Mitch Rapp 02 - The Third Option

by Vince Flynn

  “No…not too much.” Rielly brushed some of her hair back behind her ears.

  “Good, because I don’t want you to get upset over nothing. There is a small chance Mitch might make it by tonight, but I doubt it.” Cameron saw the look of despair on Rielly’s face. “Don’t worry. Nothing bad has happened. It’s just that a few things came up.”

  “What?”

  With a grin, Cameron said, “You know I can’t get into that, Ms. Rielly.”

  “I know what Mitch does for a living.”

  “I know that you know certain things, probably far more than you should, but it’s not my place to discuss these issues with you. Mitch is in the middle of something very important, something with huge national security implications.”

  “Is he safe?”

  “Yes, he’s safe.” Cameron smiled. “It’s the other guys I’d worry about.”

  “What other guys?”

  “The bad guys.”

  “Oh.”

  “Listen, I don’t want you to worry. I’m pretty sure Mitch will be here in the morning. If you want, we can take you back into the city and then bring you back out here bright and early, or you can spend the night here. We will, of course, stay out of your way.”

  “Is there a chance he still might come tonight?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

  “Then I’ll stay here.”

  “Okay.” One of Cameron’s phones started to ring. He looked to see which one it was and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get this.”

  WITHIN SECONDS OF the words leaving Michael O’Rourke’s lips, Rapp knew Anna was in trouble. He asked O’Rourke if he was sure Anna had told Liz she was going to meet him. O’Rourke said he was sitting right next to his wife when she took the call. Rapp was tempted to go upstairs and wake Liz, but after weighing what could be learned, he thought better of it. The last thing he needed right now was an emotional pregnant reporter on his hands. Rapp tried Rielly’s apartment first. The answering machine picked up after four rings, and he hung up. When he tried her cell phone, a recorded voice told him the customer he was trying to reach was not available. Anna always answered her cell phone unless she was on the air. Something was wrong. Rapp strained to remain calm in front of O’Rourke. The ante had just been upped, and whoever these fuckers were, they were going to pay.

  Before leaving, Rapp told O’Rourke not to say a word to his wife. O’Rourke was a bit reluctant at first until Rapp assured him that he could do a better job of finding Anna than the feds. Rapp promised to call, and then he and Coleman disappeared into the night.

  He gave Coleman the address for Anna’s apartment and told him to step on it. On the way, he dialed Stansfield’s secure home number. When Kennedy answered, Rapp asked, “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s asleep.”

  “I think they have Anna.”

  There was a moment of silence and then, “Are you sure?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to get a team over to Anna’s apartment right now.” Rapp gave her the address. “We should be there in two minutes.”

  “What else?”

  “Put one of the SOG teams on alert. I might need them for backup.”

  Kennedy was wondering how to handle the request for one of Langley’s Special Operations groups. They were the CIA’s equivalent of a SWAT team. She had the authority to make the request, but it would probably be better if Stansfield did it.

  “I’ll take care of it. Anything else?”

  “This changes everything.”

  Kennedy didn’t like the detached calmness she heard in his voice. “How so?”

  “I don’t care how high this goes, I’m going to kill every last one of them.” Rapp ended the call and stared out the window as the truck raced up Wisconsin Avenue.

  THEY CIRCLED THE apartment building twice, checking for surveillance, and then parked in front of a fire hydrant. Rapp and Coleman entered the building with their heads down, not wanting to give the surveillance camera a shot of their faces. Rapp used his set of keys to gain access. Once in the stairwell, they both drew their weapons and attached silencers. Rapp was carrying a 9-mm Beretta and Coleman a H&K USP .45 ACP. He took ten seconds to give Coleman the basic layout of the apartment. Coleman was used to working in pairs. It was a cornerstone of SEAL training. Rapp, on the other hand, was a lone wolf. Coleman took a couple of seconds to make sure they were on the same page, and then they started up the stairs.

  When they reached the fourth floor, Rapp gave the hallway a quick check and then left the stairwell. They were not pausing for anything. If someone was waiting for them, the best way to handle it was to move fast and hit hard. Rapp took up a position on the right side of Rielly’s door and Coleman on the left. Rapp quietly inserted the key and opened the door. Coleman entered the apartment right on Rapp’s heels. He closed and locked the door behind them. They checked the front hall closet first and then the kitchen and the living room. Neither man spoke. They moved from room to room, Rapp taking the lead, Coleman watching his back. Every door was opened and then closed. In less than thirty seconds, they had checked the entire place. Thirty seconds after that, they found the first listening device. They left it undisturbed and retreated from the apartment, leaving the door unlocked.

  Back in the truck, Rapp called Kennedy.

  “The apartment was wired. Put your best people on it. Tell them to find the transponder and sit on it. If someone shows up to check on it, I want them followed. We’re on our way to Marcus’s. I’ll call you when we get there.”

  Coleman gunned the engine as they turned off New Mexico and onto Nebraska. Two blocks to the northeast, they hit a traffic circle. Coleman took it two-thirds of the way around and shot onto Massachusetts Avenue. As they cut through the swank Spring Valley neighborhood, Coleman asked, “What’s our next move?”

  Rapp couldn’t get the bad images out of his mind. He could tolerate astronomical amounts of pain. He’d been shot and stabbed, he’d broken a dozen bones and pushed his body to the point where the only thing that kept him going was the will to live, but this was different. He was close to crying. The idea of someone hurting Anna was the most agonizing thing he had ever felt. Rapp shook the images from his mind and turned to look out his window. He wiped some of the moisture from his eyes. He didn’t want Coleman to see him like this. “We’ll find out if Marcus has made any progress, and then we’ll try the Professor again.”

  Rapp had regained his composure by the time they reached Dumond’s. Kennedy had already called Dumond and told him that Rielly had been taken. Dumond, never quite knowing how to deal with Rapp, decided not to attempt any words of comfort. Instead, he explained how the search for the Professor was going. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going so well. Coleman’s two men, Kevin Hackett and Dan Stroble, had been looking over thousands of photos of current and former State Department employees, and they had yet to come up with a solid match.

  This was not what Rapp wanted to hear, and he could barely contain his anger. Dumond, however, had an idea that he thought might help. “When was the last time you tried this guy?”

  “Around nine this evening.”

  “And he hasn’t answered since the first time you talked?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, he’s going to have to, isn’t he?”

  “Why?”

  “If he’s the one who took Anna, he’s going to want to talk to you.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, but I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

  “Well, he has no way of getting a hold of you. You never left him a number.”

  “And?”

  “He’s waiting for you to call him.”

  Rapp was a little irritated with Dumond for stating the obvious. “That’s what I’m planning on doing once you have everything set to track the call.”

  Dumond held up a finger. “I have a plan. I have a Smart V
an on the way over. Irene authorized it.” Dumond was referring to a fourth-generation mobile digital surveillance unit that was made by Audio Intelligence Devices, a division of Westinghouse. The CIA’s Science and Technology directorate customized the vehicles upon delivery.

  “Marcus, you know how I hate all of this technical shit, so just give it to me in a language I can understand.”

  Dumond started and stopped himself twice as he tried to state in the simplest terms what he wanted to do. Finally, he said, “If we have the van in the right position prior to the call, and you keep him on the phone long enough, I think I can track him.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “No, I’m not sure, but if we get lucky and are in the right neighborhood when he takes the call, I can at the very least get us to within a few blocks.” Dumond cautioned, “That’s assuming he’s stationary.”

  “How long until we can make the call?”

  “The van should be here within five minutes.” Dumond pointed to a map on the kitchen counter. As he walked over to it, he said, “We really don’t have any hits on his cell phone at this time of the day, so I can’t guarantee we’ll be in the right area when he takes the call.”

  “What are you talking about, Marcus?” Rapp’s voice was tinged with irritation.

  “I pulled up his cell tower usage for the last three months and plotted it on the map. These bright yellow pieces of paper mark the top ten towers he has most frequently used.” Dumond grabbed a piece of paper lying on the map. “This lists the calls, what time of the day they were made, for how long, and what tower they were routed through.”

  “Get to the point, Marcus.”

  “The point is, I don’t have him making too many calls after eleven in the evening, so it’s going to be hard to predict what area of town he’ll be in.”

  “Shit.”

  “In the morning we’ll have a better chance.”

  Coleman placed his hand on Rapp’s shoulder and nodded toward Dumond’s bedroom. Rapp followed him into the room and closed the door.

  “What’s up?”

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?” asked Coleman.

  “What kind of a question is that?”

  “It’s a damn good one.”

  “Have you ever known me not to be up for something?”

  “I’ve never seen you in love.”

  “What in the hell does that have to do with this?” snapped Rapp.

  “It has everything to do with this. They have Anna, and it’s affecting your judgment. You’re too emotional.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Scott.”

  “I am going to worry about you. You’re out there snapping at Marcus like he’s your little brother.”

  “He is like a little brother to me.”

  Coleman took a step back. “This isn’t good, man.”

  “What isn’t good?”

  “I’m telling you, you’re too emotional. I think you should turn this over to someone else.”

  “Who? The fucking feds? Yeah…let’s get the HRT in here. That would go over really well, right up to the point where Anna gets killed and they start asking who I am.”

  “I’m not talking about the feds, Mitch. Just calm down for a second. You need to know when to let go. This thing is going to get worse before it gets better, and you can’t let your emotions get in the way of making the right call.”

  Rapp was going to argue but thought better of it. “If at any time you think I’m blowing this thing, you let me know. I respect your judgment, and I’ll listen.” He paused for a second and added, “With one exception. Every last one of these motherfuckers is dead, and don’t try to talk me out of it.”

  THE CATERING VAN pulled up in front of Marcus Dumond’s four-plex. It was white with a large black chef ’s hat on both sides and the back cargo doors. Above the hat was the name of a catering outfit, Kip’s, and beneath it was a phone number. The catering outfit was legitimate, run by a former Agency employee and his wife. The Agency had arranged some very favorable financing for the couple, and in return they had a legitimate cover for some of their surveillance vans.

  Dumond climbed into the back of the van with two laptops and a bag of equipment. Rapp and Coleman joined him in the van, and Kevin Hackett and Dan Stroble followed in Coleman’s Explorer. Dumond told the driver to take them to Washington Circle and closed the door. Dumond went to work immediately, getting his laptops set up and bringing the rest of the equipment on-line. One side of the van contained three pizza racks stuffed with high-tech surveillance equipment. In the middle were two color active-matrix flat panel displays. The top one was touch-sensitive and used to control a vast array of technology, and the bottom one was for video feed. Dumond sat in a captain’s chair that was bolted to the floor. There was a small space under the monitors for Dumond’s legs. Rapp and Coleman watched him work from a bench seat in the back.

  It took almost fifteen minutes for them to reach Washington Circle. There was a luggage rack on the roof of the van. It was never used. Instead, it housed a myriad of antennas, video cameras, directional microphones, and a direction finder. After Dumond had hacked his way into the Sprint network, he got the direction finder ready and told Rapp it was a go.

  Rapp and Coleman had been discussing how to handle the call. They both agreed that, to start with, it was best if Rapp acted as if he knew nothing about Rielly’s disappearance.

  Dumond had rigged the cell phone so both he and Coleman could listen in on the call. He was also recording the conversation on a DAT. Rapp punched in the number and counted the rings. When he hit four, his heart sank for fear that the call would once again go unanswered, but then, after the sixth ring, someone picked up. Rapp said, “Professor, how are you doing?”

  PETER CAMERON HAD left Rielly sitting in the living room and walked toward the front of the house when his phone started ringing. When he reached the foyer, he answered it and heard the familiar voice of Mitch Rapp. Cameron left the house and went to stand in the driveway next to his car. He didn’t want Duser or his men to hear him talking.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t taken your calls, but a few things came up.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it over the phone.”

  “Does that mean you’d like to meet in person?”

  “Maybe.” Cameron hesitated. “If you can guarantee my safety.”

  “That all depends on what you have to tell me.”

  “Listen, when I was hired to do this, I had no idea who you were, and if I had, I would have never taken the job.”

  “That makes me feel much better,” Rapp responded with sarcasm. “Who hired you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.”

  “Then let’s meet.”

  Cameron leaned against his passenger door. “I would, but something tells me I might not leave that meeting alive.”

  “That depends on what you have for me and how honest you are.”

  “What I have for you is big! Really big! But you need to give me some assurances.”

  “Like what?”

  “That I’ll live, and you’ll leave me alone. That no one from the Agency ever knows who I am.”

  “That might be a tough one.”

  “Then you can forget it. I’ll just disappear and take my chances that you’ll never be able to track me down.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t feel so confident about that.”

  Cameron looked up at the night sky and grinned. If only this fool knew who he was dealing with. “Listen, can’t you see the position I’m in? I want some guarantees from you, or I’m better off on the run.”

  There was a long pause, and then Rapp said, “All right, what is it that you need?”

  “First thing…I meet you and only you. If I see anyone else around, I’m outta here. Second, I want your word that you will never reveal to anyone who I am.”

  “That’s going to depend on how good your info is.”

&n
bsp; “It’s good. It’s going to blow you away.”

  “Give me a hint.”

  “The person who hired me is someone big here in town. Someone you’d never suspect.”

  “If he’s as big as you say he is, I’ll get you a new name and a new face.”

  “I can take care of that on my own. I just want your word that you’ll keep my identity to yourself and you won’t try to kill me.”

  “You have my word.”

  Cameron checked his watch. He’d been on the line long enough. “Give me a number where I can reach you.”

  Rapp hesitated for a second and then gave him the number to his mobile phone. “When are we going to meet?”

  “Tomorrow morning around sunup. I’ll call and give you instructions. I’m going to run you through some paces, and if I see anyone following you, I’m gone.” Cameron pressed the red button on his phone and laughed. It was too easy. Rapp was going to walk right into the trap. The man had no idea they had Rielly.

  THE VAN WAS stopped. They had pulled over on 23rd Street between the State Department and the Navy Bureau of Medicine. Dumond worked the keyboard of the laptop on his right while Rapp and Coleman watched. After a few seconds, the boyish Dumond looked at Rapp and said, “We weren’t even close.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s not even in the city. Hell, he’s not even in the county.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s out by the bay. South of Annapolis.”

  Rapp jumped up from the bench seat and looked over Dumond’s shoulder. “Show me where the tower is.”

  Dumond pointed to the screen. “Right here. By Mount Zion.”

  Rapp squinted at the screen, trying to decide if this was a coincidence or not. Keeping his eyes on the map, Rapp asked, “You said you’ve got a log of calls he made for the last four months.”

  “Yep.”

  “Has he ever used this tower before?”

  Dumond grabbed the printout and flipped through the pages. It took him twenty seconds to scan the entire list. When he was done, he looked up at Rapp and said, “This is the first time this tower has handled a call for him.”

  Noticing that something was bothering Rapp, Coleman asked, “What are you seeing that I’m not?”