by Vince Flynn
The door was open. Rapp neither knocked nor did he enter. He just stood frozen, looking at the curvaceous silhouette of Donatellas figure. She had her back to him, standing over her desk looking at something. Rapp watched as she placed one hand on her hip and with the other pulled her thick hair to one side and began kneading the muscles at the back of her neck. The woman exuded a sexuality unlike anything he'd ever seen. She was wearing a pair of black leather pants that complemented her figure to perfection, a white blouse and a pair of black spiked boots. Just the sight of her long tanned fingers resting on her leather-clad hip brought back a flood of erotic memories. Rapp felt a tinge of betrayal for such thoughts and forced himself to get his mind back on the business at hand.
There was a genuine reason why he wanted to surprise Donatella. He would know almost instantly by the expression on her face if she had been involved in the plot to kill him in Germany. He didn't think she had been or at least he didn't want to believe she had been. As he had already discussed with Kennedy, it didn't make any sense for the Israelis to ambush him. Mossad had been known to do some pretty ruthless things, but there was no recognizable benefit to killing Rapp and humiliating the CIA and America. Rapp was doing the dirty work for them and had been doing so for years. No, Rapp believed Donatella was doing some free-lancing on the side and he had a plan to get her to come clean.
He cleared his throat and waited for Donatella to turn around. When she did her dark almond eyes opened wide, and her full lips parted to form an inviting smile. Donatella threw her arms out and walked quickly across her office. Rapp smiled back. He couldn't help it. He stepped forward and met Donatella's embrace. With the familiarity of an old lover Donatella brought her arms inside Rapp's leather jacket. Her hands shot up, grabbing his taut shoulders and she pressed her breasts firmly against his body. With her eyes closed she found his lips and gave him a passionate kiss. After a moment she buried her head in his chest and squeezed him with all her considerable might.
"Oh, I've missed you," she said in Italian.
Rapp awkwardly held the flowers in one hand and his coffee in the other. He kissed the top of her head and said in Italian, "I've missed you, too."
Donatella gave him one more squeeze and then released him. Closing the office door she said, "Why didn't you call me?" Rapp innocently shrugged his shoulders. "I was in the neighbor hood so I decided to stop by. I'd expect you to do the same if you were in America." It was in that instant that Rapp knew Donatella had been the woman he'd seen at George Washington University. She averted her eyes from his for the briefest of moments. She had killed Peter Cameron.
"Are these for me?" Donatella thrust her arms out and took the flowers from Rapp. She walked over to a long credenza in front of a window that overlooked a courtyard. "This was very nice of you. You didn't have to bring me flowers After unwrapping them, she turned to Rapp, the bouquet in her outstretched hands. "What is this?"
Rapp looked at the flowers, and then the look on Donatella's face. He wasn't quite sure what she meant.
"Yellow," said Donatella in a disappointed voice. "Yellow is for your secretary, not a woman whose bed you've shared." She dropped the flowers on the credenza and folded her arms across her chest.
Rapp felt bad for just a second and then remembered Anna. He couldn't very well be planning to ask her to marry him and go around giving red roses to former lovers. "They are very pretty flowers."
"Yes they are, but they are not red." Donatella eyed him suspiciously. "There is someone else, isn't there? Someone very important?"
"Yes," he replied with a mix of pride and dread. Donatella meant a lot to him, and he did not want to hurt her feelings.
She studied her old lover for a moment and could sense that this was very hard for him. Determined to hide her true feelings she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave him a big hug. Inside, however, she could feel herself plunging toward darkness. Part of her, however foolishly, had always hoped that someday, she and Mitch would walk away from their respective intelligence agencies, get married and have a baby. Deep down she had always known it had been an irrational indulgence, but she had allowed it nonetheless.
Now she kissed him on the cheek and said, "Congratulations. Do I get to meet her?"
Caught off guard, Rapp stammered and then said, "I don't know maybe."
"Is she here in Milan?" Donatella locked onto him with her piercing brown eyes.
Rapp thought of lying and then quickly decided against it. "Yes, she is."
"You don't want me to meet her."
"No I didn't say that. It's just that it might be a little tricky."
"Please tell me she knows what you do for a living. Or I should say what you really do for a living."
"Yes." Rapp nodded. "Unfortunately, she knows more than she should."
"Then what's the problem? I'd love to meet her."
The meeting wasn't going exactly as he'd planned. "We were lovers, Donatella. I have no burning desire to meet any of her ex boyfriends."
Donatella chose to focus on the first part of his comment. "Yes, we were lovers." She cocked her head to the side in a confident manner and asked, "How is the sex?"
Rapp frowned. "Donatella."
She persisted. "Is it as good as the sex we had?" Her Italian passion was showing through.
"Donatella, I don't think we should be talking about this."
She looked at him with utter confidence and said, "It must not be."
"We have a wonderful relationship."
"Is she an American?"
"Yes, she's an American."
Donatella let out a laugh that was more of a scoff. "Then it's impossible. There is no way the sex is better."
For some reason Rapp felt the need to defend Anna. "Hey, we have great sex."
In a disbelieving tone she asked, "Better than the sex we had?"
Rapp knew there was no way he could answer this question without either angering Donatella or being disloyal to Anna. "It's different, Donatella, okay?"
"Ha," she laughed with an obvious tone of satisfaction. "It is not better. I can see it in your eyes." She walked over to her desk and yanked open a drawer in search of a pack of cigarettes. "I would like to meet her. Maybe we can have dinner tonight?" She found her cigarettes and lit one.
Rapp declined to take one even though he was tempted. He took the opportunity to get down to the real reason he'd traveled all the way from America. "There is something I need to talk to you about."
"What does she do for a living?"
"We are going to change the subject." Rapp stood firmly in front of her desk.
Donatella took a drag from her cigarette and through the smoke she eyed Rapp suspiciously and said, "I don't believe you. There is no way she knows what you've done for your government."
"She does. In fact, she's seen me in action."
"How When?"
"Remember the incident at the White House last spring?" "Of course. Ben told me you were involved in it."
"She was one of the hostages."
"Ah Stockholm syndrome."
Rapp frowned. Stockholm syndrome was a psychological term for hostages who began to sympathize with their captors. "Donatella, I wasn't one of the terrorists. I was the one killing the terrorists."
"Oh well, then Florence Nightingale syndrome."
"No." He shook his head and smiled. "I wasn't a nurse, either."
"Oh " She waved her hand in frustration. "You know what I mean."
"No, I don't actually, but we don't need to get hung up on this." Rapp stopped abruptly and studied Donatella as she nervously puffed on her cigarette. With a playful grin he said, "I didn't expect you to be so jealous."
"Of course I am, and you would be too if I was the one in love."
Rapp had to be honest. He thoughtfully said, "Yes, I'm sure I would be." He went around the desk and wrapped his arms around her.
Donatella stabbed her cigarette out in the ashtray on her cluttered desk. "This is a lone
ly fucking life we live. And now I'm all alone and you're not." She buried her head in his chest. "You re the only man I've ever really loved. The only person who really knows me."
Rapp stroked her hair. "I felt the same way about you too, but you know in the long run it would never have worked out between us. We're too much alike."
Donatella looked up at him. There were no tears in her eyes. She was too tough for that. "Yeah, you're probably right." She released him and took a step back. "Have you asked her to marry you yet?"
"Not yet."
"So you are going to ask her?"
Rapp nodded. "I really would like to meet her." She read Rapp's expression and added, "I'm serious. Don't worry, I won't do anything crazy. If you've fallen in love with her I'm sure she's a lovely woman."
"She's a reporter." Rapp wasn't sure why he'd offered that piece of information.
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
"Does she know about me?"
"No," answered Rapp.
Donatella thought about this twist for a moment. "You obviously trust her."
"Yes."
"Then I'd like to meet her."
"All right. I'll see what I can do." Rapp set his coffee cup on the desk and grabbed both of Donatella's hands. "I need something from you, and it's very important." Rapp looked into her beautiful eyes and waited for an answer.
Donatella could sense that something serious was on its way. She cautiously studied Rapp for a moment and then said, "I have always been there for you, and I always will be."
"Thank you. You know the same goes for me."
"Of course."
"Were you in Washington two weeks ago?" Rapp saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes.
Donatella's mind was reeling as she tried to figure out how Mitch could have known she was in Washington. Her disguise had been perfect, and the hit had gone down without a problem. He had to know something. Whatever the case was she could not talk about it in her office. It wasn't secure. She held her index finger to her lips to signal that it wasn't safe to talk about such matters, and then said, "I was in New York but not Washington. I'm sorry I didn't call, but I was only in town for a few days."
"That's too bad." Rapp nodded and stepped back. He pointed to a tablet of paper on the desk and motioned for Donatella to answer him with a pen.
She shook her head vigorously and said, "Oh my God, I forgot all about the shoot." She pointed to the photos on her desk. "I have to tend to this right away. It's a complete disaster. Why don't we meet for a drink after work."
"I'd love to. Name a time and a place."
"Let's say six o'clock, the Jamaica Cafe."
"Sounds good to me." Rapp pointed at the paper one more time, but she shook her head even more vigorously than before. Reluctantly, he kissed her on the cheek and then mouthed the words, I need to know.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
Capitol Hill, Thursday morning
Norbert Steveken arrived at the U. S. Capitol early. He checked his gun with the Capitol Hill police officer at the security gate and went off in search of his patron. Steveken was the type of guy you had to meet five or six times before you remembered him, which suited him just fine. In his line of work it was an asset not to be noticed. Just short of five feet nine inches tall, he had brown hair and hazel eyes. He had just turned forty, and despite the paunch around his waist, he was still amazingly quick. It was the handball that he played four times a week that kept him nimble. Norbert Steveken was a tenacious little man. He'd graduated from Penn with honors and went to work for Pricewaterhouse for two years. The job as a CPA was a stepping-stone for the vocation he really wanted. Since he was a little boy Steveken had dreamed of becoming a G-man.
His hard work paid off when in 1986 he became Special Agent Norbert Steveken. It had been the greatest day of his life. With his parents and siblings in the front row, the director of the Bureau himself had sworn him in. At first he found the job exhilarating and challenging. Just the thrill of being a part of the most prestigious law enforcement fraternity in the world was enough to keep it exciting for a few years. But after that certain things started to irk him. First and foremost was the fact that after three years with the Bureau he had yet to pursue a real criminal. The bureaucracy was overwhelming; the sheer level of paperwork was staggering. It got so bad at one point that he started to wonder why he even bothered carrying a gun to work. In his fourth year things livened up a bit when he was moved to the Miami field office to help with bank robberies. That unfortunately only lasted two brief years and then it was back to Washington to push. more paper. It was in his tenth year at the Bureau that he'd met Senator Hank Clark.
It was standard procedure for the FBI to help the Senate and House conduct background checks on nominees and people being considered for sensitive positions. Steveken was tasked to work with Clark 's committee for a one-year period. It was during that time that he got to know Senator Clark very well. It was a watershed year for Steveken. Clark opened his eyes to how things really worked in Washington. It was the beginning of the end of his career as a Special Agent for the FBI.
With the financial backing of Clark, Steveken left the Bureau and started his own security consulting business. Just four years into it he was making three times more money than the director of the FBI himself; he was his own boss, his services were in demand and the mounds of paperwork were behind him.
Senator Clark knew a lot of influential people-people who were willing to pay good money to have future employees vetted. Fathers who wanted their daughters' boyfriends shadowed for a few days. Owners of companies who were willing to pay him $5,000 a day to come in and lecture their employees on industrial espionage and how to take steps to prevent it. It was a move that had worked out very well indeed.
Steveken worked his way through a labyrinth of back hallways and staircases in search of Senator Clark's hide. There were only seventy of them in the Capitol, each of them reserved for the senior most senators. A few were no better than a broom closet, most of them were good-size offices and several were as plush as a reading room from a nineteenth century men's club. Whenever a senior senator failed to come back to Washington either through defeat, retirement or death, there was a mad scramble to get his hide. These rooms were the private sanctuaries of the elite. They were used to get away from the staffers and the lobbyists, and from time to time, to cut back room deals.
Steveken found Clark 's hide on the fourth floor and knocked on the old wood door. The senator yelled for him to enter and he did. Hank Clark bounced out of his chair and came around the desk. "How the hell are you, Norb?"
"Good, Hank. Thanks for asking." Steveken grabbed the towering senator's hand and squeezed hard. They'd been on a first name basis for some time. "I apologize I couldn't get here quicker, but I was out in California working on some stuff."
"That's all right." Clark slapped his back. "I know I'm not your only client." The senator genuinely liked Steveken. He had a biting sense of humor, a cynical mind, and he was loyal. In short, he trusted him. "I appreciate you getting back here so quickly."
"No problem. What's on your mind?"
"Sit." Clark gestured to a grouping of a couch and several chairs. "Can I get you anything to drink?"
"Coffee if you have it." Steveken looked out the window. This was where he usually discussed business with the senator. It was best to avoid being seen together. The former FBI agent never tired of the view. The large double-hung window was wide open to let in enough cool air to negate the old radiator that never seemed to rest. From high atop the fourth floor, the view looked to the west, taking in the full length of the National Mall.
Clark poured two cups of coffee from a thermos and asked, "How's business been? "The two men sat down, Clark on a dark brown leather couch and Steveken on a matching chair.
Steveken took a sip of coffee and said, "Great. Thanks to you." He held his mug up in brief salute to Clark.
"Well, you do good work, Norb. My fr
iends have very high standards. If you didn't perform they'd be on the phone bitching to me in a second."
"It's all about managing expectations."
"My friends have high expectations."
"Yes, but I never promise them anything I know I can't deliver, and most important, I always put it in writing." Steveken took a sip from his mug. "People tend to have very convenient memories when it comes to verbal contracts."
Clark laughed. "Yes, they do."
"So what's on your mind?"
Clark crossed his legs and tried to get comfortable. "I need you to do some work for me." Steveken nodded eagerly, Clark always paid well. "You name it."
"It could get a little hairy."
"How hairy?" asked Steveken in a mischievous tone.
"It involves the CIA."
Steveken set his mug on the table. "I'm listening." He sat back and crossed his legs. A deliberately cool expression draped his face.
Clark knew a lot about Steveken. He was a man who loved a challenge. It was the chief reason why he didn't like the FBI. He felt bored and under utilized Clark also knew that Steveken had a bit of a chip on his shoulder when it came to his former employer and the CIA. He would love the chance to embarrass them.
"What do you think of the President's nominee to be the next director?"
"I don't know her personally, but the word on the street is that she's pretty sharp."
"She is," Clark replied and then added, "Very sharp, but unfortunately there are certain people in this town who don't want to see her take over at the CIA."
"Isn't that pretty much always the case when one of these jobs opens up?"
"Yes yes it is, but this time there might be some legitimate concern."
"Such as?" Clark shifted his large body again and said, "This is going to be very delicate, Norb." "Hank," said Steveken with a slightly offended look on his face. "As far as I'm concerned, everything that is ever said in these meetings is between you and me and the wall."
"I know that, Norb, but this could get rather tricky."
Clark 's attempts at caution were only serving to pique Stevekens curiosity further. "You know I'm not afraid to take risks."