in my work. It would come off as very heroic. That wouldn’t be bad for your career.”
In her youth, she’d have probably gone for him. The brilliant, distinguished ones had always gotten to her. But not anymore. She’d seen way too much.
“Ten minutes, Bert,” she said using the shortened version of his name that he despised. “After that, I’m going to have Otto drag you out of here.”
CHAPTER 5
AL HUDAYDAH
YEMEN
“TWO orders of saltah,” Shamir Karman shouted through the open door of the restaurant. “And do we still have any bottled cola?”
Rapp was sitting alone at one of the tables outside, drinking coffee and working through the pack of cigarettes he always traveled with in this part of the world. It was still early and the sun was at a steep enough angle to shade the improvised terrace. Around him, about a quarter of the tables were occupied by men sipping from steaming cups, gossiping, and shooting occasional jealous glances at Rapp’s smokes.
If he ignored the bomb crater behind him and the collapsed buildings in front, it all seemed pretty normal. Not much different than a thousand other cafes Rapp had eaten in over the last twenty years of his life. According to Karman, though, the illusion of business as usual would disappear sometime around lunch.
Apparently, his restaurant—along with all the other struggling businesses in the area—was being shaken down by an organized crime outfit made up of former ISIS fighters. The gang had their hands in just about every dirty enterprise going on in Al Hudaydah, but that wasn’t what had attracted Rapp’s attention. No, his interest was in the whispers that they were still connected to Sayid Halabi.
The question was whether those rumors were true or just marketing. Staying in the glow of the ISIS leader’s legend would be good for the images of men who were now nothing more than unusually sadistic criminals. Anything they could do to amplify the fear of the desperate people they preyed upon worked in their favor.
If it was true that Halabi was trying to build a smarter, more agile organization, it was possible that he’d completely severed his ties with the morons terrorizing Al Hudaydah. On the other hand, men willing to martyr themselves could be extremely powerful weapons. Maybe too powerful for Halabi to give up.
After four more hours, all the tables were full and the conversations had turned into an indecipherable roar. Waiters weaved skillfully through the customers, serving coffee, tea, and dishes prepared by Karman’s harried kitchen staff. Tattered umbrellas had gone up and people huddled beneath them, trying to escape the increasingly powerful sun.
Rapp was almost through his bowl of marak temani when the buzz of conversation began to falter. He glanced behind him and quickly picked out the cause of the interruption: two hard-looking young men approaching. They were armed with AKs like just about every other Yemeni male, but these weren’t fashion accessories. They were slung at the ready across their torsos with fingers on the trigger guards. That, combined with their sweeping eyes and cruel expressions, suggested they weren’t there for the food.
Rapp waited for them to enter the restaurant before following. The sparsely populated interior had gone dead silent except for Karman, who was standing in the kitchen door inviting the men inside.
Again, Rapp followed, slipping into the hectic kitchen in time to see his old friend lead one of the men to his office. The other stood near the open door, chewing khat and scanning for threats.
Not ready to be identified as yet, Rapp angled toward an employee bathroom at the far end of the kitchen. After pretending to test the door and find it locked, he pressed his back against the wall and lit another cigarette.
It was hard to see into the office but there was just enough light for Rapp to make out Karman opening a small lockbox. The Yemeni started calmly counting bills onto the table as the other man speculated loudly about the success of the restaurant and whether he was being paid fairly. In the end, the calculations proved too taxing and he just snatched a little extra from the box before scooping up the stack Karman had dealt out. A hard shove sent the CIA informant stumbling backward into his chair with enough force that it almost flipped.
The kitchen staff bowed their heads as the two men left, careful to not make eye contact. Rapp didn’t follow suit, instead staring intently at them. Neither noticed. They were