Free Jihad by Stephen Coonts Page A

also a move meant to establish her as a major player in the administration. She needed a scalp on her belt and had decided that his would best serve her purposes.
    “As national security advisor, it’s certainly your prerogative to open or close any debate,” said Rubens, rising. “I hope you’ll keep me informed.”
    “Naturally,” said Bing. She extended her hand; Rubens shook it, not realizing until too late that it was greasy with dressing.

CHAPTER 26
     
    DEAN DROVE TOWARD the Yenikapi ferry terminal where they had a backup car they could swap into. According to the Art Room, the Istanbul police had not yet arrived at the hospital, so there was no need to rush. The driver was in the backseat, sandwiched between Lia and John Reisler; the other CIA agent, Terrence Pinchon, was next to Dean in the front.
    “We’re going to need some more Demerol,” Lia said, leaning over the front seat. “He’s stirring.”
    “He ought to be down for the count.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “We’ll change cars first, then we’ll swing back and get one of the kits. You guys are taking him to Bayindr,” Dean added. “You think you can do that by yourselves?”
    “We can handle it,” said Pinchon.
    “I’m only asking if you need backup,” Dean told him. “Don’t get insulted. Bayindr’s a good drive from here.”
    They were using the operation’s backup plane; the Gulfstream for Asad had to stay in Istanbul just in case anything went wrong.
    “I’ve done renditions before,” said Pinchon, using the CIA term for operations to snatch terrorists and “render” them elsewhere, generally to another country for justice. “Just like old times, huh, Lia?” added the para. “Except the body count’s higher. Guess you don’t have a colonel screaming up your backside, huh?”
    “You were in the army together?” Dean asked.
    “More or less,” said Lia.
    “You ever hear that slogan, ‘Army of One’?” said Pinchon. “Lia kind of took it to heart.”
    “Still does,” said Dean.
     
    LIA CHECKED THE terrorist’s wrists, which were cinched in his lap, making sure they were tight. His lower right leg was in a cast that ran from his ankle to his knee, covering the area of the fracture. He groaned as she pushed him back into the seat.
    “You gave him the whole hypo?” Lia asked Reisler. “He’s coming to already.”
    “Whole shot, yeah.”
    Lia didn’t think that was possible, but there was no use arguing.
    “So who is he?” asked Pinchon.
    “Abul Hazanwi, Red Lion’s driver,” said Lia. “We want him alive. He may talk.”
    “Right.”
    “He’s a source. He has to stay alive,” repeated Lia. “You hear that, Terry?”
    “Hey, loud and clear.”
    Lia wanted to ask him how he had survived Kyrgyzstan. She wanted to ask many other things as well, starting with why he’d let her think he was dead. But she couldn’t—she didn’t dare—ask anything. She already knew she wouldn’t like the answers.
    “Our swap car is a blue BMW, in the corner of the lot,” Dean told them. “I’m going to go past once, drop someone off on foot. They check the lot. When they give the high sign, we come back and we’ll make the swap.”
    “Drop me,” said Lia.
    “Fine.”
    And then there was Charlie.
    What about Charlie? She loved him. Loved him with a deep ache.
    But she’d loved Pinchon more, hadn’t she?
    She had.
    “Drop me right here,” said Lia. “I can walk past.”
    Dean pulled to the side.
    “Hey,” he said, turning to her as she started to get out.
    “Yeah?”
    “You got your gun?”
    Lia held it up.
    “You all right?” Dean stared at her, his eyes trying to penetrate her skull, figure out what she was thinking.
    “I’m fine, Charlie Dean,” she told him, slamming the door.

CHAPTER 27
     
    KARR PLANTED TRACKING bugs on the cars belonging to Asad’s visitors, then walked down the street and around the corner to a block populated by small stores. With the exception of a restaurant on