Ward picked up on the finality in his statement. “You prefer anonymity to gratitude. Understood. But they’d also like to know when they can start their work again. The facility’s gone, but their test subjects—and some patients who need them—are still in the surrounding villages.”

“That’s not something we want to rush into.”

“They’d disagree. This is an ongoing study and they’re losing critical data.”

“Come on, Nick. You know as well as I do that the day they set foot in one of those villages, Auma’s going to hear about it. And he’s a persistent son of a bitch.”

“You could provide security.”

“It’s not that easy. Those villages are wide open, they’re surrounded by dense jungle, and Auma has no problem with losing as many people as he needs to to get what he wants. That’s not a great combination.”

“And if they’re willing to take the risk?”

“That’s noble and all, but it’s not just their risk, is it? While they’re getting lifted out in one of your luxury helicopters, my guys will be getting their asses shot off.”

Ward nodded thoughtfully, but didn’t respond.

“Look, Nick. I’m not as much of a Cro-Magnon as you think. I understand how important that research is. Once we’re satisfied with the security here, we’ll look at our options down there. Maybe some quick, random hits. In and out in an hour with air support and a reasonable ground force. That’d give Chism enough time to take a few samples and make some house calls.”

Ward reached out with his beer and clinked it against Rapp’s own. “Thanks, Mitch.”

22

MUHAMMAD Singh had spent his adult life as a contractor for Saudi intelligence, doing a job no one in the government was willing to touch. After a strict Islamic education and a youthful tryst with al-Qaeda, he’d been hired to be the Kingdom’s liaison with the complex web of Islamic terrorist groups throughout the world. When the royals needed to secretly coordinate with al-Qaeda, ISIS, the Taliban, and myriad others, he was their man.

In the beginning, it was work he’d been proud to perform. The Saudi government was making fools of the Americans, using the trillions of dollars they paid for oil to hire jihadists to kill them. It never ceased to amaze Singh how willing the Americans were to look away when their oil supply hung in the balance. Cash transfers to terrorist groups, the killing of their troops around the world, 9/11, the royalty’s continued support of radical madrassas. None of it mattered. The Americans would sell their own daughters into slavery for a few precious drops of what lay beneath the Saudi desert.