Amanda, I got called away on a very important mission, as your dad would say. I asked Harlan and Mary Ann to take you to the airport. I have your address in Africa. I promise I will be in touch… very soon. Never lose hope.
Love,
Riley
“Never lose hope,” she whispered. She remembered opening the package from Matt, who had written the same words. Never lose hope. You have to have it to lose it, she thought to herself.
“And now I have hope,” she said to herself as she felt Mary Ann’s arm wrap around her. It wasn’t much, but it was the best thing she’d ever had.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“One last thing,” Harlan said. They began walking together down the steps of the porch. They stood on the sidewalk that led to the driveway and took in the beaming sun blessing them with its warmth.
“Yes?”
“My bill. We never finished discussing how you would pay me for this.”
Amanda thought his timing was a bit inappropriate, but she recognized that he had done a tremendous amount of work for her.
“I understand.”
“Maybe you do, Amanda.” He handed her a piece of paper, which she opened at the folds. There was some printing at the top that stated this was the complete and final bill. She searched for numbers but only saw in big, bold print:
Grow up to be like your Dad. The Germans lost.
She started crying. Mary Ann hugged her again. That seemed to be her role.
“Thank you. I will.”
CHAPTER 87
“A server farm?” Matt asked.
He, Hobart and Van Dreeves had been picked up by the planned MH-47 helicopter after their narrow escape from the target house in Yemen. The Chinook had transported them back to the joint task force headquarters in Djibouti, a destitute country 150 miles across the Gulf of Aden.
Consistent with their operating routine, they had been off the grid for several days. Invading Yemen was no small deal and immediately upon their escape to Djibouti, their orders were to go dark immediately. Surfacing this Saturday morning, Matt, Hobart, and Van Dreeves assessed the damage.
“The Yemeni police have been in there for days trying to figure out what the hell happened. Global Hawk’s been snapping pictures. The place is a giant smoking hole,” Hobart said.
They were sitting on a picnic table outside of the control tower of the airfield. Matt was staring at a Gulfstream 5 jet with two pilots who were probably becoming more pissed by the minute as Matt languished. He was hesitant to leave unfinished business, yet eager about what he intended to do next.
“How about the houses on either side? They go up in smoke?”
“Untouched,” Hobart said.
That bothered Matt, big time. Hobart and Van Dreeves had spotted tunnels that ran from the center house to the homes on either flank.
“How about the prisoner?”
“Four days and he still hasn’t said a word,” Van Dreeves said. The three men wore their Revision ballistic eyewear, otherwise known as wraparound sunglasses. Matt kept staring at the Gulfstream and the pilots, he knew, were staring at him.
Matt had collared the “medic” that they had tossed in the back of the ambulance as they limped to the pick-up zone where they loaded their stowed parachutes and the detainee. Upon landing in Djibouti, the military interrogators swiftly moved him to a holding cell for questioning.
“Nervous about Rampert?” Hobart asked Matt.
“He doesn’t have us along, how can I not be nervous?”
“He’s got Samuels and Roberson. They’re good.”
“I’d rather be there,” Matt said.
“You can’t be everywhere, dude. And right now that airplane is waiting to take you where you should be,” Van Dreeves said.
“You’ve got the list?”
“We’ve got the list, Matt. Your headquarters has the list. The issue will be keeping it out of the hands of douche bags like Assange and those Wiki-leak idiots.”
“Add him to the list,” Matt said, smiling as he stood.
“Roger that.”
Hobart and Van Dreeves stood, each man shaking Matt’s hand and giving him a half-hug, the shoulder to shoulder bump that signified respect amongst warriors.
“Wish we could go with you, but we’ve got to wait for Rampert once he gets Rahman.”
“Don’t go easy on him,” Matt said, meaning everything he implied.
Both men smiled as Matt turned and walked toward the Gulfstream.
“Give him our best,” Hobart said.
Matt acknowledged Hobart with a curt wave as he boarded the airplane.
Major General Jack Rampert was dressed in a traditional Afghan headdress and white man-dress. He had grown a well-defined beard and easily passed for a local. He twirled a cup of chai tea on his table in the mud hut restaurant in Jalalabad. Enough time had passed since the helicopter shoot-down. They were back in mission rhythm.
His informant had told him to wait in this spot, as an important meeting was going to take place in the next building over. He studied his surroundings. There were two men dressed similarly to him sitting in the far corner at a small wooden table. Another man was squatting on his haunches smoking a pipe of some kind. Rampert figured it was hash.
The primary comforting thought for him was that two operatives were in concealed positions with long rifles outside of the building. With Hobart and Van Dreeves with Matt in Djibouti, he had decided to lead this mission. It was the least he could do for Zach. Samuels and Roberson were his team for this mission. They had clear shots if extreme measures were necessary. They wanted to capture this individual, but they would kill him if necessary.
Rampert could see outside of the open-air restaurant, which had two lambs hanging upside down in the front. They had been slaughtered and skinned.
“Assalamu alaikum. Peace be with you,” the merchant greeted him. He bent over, blocking Rampert’s important view, and refilled his tea mug.
“Wa alaikum assalaam. And on you, peace.”
The man switched out the napkin underneath his mug and placed his hand over his heart. Rampert reciprocated the sign of good will. As the man departed, he lifted his tea mug and sipped the warm beverage. He then lifted the napkin and opened it.
The Scientist. Two minutes
Rampert folded the napkin and scratched his ear. As he did so he whispered into his cuff. “Two mikes.” It was a simple transmission that they had rehearsed. The lack of additional information meant the Scientist was arriving according to plan. Rampert’s drive to capture Mullah Rahman had been based upon his declaration of a Fatwah against Colonel Garrett. He wanted that over with so that everyone could move on. That was his promise to Matt Garrett.
Presently the black SUV in which the Scientist was believed to be seated stopped in front of the open hut. It skidded to a halt, dust flaring from beneath its rear tires. Immediately, security personnel from lead and trail vehicles swarmed the black SUV. Doors were opening and slamming with a click and a thunk. The clicks might have been the charging of weapons.
Rampert waited a brief moment and stood. As he did so he laid his hand on the silenced Berretta pistol beneath his tribal garb. He heard in his earpiece Samuels whisper, “Driver.”
There was a barely audible whisper that hit the driver, who had made the fatal mistake of stepping outside the vehicle. The man slumped unceremoniously to the ground. It took the security detail a few seconds to comprehend what had happened. That gave Rampert the time to lift his weapon and shoot the lead security man, who was exiting from the front right passenger seat. He dropped to the ground dead. The guard who had been assisting the Scientist at the right rear door turned toward the restaurant, giving Rampert another clear shot at his forehead.