Nash walked and whispered the news in Rapp's ear. Rapp turned his attention back to Aabad. "I've dislocated my shoulder before, and I can honestly say it's one of the most painful things I've ever gone through. There's a good chance you will vomit or pass out or both, in which case I'd gladly watch you choke on it and die right here. So!" Rapp yelled as he clapped his hands together. "Last chance!"

"I have told you everything," Aabad pleaded.

"Wrong answer." Rapp shoved Aabad's face down onto the table and grabbed his cuffed wrists. With both elbows locked, Rapp torqued the wrists up and toward Aabad's head until there was a loud pop.

Aabad howled in pain. So loud in fact, that Nash walked over to the door and leaned against it in case someone tried to come in.

Rapp bent to within inches of Aabad's face and said, "I can put it back into the socket in two seconds. All you have to do is tell who the real brains was behind this operation."

Aabad was now crying in agony.

"I can make it go away. Tell me right now." Rapp waited a second then lifted the arms again."

Aabad somehow managed to scream even louder this time.

"I know about the FedEx vans. You lied to me!" Rapp screamed.

Aabad had snot flowing out of his nose and tears streaming down his face. He mumbled something, but it came out completely unintelligible.

"Say the name and I can make all the pain go away."

"Karim," Aabad cried.

"Karim who?" Rapp grabbed his wrists just in case Aabad was thinking of not following through.

"Karim Nour-al-Din."

Rapp took a knife from his belt, flipped the blade out, and cut the plastic flex cuffs. After stowing the knife, he sat Aabad up and leaned him back in the chair. "Don't move," he ordered. "This will only take a second." Rapp grabbed Aabad's right wrist and pulled it up and across his body. Placing his other hand on Aabad's good shoulder, he gave the bad arm a yank, and the ball slid back into the socket.

"Keep an eye on him," he said to Nash. To Aabad he said, "Give him the rest of the names. I'll be back in five minutes. If the name you just gave me is bullshit, or you haven't come up with the rest of the names, I'll go to work on the other shoulder."

Rapp left the conference room, closed the door behind him, and rushed down the spiral staircase to meet the delegation from the Justice Department and the FBI.

CHAPTER 69

ALL six men stood at parade rest, their hands clasped behind their backs. Each one was dressed in black SWAT gear replete with Kevlar helmets and goggles. Their tactical vests were loaded with extra ammunition, grenades, and ribbon charges. Underneath those vests each man wore his martyr vest; thirty pounds of C-4 with hundreds of imbedded ball bearings. It was a physical feat just to be able to stand with so much gear, let alone maneuver and attack an enemy stronghold.

Karim was about to give them his final address, when Hakim tapped his shoulder. Karim turned and said, "Yes?"

Hakim was hesitant and then said, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Do what?" he asked, surprised.

"Send them to their deaths."

"Of course," Karim responded in an almost lighthearted way.

"Haven't we had enough success for one day?"

Karim began to laugh. "You can never have enough success in one day. You can never deliver too big a blow to your enemy."

"The other bomb is set to go off in minutes. You have already achieved so much." Lowering his voice, he said, "Why not let them live to fight another day?"

Karim searched his friend's eyes for a moment and then said, "You do not understand..."

"Oh, I understand," Hakim answered hotly. "This is about you and your glory. It is about you making a name for yourself."

"Really?" Karim gestured toward his men. "Go ahead and ask them. Ask them if they would like to leave with you right now?"

Hakim looked at the young faces again. He doubted any one of them would abandon the group.

"You doubt me," Karim said, and then turned to address his men. "Hakim thinks that some of you would prefer to live today." There was a grumbling among the men. "I think his faith is not as strong as ours. Would any of you men like to skip this mission and leave the country with Hakim?"

In unison, they barked, "No, sir!"

"Would any of you men like me to accompany you on this mission?"

"No, sir!" Their response rang out as one, even louder than the previous response.

Karim turned to his friend and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "Oh well." Turning back to his men, he said, "You all know how strongly I feel about this next part of the operation. It is one thing to attack unprotected civilian targets. Many less talented could have done the same, although probably not with the precision that we achieved today. This next part of the plan is different, though. This is where we strike at the heart of the enemy. This is where we turn the hunters into the hunted. Are you men ready?"

"Yes, sir!" they barked enthusiastically.

"Good. It has been a great honor leading all of you. I will make sure that all of Islam learns your names and gives thanks every time you are mentioned." Karim looked from one end of the line to the other and did not allow himself to think of their deaths. He instead chose to think of their arrival in paradise. He glanced at his watch and said, "It is time to leave. Let's go."

The six men all hustled over to the black Suburban and climbed in.

Karim stood next to the black Town Car and asked Hakim, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," said Hakim.

"Then let us leave this place." He took a final look around and said, "We have done such a good job of hiding our tracks, it is possible the Americans will never know that we have used this place."

Hakim looked at his friend and with a bit of regret in his voice said, "After today, I am afraid the Americans will hunt us to the ends of the earth."

"Let them try. You have arranged our departure?"

Hakim nodded. "Everything is taken care of."

CHAPTER 70

RAPP saw them when he was halfway down the spiral staircase. They were hard to miss. There must have been fifteen of them, at least half of whom were carrying briefcases. They looked like a team of litigators who'd been sent over from a rival law firm for an afternoon of depositions. Rapp saw Art Harris talking to the two men at the front of the pack. It appeared, by the way he was pointing and gesturing, that he was trying to buy Rapp some time.

Rapp let loose a heavy sigh and rolled his sleeves up one more turn. He didn't have much of a strategy, but one thing was for sure: if these guys wanted to, they had every right to simply push him out of the way and walk out the door with his four prisoners. He had only a couple of cards to play, and neither was likely to intimidate these stone-faced bastards. His only real hope was that these guys would be every bit as pissed-off as he was that three bombs had just gone off in downtown Washington, D.C., killing and injuring hundreds.

Harris turned as Rapp came walking up, and said, "Speak of the devil. Here he is." Harris gestured to the two men at the head of the group. "Mitch, this is Abe Ciresi, Deputy AG, National Security Division, and Malcolm Smith, Deputy Assistant AG, Criminal Division."

Rapp stuck out his hand. Ciresi was a little shorter than Rapp and had light red hair. He looked as though he'd probably played football as a kid. Smith was Rapp's height and whip-thin. Rapp figured him to be one of those guys who got up and ran five miles every morning at 5:00 a.m. "Sorry we're not meeting under better circumstances."

Ciresi agreed with the sentiment, but Smith had only one thing on his mind. Looking over Rapp's shoulder, he asked, "Where are the prisoners?"

Rapp ignored him and returned the slight by looking over Smith's shoulder. "Boy, you sure did bring a lot of people. I would have thought you guys would be out trying to catch your own bad guys."

Harris let loose an uncomfortable laugh and took a step back.

Smith, with a troubled frown on his face, looked Rapp over from head to toe and then said, "Let's step over here, where we can talk in private."

Ciresi followed and the three of them moved about twenty feet away. Smith unbuttoned his suit coat and set down his briefcase. "I was warned about you, Rapp."

"Really... by who?" Rapp couldn't have cared less, but he figured the longer he could keep this guy talking the more time he would give Nash with Aabad.

"Let's just say that in certain circles your reputation is well known. I don't want this to escalate into some big pissing match between the DOJ and the CIA."

"We know you've done all the heavy lifting," Ciresi quickly added, "and we're not here to steal any of the credit for breaking this thing."

"Although, you might want us to, before this is all said and done," Smith added.

"And why would I want you to do that?" Rapp asked.

"For the life of me," Smith said as he shook his head and looked around the room, "I'm still trying to figure out what a couple of spooks from Langley were doing poking around a mosque right about the time these bombs started going off."

"I..."

"No..." Smith said, cutting him off, "I don't want to hear it. I want you and Ridley to get your stories straight before you talk to any of us."

"I know Rob," Ciresi offered. "He's a good man."

Rapp was starting to get the idea that maybe these weren't pricks after all.

"So our problem," Smith continued, "is that we have a body in the morgue. It appears that the guys you picked up had something to do with that."

"Yeah... one of them has already admitted to the whole thing."

"Without being Mirandized?" Ciresi asked.

"Of course not," Rapp said. "I don't Mirandize people."

"And that's why we're here," Smith said. "I think a lot of people in this town are going to jump to the conclusion that the guy in the morgue was working for you. I seem to remember something in the paper about this the other day."

Rapp played dumb and offered, "Maybe he was working for Mossad. Maybe one of my contacts over there called me and asked me to check in on him."

Ciresi nodded. "I like the way you think."

"You see," Smith said, "we're not here to bust your balls or take away your thunder. But we have a problem. At least two of the guys you have are American citizens, and while I personally couldn't give a shit if you dangled them off the roof by their ankles and threatened to drop them on their heads, as an officer of the court I cannot condone such behavior."

"If we were to witness such behavior," Ciresi added, "we would be duty-bound to report it."

Rapp was liking these guys more and more. "So how would you guys like to proceed?"

"Where are you in your interview phase?"

"One of them is starting to talk. It took a little prodding."

Both men shook their heads, and Smith said, "Too much information, Mr. Rapp."

"I could use a little more time with him. To make sure he isn't lying to me."

"Which one is it?" Ciresi asked.

"Aabad bin Baaz."

"He has dual citizenship." Ciresi frowned "How much more time?" Smith asked.

"An hour would be nice."

The two men shot each other an uncomfortable look. Smith said, "We can't give you an hour."

Rapp was about to find out how much time they would give him when one of the female analysts in the bullpen let loose a scream. A rumble of shock spread across the big gymnasium-sized space, and analysts began to stand and point at the big screen. Rapp looked up at the big board but couldn't figure out what was going on. All he saw were the three TV feeds and casualty tally.

He raced over to the Operations Officer's perch and said, "Dave, what the hell just happened?"

Paulson was feverishly working one of his keyboards. The big screen went from four separate shots to one complete picture. As Paulson reached for his mouse, he said to Rapp, "I think we just had a latent explosion."

"Which location?"

"The Monocle. Hold on a second, I'm rewinding it."

The cloud of dust on the big screen began to retreat as if a giant vacuum cleaner was sucking it out of the air, except when the tape was rewound far enough, there was a blue sedan at the epicenter. The tape now began to play forward in super-slow motion, frame by painful frame.

Rapp looked at all the emergency workers in the immediate vicinity of the explosion. There were dozens, plus he knew the original bombs had used ball bearings to increase kill ratio. Any civilian within a half mile stood the risk of getting hit. The ones that were lined up at the barricades would drop like Confederate soldiers making the final charge at Gettysburg. Rapp could taste the bile in his throat. He'd seen the same thing done in Beirut, Tel Aviv, Baghdad, and Kandahar. Of all the tricks of the terrorist trade, he considered this to be lowest. To set up a bomb designed to intentionally target those who rush to the aid of others showed just how little these people cared for innocent life.

"What just happened?" Smith asked.