Transfer of Power

by Vince Flynn

  “My radio isn’t working. Over.”

  “We can hear you on our end, Iron Man,” replied Kennedy. “Are you saying you can’t receive us?”

  “That’s correct.”

  Kennedy looked to one of the technicians to see if there were any answers. All she got was an unknowing shrug. Into her headset, she said, “Iron Man, we’ll work on that. For now, why don’t you check out the rest of the second floor and then check in on the field radio in thirty minutes?”

  “Roger that. I’ll start to set up the surveillance cameras. Over and out.” Rapp placed the handset back in its cradle and started to organize his gear. Taking the fanny pack of miniature surveillance units, Rapp extracted five of the devices and placed them in his web vest.

  “Staircases first?” asked Adams.

  “Yep.” Rapp grabbed his gun. “Just like before, Milt. Keep your eyes peeled, and don’t walk anywhere where I haven’t walked first. All right?” Adams nodded. “Any questions before we get going?”

  “Yeah.” Adams looked slightly embarrassed. “I gotta take a piss.”

  Rapp grinned, appreciating the much needed levity. “We can take care of that. In fact we’ll make it our first stop. All right, let’s move out.”

  Adams pulled the bolt back, and he and Rapp quietly walked out into the large closet. Adams pushed the bookcaselike organizer back into place, and it stopped with a soft click. With his gun at the ready Rapp stood outside the bathroom while Adams went in and took care of business. Rapp took the time to look around the room and noticed something he had missed earlier. Something odd. The president’s bed was in disarray. Rapp walked over to the bed, and on closer examination he saw something startling, something that made his blood boil. There was a substantial splotch of blood on the white sheets and dangling off the side of the bed was a woman’s bra.

  Rapp shook his head in disgust at the scene. When Adams came out of the bathroom a moment later, Rapp pointed at the disturbing evidence. Neither man said a word. After a long moment Rapp walked across the room to a small end table situated near the door that led to the Truman Balcony. Taking one of the small surveillance units from his pocket, he attached one of the Velcro patches to the underside of the table and secured the tiny device.

  Rapp motioned to Adams. “Let’s go.” He moved for the main door and stopped when he reached it. Adams stuck the tiny black snake under the door and checked the hallway. The lights were on, and the picture was very clear.

  The cross hall on the second floor of the family residence was wide, about fifteen feet. It was brightly lit and the walls were adorned with builtin bookcases and several oil portraits of past presidents. Various groupings of couches, chairs, tables, and lamps gave the space the dual role of informal living room and hallway.

  Adams manipulated the snake back and forth and whispered, “It looks clear.”

  Rapp nodded and said, “Let me take a look first, and then I’ll wave you out.” Rapp looked at the camera one more time and checked the hallway. Slowly, Rapp turned the knob and opened the door, taking the first step into the brightly lit hallway.

  24

  HER EYES BLINKED several times before they could stay open. Anna Rielly let out a weak groan. It took her a second to regain her senses, and even then she had no idea where she was. All she knew was her head ached and she was having a hard time breathing. As her eyes came into focus, she saw stairs and then a pair of legs and boots. For a second she thought she was dreaming, and then everything fell into place. The terrorist was carrying her over his shoulder.

  She tried to lift her head, but a searing pain shot through her neck. She knew she had to fight no matter how much it hurt. Rielly commanded herself to ignore the pain, and with as much strength as she could muster, the young journalist bolted upright and grabbed onto the slickedback hair of the man who was carrying her. Rielly kicked her feet violently and began to scream at the top of her lungs.

  MITCH RAPP ALMOST jumped out of his skin. The female voice was so loud and so sudden that it caught him completely off guard. He was standing exposed in the middle of the hallway, bathed in light. The violent scream had shattered the stillness and sent his nerves right to the edge. Rapp paused just long enough to ascertain which direction the scream was coming from and then immediately began to move, while Milt Adams stood frozen two steps behind. Like a big cat, Rapp began a rapid retreat. Instinctively, his right hand reached back in search of Adams. His left hand kept the lethal barrel of his MP-10 aimed in the direction of the scream, and he pushed Adams back into the open doorway of the president’s bedroom.

  With Adams now in the lead, they hurried into the closet, and Rapp closed the door behind them. Adams had the door to the stash room open and paused for a second to see what Rapp wanted to do. Rapp pushed him into the small room and pulled the organizer closed behind them.

  Adams turned on the light and grabbed his heart. “Jesus, how you do this shit for a living?”

  Rapp, his own adrenaline pumping, grabbed the monitor around Milt’s neck and tuned the picture to the tiny surveillance device they had just planted less than twenty feet away.

  ANNA RIELLY CLUTCHED her stomach with one hand and the wrist of the terrorist with the other. Her shoes had fallen off, and she could see them halfway down the hallway as the thug dragged her across the carpet. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and the pain from the kick to her stomach was so intense she thought she might vomit.

  Abu Hasan liked the fight. He considered it part of the thrill, part of the domination. This one, the dark one, was much better than the one he had taken care of last night. The blond had turned out to be boring. There was no fight in her, only tears. Hasan smiled widely as he rounded the corner and saw the door to the president’s bedroom. It was the perfect place to rape this American whore. Hasan thrust open the door with one hand while he held on to Rielly’s ponytail with the other. After dragging her another ten feet, he violently lifted her off the ground and threw her onto the king-size bed. Drawing his knife, he yelled at her, “Take your clothes off, you bitch.”

  Rielly started to get back up. There was no way she was going to give in. She would rather die than be raped again.

  The terrorist blocked her arms and sent the butt end of the knife crashing down and into Rielly’s temple. The blow knocked her unconscious, and Rielly went limp, leaving her completely motionless and vulnerable on the bed.

  Abu Hasan wasted no time. Taking his knife, he began cutting off her clothes. The more skin he revealed the faster he cut. Once he had her pants off, he ripped at her blouse, and then stopped for a second. Lustfully, he looked down at the young woman before him and admired her tanned, firm body. Slowly, he reached down and ran his hand over her leg. He stopped at her black lace panties, and then with a violent yank, he tore them from her body.

  MILT ADAMS WAS disturbed by what was happening in the other room, but it wasn’t as scary as the transformation taking place right in front of him. Mitch Rapp’s face had taken on a very different look. His eyes had twisted into a menacing stare, his jaw sat clenched, and a sheen of sweat now coated his forehead.

  Rapp shook his head several times and muttered something through his clenched teeth. Inside his mind a battle was being waged. The logical side was telling him that the mission was more important than what was going on in the other room. All of his professional training had taught him that he should stay put and continue to collect information without announcing his presence, that the lives of the other hostages were more important, that killing Rafique Aziz was more important. Despite knowing what he should do, there was another voice in his head that was saying something entirely different.

  BACK IN THE control room at Langley, all eyes were on the big board. A surveillance device had been activated by Rapp, and its grainy transmission was being received on one of the monitors. The technicians at Langley worked with Marcus Dumond, who, with the aid of the communications boom on the back of the van, was homing in on the frequency and trying
to filter out the disturbances. Over the course of several minutes the picture began to clear, eventually revealing a lone man in a lit doorway.

  Without taking his eyes off the screen, General Campbell asked Kennedy, “Is that the president’s bedroom?”

  “It must be,” replied Kennedy as she squinted at the monitor. She watched as the man in the doorway turned and walked quickly back into the room. A second man’s profile appeared in the doorway, and Kennedy immediately recognized it as Rapp’s.

  “Why are they going back into the closet?” asked Campbell.

  Kennedy frowned. “I don’t know.”

  One of the technicians turned around and said, “We’ve got audio on the unit.”

  “Put it on the speaker system,” stated Kennedy, without taking her eyes off the monitor. A second later a scratchy audio came over the room’s overhead speaker system.

  There was a loud noise, and General Flood, who was sitting one row behind Kennedy and Campbell, asked, “What in the hell was that?”

  Kennedy stared at the monitor showing the open doorway of the president’s bedroom with the lit hallway beyond and said, “It sounded like a scream.”

  Just then a man appeared in the doorway dragging a woman behind him. As if on cue everyone in the control room moved closer to the screen in an attempt to discern what was happening. Within seconds it was brutally apparent what was unfolding before them.

  Kennedy, in an unusually tense voice, snapped, “Get me Iron Man on the radio right now!” Kennedy knew Rapp better than anyone in the room and possibly better than anyone in the world. Kennedy knew she had to assert some control over him and assert it quickly, if she had even the slightest chance of stopping him from doing what she knew he was contemplating.

  THE MP-10 WAS on the ground in the corner and had been replaced by the silenced 9-mm Beretta. Rapp stared at the gun. Angry beyond comprehension, he felt like punching a hole in the wall. He told himself to bring it back a notch. Too much anger led to poor judgment. But Rapp hated thugs, people that took from others, animals that did what they wanted to do with little or no thought of what their actions did to fellow human beings.

  Mentally, Rapp was gone. The decision had been made. There was no turning back. The woman in the other room was somebody’s daughter, probably somebody’s wife, and maybe some poor kid’s mother, and there was no way he could allow himself to sit in the safety of the bulletproof room and let it happen.

  The secure field radio spurted a quiet beeping noise, and a green light on the panel began to flash. Adams reached for the handset, and Rapp stopped him.

  “Don’t answer that.”

  Adams slowly withdrew his hand. He no longer recognized the man sitting next to him. Rapp reached out, turned the power switch on the radio to the off position, and pulled his headset down around his neck. Standing, he retrieved his matte-black combat knife and kept it in his left hand. He looked at the pistol in one hand and the knife in the other and paused.

  Standing, Milt Adams licked his dry lips, and with a worried expression on his face, he asked, “What are you going to do?”

  Rapp looked sideways at him and after short pause said, “I’m going to go out there and kill that piece of shit. It’s not what I should do, but it’s what I’m gonna do.”

  Adams swallowed hard and with a nod said, “Good.” Then after a second, he added, “Do you want me to help?”

  Rapp shook his head and closed his eyes. “No . . . Turn off the lights, and open the door. Then stay here, and be quiet.”

  Adams did as he was told. He couldn’t see Rapp, but could feel him as Rapp slid through the passageway and into the closet.

  ANNA RIELLY OPENED her eyes and tried to focus. Above her was darkness, but to her right there was light. Slowly, she turned her head and saw her attacker. The man had already taken off his shirt and was working on his pants. Rielly tried to move, but her arms wouldn’t respond. Looking down, she saw her bare chest through tear-filled eyes. She was living the nightmare.

  MITCH RAPP STOOD at the closet doorway for several seconds and listened. His eyes were closed. He wanted them to adjust to the darkness as much as possible. There was a noise from the bedroom. It sounded as if the woman was crying, and then he heard a male laugh. Rapp opened his eyes and looked at his two weapons. He could shoot equally well with either hand, but he was better with the knife in his left hand. Rapp decided that if he could get close enough, he would use the knife, and he had few doubts he could. Before leaving, he started the timer on his watch and then reached for the door. Slowly, cautiously, he turned the handle and began to open it.

  RIELLY SOBBED AS she looked at the man looming over her. He was laughing, his disgusting cigarette breath enveloping her face. He held his erection with one hand and reached out with his other hand, pawing at Rielly’s groin. The young journalist clamped down with her legs and screamed. The terrorist yanked her legs apart and slapped her across the face. Rielly tried to fight, but her strength was gone. All she could do was cry as he lowered his body on top of her.

  THE DOOR OPENED slowly. Rapp peered through the crack and saw the light from the hallway spilling into the room. From his angle he could see a man with his back to him taking off his clothes and standing at the foot the large bed. The man began to climb onto the bed. Now was the time to move. With his knife in his left hand and the gun in his right, Rapp proceeded slowly. He took his first step and then quickly looked to the left and the right to make sure no one else was in the room. He stepped silently, without vibration or noise, carefully placing his heel and then the rest of his foot on the floor.

  Halfway across the room, Rapp slid his gun back into his holster. The terrorist was holding the woman’s hands above her head and was trying to enter her, the woman’s sobs muffled by the man’s body.

  Rapp moved quickly to the bed, his right hand open and stretched outward, the left tightly clutching his knife. With fluid precision, he grabbed the hair of the terrorist with his right hand and yanked the man’s head back. With his left hand, Rapp stuck the tip of the knife directly into the man’s neck and thrust it upward. The sharp knife sliced through muscle and penetrated deep into the base of the brain. With a forceful twist of the knife, Rapp shredded the fragile brain stem. Abu Hasan never knew what happened in his final second on earth.

  Still holding the man’s hair, Rapp pulled him off the woman and dropped his lifeless body on the floor with as little noise as possible. He placed the bloody knife back in its scabbard, and Rapp held out his hands to the naked woman on the bed.

  “Don’t scream. We need to move quickly.” The woman looked up with shocked eyes and tried to cover her exposed breasts with her arms. Rapp reached down, untucked the sheet that she was lying on top of, and gently folded it over her body.

  He knew he had to move fast. There was no telling when someone else might come along. Looking the woman in the eye, he said, “Listen, I have to move you. I’m going to pick you up and bring you someplace where you’ll be safe.”

  Rapp placed one knee on the bed, and Rielly flinched like a scared and beaten dog. Moving slowly, he said, “More of them could come at any minute. I need to get you out of here.” After giving her several seconds to think about the alternative, Rapp placed one hand under her legs and the other under her upper back. Cradling her to his chest he stood and whispered, “Everything’s gonna be all right.” Rapp walked quickly across the room and into the closet. In a voice just above a whisper he said, “Milt, turn the light on.” Almost instantly the light inside the stash room came on, and the hidden door opened wider.

  Rapp moved the woman inside and placed her on the floor. Then grabbing his backpack, he opened it and extracted a small kit. Handing it to Adams, he said, “Give her some water and a couple of these.” Rapp pulled out a packet of Tylenol 3. “I have to get back out there and try to figure out what to do with that body.”

  RAGIB QUASAR LOOKED out across the mass of huddled hostages and checked his watch. It was nearing
midnight, and his turn was approaching. There were two other terrorists in the room, and Ragib looked at the one closest to him. The man nodded, signaling for Ragib to go ahead. They were all eagerly awaiting their turn, and the sooner Ragib was done with the woman the sooner the other two would have their chance.

  Ragib grinned and flashed his open hand to his compatriot three times, telling him to give him fifteen minutes. With excitement, he strode from the room, his pace picking up as soon as the door behind him closed.

  * * *

  RAPP CLOSED THE main door to the bedroom and studied the body for a second. It was no good trying to hide it. Aziz would know his man was missing and would immediately deduce that he had been killed. There had to be another way. Rapp grew impatient as he stood over the dead terrorist, racking his brain for a way out of the mess. After searching the dead man’s discarded clothes for information, it came to him. Rapp grabbed the terrorist’s knife from the pile of clothes, and he hoisted the body back on to the bed, laying the dead man on his stomach.

  With the terrorist’s own knife, Rapp stabbed him three times in the upper back. Rapp was careful not to use all of his strength, only sending an inch or two of the knife into the flesh. After pausing for a second, Rapp flipped the dead man over and stabbed him three times in the chest and twice in the neck. Blood was beginning to flow freely over the white sheets. For the finishing touch, he sliced the man’s forearms and hands to make it look as if he had tried to block the blows.