The Assassin's Daydream || Mitch Rapp

Chapter 45

MARTYR'S SQUARE

"For what are we even waiting for? We should just kill him off." Ali suggested

"As much as I would love to do that, I'm afraid we cannot kill Mr. Sherman at the moment." Sayyed said

They were at a restaurant with Kattan Amari, discussing their financial status and further move.

"He's right" Amari agreed "Sherman is a valuable asset."

"Yes its true, but that's not really the reason why I'm not killing him right now." Sayyed continued "I am not killing Sherman until I find Mitch Rapp and slaughter him right in front of Aayat's eyes. In fact, I don't even have to find him now, he will come right to us."

"Yeah, after all you have his team and his girlfriend." Ali agreed

Sayyed glared at Ali "Aayat is not his girlfriend. She is just his weakness and we are using his weakness against him."

"What about our finances?" Amari asked

"I have a plan for that as well." Sayyed explained ""You say the Russian will be here Friday?"

"Yes."

"Good. We are going to have a little auction."

The word seemed to wake up Ali. "What kind of auction?"

"The kind where we sell the American spies to the highest bidder."

"What bidders?" Amari asked.

"Don't worry," Sayyed cautioned. "Just make sure the Russian is here, and I'll take care of the rest."

**************************

Mitch stepped out into the hot afternoon sun and looked over the edge of the veranda.

The ten-foot wall had a ring of razor wire strung from one end to the other. He looked to his right and found a stack of green fiberglass crates. Stenciled on the side in black letters were a string of numbers and letters that he didn't understand, then a few that he did.

Each crate contained multiple M72 LAW antiarmor weapons. Next to those were a crate of rounds for an M203 grenade launcher that was leaning against the wall. Above that, affixed to the wall, was a hand-drawn laminated map that marked the distance and elevation to certain landmarks up to a mile away. Mitch was wondering what all this stuff was for when he heard the voice of the man who had pulled him out of the safe house the night before.

"We call this the sky box ... not anymore really, but during the height of the war we would sit up here and watch it all unfold."

Mitch turned around to find Rob Ridley sipping on a bright red can of Coke. "Sky box?"

Ridley approached the edge of the balcony, pointed toward the ocean to the north, and then drew his hand south. "See that big, ugly scar that runs from the north to the south?"

"Yeah."

"That's the famous Green Line. We'd sit up here and watch them fight, like a football game. That's why we called it the sky box."

Mitch pointed to the stack of U.S. Army crates. "Looks like you guys did more than watch."

"That shit is more for self-defense, although I saw some badass snipers roll through here.

"So this is where you're based?" Mitch asked, thinking it didn't make a lot of sense.

"No." Ridley shook his head. "Not for over a year. Things are too quiet around here now."

"So what exactly do you do?"

"I'm kind of here and there. I guess you could call me a floater."

Mitch had no idea what that meant and got the distinct impression that Ridley wasn't going to enlighten him any further. Mitch let out a yawn. His nights and days were upside-down.

Ridley worked his sources well past midnight, but every single one of them seemed to have conflicting information. Finally at 4:00 A.M. he sent Mitch to bed and told him to get some rest. He assured Mitch he'd been through more than a few of these abductions, and they tended to progress slowly, especially for the first few days. Mitch had a hard time falling asleep. He couldn't stop himself from imagining what Hurley, Richard and Rupert were going through.

As part of his training, he'd spent two days tied to a chair. Guys would come in randomly and smack him around. They even gave him some low-voltage shocks from a small engine battery. There was nothing remotely enjoyable about the experience, and Hurley had cautioned them that it paled in comparison to what they would go through at the hands of a sadist or a skilled interrogator.

His mind then went to Aayat. What condition she must be in? How much is Sayyed torturing her for information on him? Or worse, what if Sayyed already killed her for going against the Islamic Jihad?

The thought of never seeing her again brought tears in his eyes.

She was suffering because of him. It was all his fault.

He promised her he wouldn't let anything happen to her and she trusted him.

But he failed to keep his promise. He couldn't keep her safe,

If anything happened to her Mitch wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Finally, around sunrise, he had started to doze off.

"Listen, I know what you're going through."

Mitch gave him a sideways glance. Ridley was a few inches shorter and a decade or so older. Mitch couldn't quite figure out if he was an optimist or a pessimist. He seemed to kind of float back and forth between the two.

"I've known Stan for six years. I'd do anything to try to save the guy. But we need to get some good intel before we can even consider lifting a finger."

As much as Mitch wanted to save Hurley and his team, he didn't want this stranger to know that there is someone else he had to save.

Someone he loved.

"But don't worry kid, we'll save Stan."

Back in training, if someone had asked him to lay down his life to save Stan Hurley, he would have laughed at him, but now he wasn't so sure. "Any idea where they are?"

Ridley pointed east. "The other side of the big ugly scar. Indian country."

"You ever go over there?"

Ridley gave him a nervous laugh. "I try not to."

"So you've been?"

"Occasionally. It's nowhere near as bad as it was back when the shit was really flying." He searched Mitch's face, wondering what he was thinking. "It's still a nasty place for a stranger like you, kid."

Mitch nodded even though he really wasn't listening. "So it wouldn't be such a good idea to wander over there and start asking questions."

"That would be about the dumbest thing you could do, kid." Ridley could see the upstart wasn't listening to him. He reached out and grabbed his arm. "I've been to that little lake house down in southern Virginia. I've seen the way Stan takes badasses and grinds them up and spits out little pussies, so I'm guessing if you made it through his selection process you've got some serious skills. Am I right?"

Mitch looked at Ridley's grip until he released his arm. "What's your point?"

"I don't care how good you are. Going over to Indian country on your own is a suicide mission. We'll end up looking for three of you instead of two."

"Well ... I'm not good at sitting around, so somebody better come up with a plan and come up with it quick."

The triple beep, beep, beep of a car horn caught their attention and they both looked to the base of the hill, where a three-car convoy had just pulled up to the roadblock.

"Finally," Ridley said.

"Who is it?"

"A local who knows more about this hellhole than anyone."