“Good. I’m ready.”
—:—
Mantis landed the plane at Bagram Air Base, the largest US military installation in Afghanistan. It had been occupied by Afghan Armed Forces and the US-led Resolute Support Mission since 2002. In the time between, the base had grown to the size of a small town, housing over ten thousand troops and three thousand insurgent inmates in the detention facility.
Tonight they’d be staying at the base’s Camp Vance, which had been established by the United States Department of Defense to headquarter the Combined Joint Special Operations Task Force.
The camp had been named for Gene Arden Vance Jr., a member of the US Special Forces and a cryptologic linguist who, despite being critically wounded, helped save the lives of two fellow Americans and eighteen Afghani soldiers during the hunt for Osama Bin Laden.
Along with Airborne Special Forces, the camp also provided headquarte
rs for Army Special Forces, Infantry, a Marine Special Operations battalion, and a Navy SEAL team.
“Who all will be in on tomorrow’s meeting?” Mantis asked Striker.
“Wouldn’t surprise me if God or the president showed up, given the number of other high-ranking officials you’ll brief tomorrow.”
“What does that mean?”
“You heard right. There’s a Congressional panel arriving tonight, who along with most of the military brass, want to know every detail regarding the assassination of Bagish Safi.”
Mantis scrubbed his face with his hand. “How much trouble am I in?”
“Trouble? Fuck, Mantis, you’re a goddamn hero.”
He didn’t want to be a hero; heroes couldn’t fly under the radar like he needed to. A hero wouldn’t be able to walk out and offer himself up in exchange for Dutch like he’d planned to—not unless he could make it happen tonight, before tomorrow’s briefing.
“We’re gathering in the situation room at zero seven hundred,” said Striker, handing him a room key card.
“Roger that.”
“Get some rest, Mantis.”
He nodded, but that’s the last thing he planned to do. Thankfully, God must’ve heard his silent plea because when he rounded the corner, the one man who could help him carry out his plan, Abdul Ghafor, leader of the Islamic State, stood directly in front of him. “Abdul,” he said, “is this a coincidence, or have you been waiting for me?”
“I think you know the answer.”
“We need to talk.”
Ghafor nodded.
In less than an hour, Mantis was being escorted out of Camp Vance in the back of Abdul’s SUV, disguised as Bakr Al-Abudadi, Ghafor’s number two.
—:—
“I don’t understand,” Alegria said when Doc called to tell her that Mantis had disappeared from Bagram Air Base.
“We believe he went over there with a plan. Did he say anything to you? Anything at all?”
He hadn’t, but it wouldn’t be hard to figure out what he intended to do. Even Doc had to have already guessed.
“He’s offering himself up in exchange for Dutch’s release.”
Not surprisingly, Doc confirmed those were his same suspicions. “Who would he know that could help him make that happen?”
“It’s a long shot, but what about Ghafor?”
“We’ve made contact. He sent word that he knows nothing about his whereabouts.”