Chapter 79
KUWAIT CITY, KUWAIT
RAPP drove with one hand and held the phone to his ear with the other. Beside him, the Kurd drifted in and out of consciousness. He didn’t try to wake Azad. He had bigger things to save.
Like the president of the United States.
“He’s speaking at Kuwait University’s stadium,” Irene said. “Along with most of the Gulf State leaders and the heads of state of the coalition members who helped liberate Kuwait from Iraq. That has to be the target. The president takes the stage in ten minutes. I’ll alert the Secret Service.”
Something about what Irene had just said was setting off gonging alarm bells in his still-foggy brain. Why shouldn’t she tell the Secret Service? Sure, the stadium would devolve into chaos, but the president’s Secret Service detail had no doubt planned for this contingency and…
“Wait!” Rapp said. “Irene—don’t call them.”
“What? Why?”
“Give me a minute.” Rapp balled up the fist holding the flip phone and smacked Azad on the shoulder. “Hey. Hey! Wake up!”
The Kurd’s eyelids fluttered open. “What?”
“Where did you get this?” Rapp waved the phone in front of his face. “Where did you get the phone?”
Azad’s eyes slowly tracked to the mobile. He frowned as his brain processed Rapp’s question. “The workbench in the warehouse. Why?”
Rapp pressed the device back to his ear. “The terrorists have cell phones, Irene. They’re probably watching the stage. They may even have someone in the crowd. If the president evacs, they’ll detonate early. Give me time to find the bomb.”
“How—”
“Do you have a map of Kuwait City?” Rapp said.
“Yes—why?”
“I need you to point me in the right direction. Security for the event is going to be impressive. Let’s stipulate that the Hezbollah operatives won’t try to get the bomb anywhere near the stadium.”
“Why?”
“Because they don’t have to. The threat agents will be airborne. They can detonate the device upwind and let the gas drift to the target. Find me somewhere they can park a vehicle upwind from the stadium. Ideally some place high that would allow gravity to help with the dispersion.”
“Like a bridge.”
“Exactly like a bridge.”
“Stand by.”
Rapp could hear her talking with someone named Hannah about switching the electronic display to a map of Kuwait City. He was racing east down Route 80, following signs toward the university. Though he couldn’t see it, he could smell salt water.
Because there was a breeze blowing off the ocean.
“Irene, I—”
“Where are you now?”
“Heading east on Route 80. Coming up on the intersection for…” Rapp squinted at the street sign. “Al Jahidh Street.”
“Perfect. Take the next left and head north on Route 60. You’ll go through an intersection and then up onto a raised section of highway. The ocean will be below you to your right and the stadium will be about a kilometer off to your left. It’s our best guess.”
Rapp floored the accelerator, put on his blinker, and blew through a red light as he made the turn onto Route 60. As Irene had promised, the intersection was a cloverleaf of overlapping highways, one of which was a bridge heading north that was a good fifty feet above the ground. That had to be it.
“Going north on Route 60 now,” Rapp said. “I’m on the bridge.”
Rapp rocketed up the on-ramp. The bridge consisted of two lanes heading north on the eastern side of the bridge, a barrier, and then two lanes flowing south on the western side.
The city proper loomed to his left and the ocean beckoned to his right.
He could feel the minutes ticking down as he reached the bridge’s apex.
“Mitch—”
And then he saw it.
A flatbed tractor trailer in the burn lane about one hundred yards ahead of him. A flatbed with metal sides ringing the cargo area. Exactly the same configuration as the trucks from the DGS convoy, with one glaring exception.
The tarps covering the cargo area were missing.