that you or one of Scott’s men has been exposed to this, you’ll have to be quarantined and you’ll probably die.”
He was starting to think that she was enjoying his inability to give anything more than one-word answers. “Understood.”
“So, you promise to be careful and not touch anything?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then. The chopper will pick you up outside of town at exactly 2 a.m. I’ll send the coordinates to your phone.”
CHAPTER 9
WESTERN YEMEN
SAYID Halabi stood on the ancient minaret looking out over the landscape hundreds of meters below. The village’s tightly packed stone buildings dominated the top of the peak, offering 360-degree views of mountains dotted with cloud shadows. Steep slopes had been terraced for agriculture over the centuries, and some were still green with the coffee plants that Yemen had once been so famous for.
Up until about a year ago, this place had been home to a community of farmers who had contracted with an American company to produce and export coffee beans. The hope had been that the industry would regain its economic foothold and stabilize the region.
The foreign businessmen had quickly recognized the realities of trying to carve a secular commercial paradise from this war-torn country and given up on the enterprise. Most of the farmers and other workers had moved on shortly thereafter, leaving a core group of thirty villagers who were either too rooted to this place to abandon it or had nowhere else to go.
Their bodies were now piled in a low building to the southeast. Halabi couldn’t see it from his vantage point, but knew from reports that the work bricking up the windows and doors was nearly complete. By the end of the day, the godless collaborators would be sealed in the tomb where they would stay for all eternity. Forgotten by their families, by history, and by Allah.
He limped to the other side of the minaret and looked into the narrow street below. Two of his men were visible, one dressed in traditional Yemeni garb and the other in a chador. It was a bit of an indignity for the battle-hardened soldier, but an unavoidable one. The Saudis and Americans were always watching from above and they couldn’t be permitted to see anything but the normal rhythms of rural Yemeni life.
The wind began to gust and he closed his eyes, feeling the presence of God on the cool, dry air. The path to victory became clearer every day as Allah blessed him with an increasingly detailed understanding of His plan. The objective, so indistinct before, now seemed as well defined as the landscape around him.
Halabi finally turned and began descending the spiral steps that provided access to the minaret. His injuries forced him to use the stone walls to steady himself, but he was grateful for the struggle. Every stabbing pain, unbalanced step, and constricted breath reminded him of his arrogance and God’s punishment for it.
As expected, Muhammad Attia was waiting patiently for him on the mosque’s main floor.
“What of Mitch Rapp?” Halabi asked as Attia fell in alongside him.
“There’s still no sign of him, and our sources say that the Saudis are planning to bomb the area out of concern over the biothreat. I’ve been forced to move our men into the hills immediately surrounding the village.”
“Do I detect disapproval in your voice, Muhammad?”
“Disapproval? No. But concern. Our resources are limited and risking the few reliable men we have in hopes that Rapp will appear in an empty, burned-out village . . .”
“He’ll come,” Halabi assured him.
“Even if he does, how much are we willing to risk over one man?”
Halabi didn’t answer, instead exiting the mosque and winding through the narrow cobbled paths between buildings. Near the center of the village, they entered a tall, slender structure with rows of arched windows and a ground floor lined with diesel generators. After descending another set of stone steps, they crossed into a room that had been built inside a natural cavern.
Despite the fact that he’d been personally involved in its design, the environment inside the room was disorientingly foreign. It was a long, rectangular space, with smooth white walls and rows of overhead LEDs that glinted dully off stainless steel biotech equipment arranged beneath.
The machinery had been extremely difficult to acquire and transport but the effect was exactly as he’d envisioned. The impression was of a medical research lab that would look at home in London, Berlin, or New York. Videos made in this room would be disseminated online, fanning the West’s fear