all hardened Northern Alliance types. It was possible that one of them could have been bribed into giving up the crucial information on the security system, but unlikely. If one of them had turned, however, it was also possible that the Taliban, or whoever was responsible for this, had decided to kill the inside man as soon as they got what they wanted. The wrench in the works was that Rapp was pretty certain the Taliban had nothing to do with this. He pointed at the man missing part of his face. "Focus on this one. I want to know everything there is to know about him . . . especially his family. Do his parents or wife or kids have medical problems? Does he have a drug problem? Anything you can find."
"And the other eight?"
A team of interrogation experts from D.C. were in flight but not expected to land for another thirteen hours. "If you have the manpower, you can get started with them, but I doubt they'd hang around after something like this. What would you do if someone gave you a pile of cash to betray your buddies and a man like Rick?" Rickman's first name was Joe, but everyone who worked with him called him Rick.
"I'd run."
"That's right." Rapp pointed to the man who'd been shot with a .45 caliber. "Focus on this one for now."
"So you think the Taliban turned him?"
Rapp ignored the question for the moment and asked, "Who moved these bodies?"
"What do you mean?"
"The bodies," Rapp said as he pointed at the row of four. "They weren't shot here. Look at the blood on the floor. They were dragged here after they were killed." Rapp pointed at the stairs. "One of them was dragged down from the second story."
Hubbard shrugged. "They were lined up like this when I got here."
"Did the bodyguards move them?"
"Not that I know of. Do you want me to find out?"
"In a minute." Rapp looked toward the front door where one of the bodyguards was standing post with an AK-47 gripped in both hands. "The neighbors . . . did they hear or see anything last night?"
"No. Not a thing."
"No signs of forced entry?"
"Not that we've discovered, but they wouldn't need to force their way in if one of these guys were helping them."
"So no forced entry . . . four bodyguards . . . four headshots . . . four dead men. Anything about that seem unusual to you?"
Hubbard thought about it for a moment and said, "Not sure what you're driving at."
Rapp pointed at the bodies one after another, saying, "Nine-millimeter, nine-millimeter, nine-millimeter, .45 caliber, and my bet is they were all fired from suppressed weapons. Pretty accurate work. Good fire discipline. Look at the walls."
Hubbard did a 360-degree turn and said, "What about them?"
"You see anything?"
"No."
"That's the point. You ever seen the Taliban operate like this? Four shots, four hits, and not a shot more. The Taliban likes to get the lead out. You know their MO. They would have rolled up on this place with three or four trucks and started unloading RPG rounds at all three buildings. This place would be riddled with bullets. This was done by pros."
Hubbard made a sour face and then nodded. "Yeah . . . you're right. The towelheads like to blow shit up. This is more like something our guys would do . . ."
Hubbard kept talking, but Rapp had stopped listening. The idea that U.S. Special Operators had been involved was something he hadn't considered and something he didn't want to consider. From the moment Rapp had heard Rickman was missing, there was a gnawing fear that he was about to head down the rabbit hole. Rickman excelled at his job for the simple reason that he could think five, ten, fifteen, even twenty steps ahead of the enemy, and everyone else, for that matter. There had been many times when Rapp didn't understand what the man was up to because he wasn't smart enough to follow Rick's thinking.
"How about those assholes from the ISI?" Hubbard asked.
Rapp had considered the less-than-loyal members of the Pakistani Intelligence Service. They would be on the list as well as others. "Don't forget the Iranians, the Russians, and the Chinese." And there was one other possibility that Rapp wasn't quite prepared to mention.
"My money's on the ISI. This is just the kind of bullshit they'd pull."
A thought occurred to Rapp. "Where's the dog? That big frickin' Rottweiler that never left Rick's