It was hard not to consider the possibility that this was real. It was improbable but still feasible that the mole they were chasing had discovered the changes Kennedy made to Ward’s file. If that was the case, it was also feasible that Coleman and his people really had been overrun at the compound and Rapp had been ambushed at the hangar. And that Nicholas Ward was in the hands of a madman.

Fortunately, the deeper she looked, the less likely that scenario seemed. While her analysts hadn’t been able to find anything in the video that seemed outright fake, there were curiosities. The first and most obvious was that it was too succinct. Whenever a camera was pointed at Gideon Auma, he never failed to ramble endlessly about his power, God’s love for him, and whatever other delusions he was having on that particular day. The second—noticed by a young analyst with a particularly sharp eye—was that his sleeves didn’t seem to behave naturally. She’d made a show of laughing off the observation but once pointed out, it became impossible to ignore. No matter how much Auma moved his arms, the cuffs stayed in place. Almost as though they’d been glued there. The obvious hypothesis was that this had been done to hide something. And the only thing she could think of was marks from being bound.

In light of that, the most likely scenario was that Rapp hadn’t been able to get everything he wanted from the terrorist. He needed to extend this drama, probably to use Auma to lead him up the chain somehow.

“Today, Irene. I want people at that compound today.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, knowing full well it would be impossible. She needed to find a team she could trust to report only to her, and they had to be made up of people from outside the CIA. Not just because of the mole, but because what they found there would likely have to be kept from the president. It wasn’t a political risk she wanted to expose any of her people to. If someone was going to be fired and prosecuted for this, it would be her and her alone.

“Can I assume that there’s still no sign of Mitch Rapp and his team?” Cook said.

“That’s correct, sir.”

He nodded, but his face was an empty mask. “Do you think there’s any chance he’s in the jungle? Hiding out like David Chism did?”

“I doubt it, sir. He and his people have satellite phones. They would have contacted me.”

Another nod, another blank expression at what he likely would take as news of Mitch Rapp’s death. “So where do we stand? If Auma hasn’t contacted Ward’s people yet, he will soon. Can I assume that we’ll be ready for that call when it comes?”