Enemy at the Gates (Mitch Rapp, #20)

by Kyle Mills

And America? It was being taken over by corrupt politicians, a mainstream media bent on whipping up divisions, and an Internet full of crazies.

Mike Nash was a former operator who had become Kennedy’s right-hand man. A good-looking, endlessly likable Marine, he had a gift for dealing with the assholes on Capitol Hill. Rapp and he had been friends for years and, in

“Always the cynic. But yeah. Probably. I hope not, though. The way I see it, this country’s in worse shape than it’s been in since the Civil War. We’re bankrupting ourselves. We’re turning on each other. We’re choosing leaders who are only interested in staying in office and don’t even pretend to govern anymore. We’re losing our focus on terrorism while Islamic radicals still have the ability to bloody us. The Chinese are on their way to dominating us economically and the Russians are getting way further than they should trolling us on the Internet…” His voice faded for a moment. “Take it from a guy who spends half his life inside the beltway, man. We need some real leadership in this country. And we need it now.” “Mitch!”

Rapp let out a long breath. “I think your analysis is fair. A terrorist attack like that should have pulled the country together but it seemed like it pushed us further apart. Obviously, you had to expect that it would eventually turn into an every-man-for-himself scenario. That’s just the way survival goes. What surprised me was that people started turning on each other before their freezers even melted. And it wasn’t even about anything real. Political differences and conspiracy theories, mostly.”

“Take the Russian power grid, for instance. You used it against them to get President Utkin to give up the name of their agent here.” In truth, it had been Kennedy, not him. The United States had good penetration into the Russian system, and she’d put Moscow in the dark before threatening to take down the rest of the country if Utkin didn’t give her what she wanted.

More and more, the United States felt like it was collapsing into some kind of internal Cold War. Views that only a few years ago would have been considered tinfoil-hat territory were now being discussed by straight-faced mainstream newscasters. Extremists on both sides of the political spectrum were flailing around breaking things with no apparent goals in mind other than to harm each other. And all the while, politicians did what they’d been doing for a thousand years—trying to figure out how to use it all to cling to power.

Now, though, that bubble was bursting. An international ruling class was forming. Borders were becoming increasingly meaningless to that privileged group, as was citizenship and the rule of law. Going forward, alliances would no longer be forged between countries so much as individuals and private entities. Those shrewd, strong, and courageous enough to rule would be given that privilege. A privilege that would quickly become an unassailable right. Nationality, patriotism, and religion would go back to what they had been in centuries past—a convenient way to control the masses.

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.

They knew nothing of hardship and the comfort of Allah’s blessing. Instead, they took their comfort from palaces, Western whores, and bottles of forbidden liquor that cost more than many of their subjects earned in a year. Islam was just a convenience to them. Like Christianity in the West, it was something to be played at when useful. If there was anything that could surpass the Americans’ thirst for oil, it was the Saudi royalty’s thirst for wealth and power.

Singh felt a revulsion that he hadn’t suffered even in the most decadent of ISIS camps. At least ISIS maintained the pretense of remaining faithful to Allah. Gideon Auma adopted any and all belief systems that suited him. Above it all, though, was the man himself. God’s representative on earth.

“Because it forces me to fly Gideon Auma to a camp full of his armed worshippers with nothing but a Glock and a lucky rabbit’s foot in my pocket.” “So, you were going to kill all those girls because you were concerned with your own personal safety.” “No. I was going to kill all those girls because I was concerned with our personal safety. I think it would be more realistic if you came along, don’t you? I mean, you being the hostage and all.” Ward’s face froze somewhere between fear and confusion. Not surprising, but a little disappointing. “Feels kind of different when it’s your rich ass on the line, doesn’t it, Nick? And it’s not just a bullet in the head, either. You know as well as I do the kinds of things Auma does to people. My best guess would be crucifixion. But when he’s nailing me to that cross, at least I’ll have the comfort of knowing you’re right there with me.”

He sounded unusually subdued for God’s representative on earth, but it was understandable. Joe Maslick had spent hours designing, building, and attaching a radio-controlled explosive to the African’s scrotum. Not powerful enough to kill him, but enough to launch his balls a good twenty feet.

One of his favorite quotes had been from Ben Franklin: Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.

Stan Hurley’s familiar scrawl. I told you the shit would eventually hit the fan, pencil dick.

“Do you know your weakness, Mitch?” “No. Why don’t you tell me?” “It’s your unwavering belief in America. In the glory of it. In its uniqueness. I realized it was all lies a long time ago and now I fear it’s your turn. Soon the curtain will be pulled back and you’ll see that your country is no different than any other. Democracy is an interesting idea but if you look at history, it’s an idea that burns bright but short. With the widening divisions in your country and the man you just elected to lead you, that flame is beginning to flicker. And soon you will find yourself in the dark.”

He began to feel the same sense of disassociation that he experienced in combat. The creeping numbness that kept him from thinking about death or family or future. That had allowed him to go to a country where he’d never been and kill people he’d never met at the behest of a politician he didn’t vote for. “Then we deal with