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Back Enemy at the Gates Save as PDF
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
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  22. 18
  23. 19
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  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
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  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. EPILOGUE
  55. More from the Authors
  56. ABOUT THE AUTHORS
  57. Novels by Vince Flynn

“Honestly? Because the more I’m around you the more I think you might actually be able to accomplish something. But people don’t accept salvation easily. You have to ram it down their throats. And if you’re not willing to do that—if you’re not willing to help me poison people who go into villages and make kids watch them burn their parents alive—then you’re wasting your time. And worse, you’re wasting mine.”

Ward turned his attention back to the dark horizon. “You win, Mitch. I’ll do it.”

“Okay. Then we’re done. Why don’t you go have a drink and get some sleep. We’ll handle the rest.”

When Rapp reentered the lodge, Coleman and his men were leaned over the table talking in hushed tones.

“You guys got plan B figured out yet?”

Coleman looked sideways at him. “Pretty much. You fly in there with Auma, get him to tell his people you’re some kind of Arab ally, and pass out a bunch of poisoned ajali. He’ll call it a victory celebration for getting his hands on Ward.”

“Sounds perfect,” Rapp said, settling back in his seat. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“You want the list alphabetically or by order of probability?” Joe Maslick said. “Auma could have some way to signal he’s in trouble that we don’t know about. Or he could just tell his people to kill you in Swahili and you’d never know. Or he could have booby traps and hidden weapons in that cave…”

Coleman nodded in agreement. “Or, hell, those people could just go nuts on the ajali and tear you apart before the poison kicks in.”

“I don’t want to hear about problems,” Rapp said. “I want to hear about solutions.”

“Let’s just blow it like we talked about,” Charlie Wicker said. “Nice and clean. I mean, I feel bad about the girls, but if this turns into a shit show and you get killed, how has that helped anyone? Those assholes will have their messiah back and they’ll scatter into the jungle. How many more kids will end up soldiers or slaves? A hundred? A thousand?”

“He’s right,” Coleman said. “You’re taking a lot of risks just so some rich guy can sleep a little better at night.”

32

THE WHITE HOUSE

WASHINGTON, DC

USA

THE monitor next to the president’s desk was playing the same video that had been looping at Langley since it appeared on the Internet a few hours ago. Still, Irene Kennedy and Mike Nash feigned concentration as a slightly out-of-focus Gideon Auma demanded ten billion dollars in ransom.

A filthy and haggard Nicholas Ward was standing near him, his expression almost catatonic as he stared blankly into the camera. David Chism, partially obscured behind the African, appeared to be in a similar state.