her eyes. “I think I know the target.”