Kill Shot

by Vince Flynn

  Stansfield knew this was the Green Beret coming out in the doctor, and he also knew that if he was asking for permission it was to say something that would be highly critical of Stansfield. He had never been afraid of the truth so he said, “Permission granted.”

  “You have a blind spot where Stan is concerned. I have tried repeatedly to bring certain things to your attention and so has Irene, but you brush us off. I understand that the man has a storied career, and he undoubtedly has his uses, but putting him in charge of the recruiting and training of these men, I fear, was a huge mistake. And Victor is exhibit A. The man should have washed out years ago.”

  Looking back through the one-way glass, Stansfield asked, “So what do you recommend I do about this problem?”

  “Send Victor packing and do it as quickly as possible.”

  “And if he doesn’t want to quit?”

  The blue-eyed shrink and former Green Beret hesitated for a second and then said, “You should have him eliminated.”

  This was far more serious than Stansfield had expected. He knew Lewis as a thoughtful man who was very thorough about his recommendations. This was the first time in three years that he had suggested such a thing. Stansfield had no illusions about who he was. He’d killed men before and he’d ordered men killed. It was part of his job description. “I’ll take all of this under advisement.” Stansfield left the mirror and then stopped and looked back at Lewis. “And what would you have me do with Stan?”

  Lewis had some very strong opinions on the subject, but he was not so presumptuous as to think that he should offer them to Stansfield. “You know him better than any of us, sir. I think you are more than capable of making that decision on your own.”

  The faintest of smiles creased Stansfield’s mouth. “You’re a smart man, Tom. I appreciate your honesty.”

  CHAPTER 43

  JIM Talmage had his equipment set up in the observation room where he could monitor Bramble via cameras and sensors that were attached to various parts of the subject’s body to measure blood pressure, pulse, skin conductivity, and respiration. Talmage knew he could fool a polygraph 100 percent of the time and he knew Hurley could as well, because they’d practiced on each other. Having operated in Indian country for much of their careers, it was a job requirement should they be dragged in by another intelligence agency or worse, a terrorist organization. Being able to trick the polygraph could often mean the difference between life and death.

  Stansfield appeared at Talmage’s side. “How’s it going?”

  Talmage shook his head. “Not good.”

  “He’s lying?”

  “I’m not sure . . . that’s the problem.”

  “Is he being evasive?” Stansfield asked.

  “Yeah, but it’s more than that. I think he knows just enough to beat the machine, and it’s not helping that Stan’s doing a shitty job.”

  “How so?”

  “I’ve seen him press a lot harder than this. I can usually predict his next question. You need to get the guy thinking about one thing, get him leaning in a certain direction, and them slap him in the face with an accusation, try to trip him up and see how he’s going to react.”

  “And he’s not doing that.”

  “Nope. He’s letting this guy tell his story. Every once in a while he’ll go back and review something . . . ask him for clarification.”

  Stansfield was no novice when it came to polygraphs. He’d been given more of them than he could count and he’d ordered thousands. There were a lot of different techniques. Talmage had just described a technique they called giving the subject enough rope to hang himself. “That doesn’t sound unusual.”

  Talmage shook his head and frowned. “Some people do it that way, but I can’t even count how many of these I’ve done with Stan. This isn’t his style. He’s like a street fighter. Nothing’s off-limits. Once he starts, he attacks and keeps attacking until he’s got the guy so flustered he wouldn’t dare lie to him.”

  Stansfield considered the situation and then asked, “Should I pull him?”

  Now Talmage got really uncomfortable. “That’s up to you, boss, but if there’s any criticism it better come from you. I don’t feel like getting my head bitten off.”

  “Got it.” Stansfield didn’t show it, but he was extremely unhappy that he’d let Hurley create an environment in which everyone was afraid to express an opinion. He turned to Kennedy and Lewis and said, “Why don’t you two go check your voicemail? I need to have a word with Stan.” He patted Talmage on the shoulder and said, “Tell him to take a break.”

  Talmage leaned forward and pressed the Transmit button on the microphone. “Guys, let’s take a break. Victor, can we bring you anything?”

  Victor asked for a black coffee.

  Talmage looked through the glass at the big oaf. He should know better. “You know we can’t give you coffee.”

  “Fine,” the voice came over the speakers, “I’ll take water.”

  Hurley got up and left the interrogation room. A moment later he joined Stansfield and Talmage. He looked at Talmage and said, “I think it’s going pretty well. How do the readouts look?”

  “Like shit.”

  Before Hurley could respond, Stansfield said, “Would you mind telling me what you’re doing?”

  “What are you talking about? I’m trying to get the truth out of him.”

  “I don’t think you are,” Stansfield said, without any extra emotion.

  Hurley’s face twisted into a pissed-off scowl. “Listen, this ain’t my first rodeo. I don’t stick my nose in what goes on in the rarefied air of the seventh floor at Langley. Just let me do my job like I let you do yours.”

  “Let?” A touch of anger crept into Stansfield’s voice. “You seem to be confused about something, Stanley. I’m your boss. I’m your superior. I’m the one who gives orders. I don’t just let you do your job, my job is to manage you. You don’t let me do anything. You’re my subordinate. Do you understand that?”

  “I don’t understand what the fucking problem is. I’ve been warning you for two years that Rapp was going to blow up in our faces and lo and behold it happens, and now everyone’s pissed at me. I don’t need this shit. Victor is telling the truth. It’s obvious, and the rest of you better wake up and figure it out.”

  “We don’t know if Victor is telling the truth, because you’re going so easy on him, Jim can’t get any readings that are worth a crap.”

  “What the fuck would you know about interrogating someone?”

  Stansfield stared right through him, didn’t speak for at least ten seconds, and then said, “Here’s what you’re going to do, Stan. You’re going to go upstairs and get some fresh air, have a smoke, and then you’re going to come to one of two conclusions. Either you’re right, we’re all wrong, and you have all the answers, or you’re going to figure out that you’ve become an insufferable ass whom no one can work with.”

  Hurley lifted his chin and said, “You know I don’t need this crap.”

  “You’re wrong again. We’re all sick of taking your crap. We’re all sick of your attitude, so remember, I’m your boss. If you go upstairs and fifteen or thirty minutes from now, you still think we’re all idiots and you’re the only smart guy, then I want you to walk out the front gate of this Embassy and never come back. I don’t care where you go as long as you stay the hell out of Virginia. But if you can somehow get it through your thick head that you don’t have all the answers, and decide that you’re going to stop biting people’s heads off, then come back down here and we’ll get serious about this interrogation.”

  Hurley had known Stansfield for nearly thirty years. He had never seen his friend this upset, and it bothered him. He took a step back and uttered a word that rarely left his lips. “I’m sorry. I think my nerves are a little shot.”

  Stansfield nodded. “Go upstairs. Clear your head and then make your mind up.”

  Hurley left the room sullen and dejected, and for once Stansfiel
d didn’t care. He looked through the glass at Chet Bramble and thought about the man’s dossier. Stansfield had read it years ago, but he still had it memorized. Much of what Lewis had deduced was already in that file. Bramble had major issues with authority and rules. It was what had eventually gotten him bounced from the army. Stansfield was of the opinion that highly moral, well-balanced individuals would never do what his team did for a living, so he was willing to look the other way with regard to certain personality faults. Now he feared he had let his standards slide too far, or he’d at least given Hurley too much latitude. Either way, the blame lay squarely on his shoulders.

  Lewis and Kennedy were good people. They had sound judgment and were in control of their emotions. Bramble most certainly wasn’t. He was a brawler like Hurley. They were the type of men who could be trusted to handle very dirty jobs. The results weren’t always pretty but they got the job done. Rapp, on the other hand, was measured and precise. All of his kills until now had been minimalist in the best way. Stansfield was still in the process of comparing the two men when Kennedy came bursting into the room. “Sir,” Kennedy said, “you need to listen to this.” Kennedy grabbed the handset of a secure phone and began punching in a long string of numbers. “I just received a message on my service.” She handed him the phone. “It’s Mitch.”

  Stansfield grabbed the handset and listened. “We need to meet. I finally figured out I can trust you. Don’t believe anything Victor says. I sent someone in my place last night. I wanted to see how he would be treated. I had no idea how bad the reception would be. I thought at worst he’d be roughed up. Unprovoked, Victor popped him and then did the same to the guys he was working with. Two locals showed up and he popped them, too. My guess is he’s blaming me for all of this. His word against mine . . . well, there’s only one problem. I have a witness. Someone your boss knows and trusts. I want to come in, but I don’t want to see anyone other than you. Leave me a mobile number where I can reach you and have the boss ready to hear me out. And this is my only offer. If I see Stan or Victor anywhere, I’m done, and if anyone tries to find me a lot of people are going to get hurt.”

  Stansfield handed her the phone. “Where is Ridley?”

  “He’s in the city.” She checked her watch. “He and his team are prepping the vehicle and hotel for Cooke’s arrival.”

  “Was he here last night?”

  “Yes.”

  Stansfield thought about Rapp’s message. “That must be who he’s talking about.”

  “The witness.”

  Stansfield nodded and turned his attention back to Victor, who was leaning back in his chair drinking from a water bottle. “Call your service and leave him a number. Use your handler code. Get this set up as soon as possible, and then call Ridley and find out what he knows.”

  Kennedy had started punching numbers into the bulky secure phone.

  Stansfield considered the overall situation and then added, “And tell Rapp I’m coming with you.”

  Kennedy punched in two more numbers before she realized what Stansfield had said. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  Stansfield did not want to believe that Stan Hurley had betrayed him, but it was a possibility he had to face. At a bare minimum it sounded as if someone had given Fournier the list of targets. It was possible that it could have been electronically intercepted, but to the best of Stansfield’s knowledge the list had never been sent via secure cable, Internet, or phone, or in any other known form. It had been compiled by Stansfield, Kennedy, and Hurley. The list was then destroyed. Stansfield had a photographic memory, as did Kennedy. Hurley did not, and there had been a few times earlier in their careers when Stansfield had had to chide Hurley for writing down stuff that should never be written down.

  Stansfield studied Victor through the glass. He seemed relaxed, even confident, either that he was in the right, or that he was going to get away with what he’d done. As Lewis had pointed out, Victor was a man who would do whatever served him best. Rapp, on the other hand, had given them nothing but hard work and results.

  The deputy director of Operations looked over his shoulder and said, “Yes, I think it’s a good idea. I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time.”

  Kennedy left the number for Rapp and then called Ridley on his mobile phone. When she had him on the line she said, “Hold on, Thomas wants to talk to you.”

  Stansfield took the receiver. “Rob, you were in town last night?”

  “Yep. Got in about four in the afternoon.”

  “Did you happen to run into a mutual friend?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Were you with one of our colleagues last night . . . did you witness anything?”

  There was a prolonged pause and then Ridley said, “I’m not following, sir.”

  “Never mind,” Stansfield said. “You have everything in place for our guest?”

  “Almost done. Maybe another thirty minutes.”

  “Good. Call me when he shows up.” Stansfield hung up the phone and turned to Kennedy. “It’s not Ridley.”

  “Then who in the world could it be?”

  “I don’t know, but let’s not worry about it. We have bigger issues to deal with. Have the document people put together a diplomatic passport for Mitch. I don’t want any glitches if we get stopped by the Directorate. And how are we for vehicles?”

  “I assume the Range Rovers are too high-profile?”

  He nodded. “No bodyguards. Just you and me. Let’s use something from the motor pool that will blend in. We’ll send the Rovers out first. Dr. Lewis can take a nice scenic drive around Paris with the DGSE trailing him.”

  “Good idea,” Kennedy said. “I’d better get upstairs, my cell phone doesn’t work down here.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Stansfield then said to Talmage, “I’m going to initiate a lockdown on this floor. No one enters or leaves without my knowledge.”

  “Understood.”

  Hurley came bursting into the room with his small clamshell phone in his hand. “My phone doesn’t work down here,” he said, slightly out of breath.

  “I know. Irene just said the same thing.”

  “Well,” he started with a shake of his head, “I completely forgot that I had ordered two assets to relieve Victor and his team last night. Remember Bernstein and Jones?”

  “The reporter and the cameraman,” Stansfield answered.

  “Yeah, they’re the ones.”

  Stansfield gave a disapproving frown. “They don’t seem like the right choice.”

  “It’s a longer story than we have time for right now, but I asked them to work their contacts with the police. Beyond that, Victor and his crew had been working all day without a break, so I sent them over to sit in the van and relieve the guys for a few hours.”

  Stansfield didn’t think this was the brightest idea, but he got the sense that there was something more important that Hurley was trying to get to.

  “I was down here all night and all morning and when I went upstairs, my phone started beeping like crazy. Bernstein had left me four messages so I called him back. He said that when they showed up last night two men had been shot. Turns out it was the two Directorate boys. One dead and one alive. He tells me there was a guy who was administering first aid to the wounded agent. I asked him to describe the guy. He said the guy was midtwenties, thick black hair, fit, and he’s pretty sure he was French.”

  “Why?” Kennedy asked.

  “He said he spoke French like a native. Started barking orders at Bernstein and Jones. Told them to sit with the agent while he went and got help.”

  “And?” Stansfield asked.

  “He never came back. Bernstein, who’s been in almost as many war zones as I have, said this mystery man used Quickclot on the wound and field bandages to stop the bleeding.”

  “You think it was Mitch?” Kennedy asked.

  Hurley couldn’t speak for a moment. He looked at the floor, shaking his head eve
r so slightly. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on. It sounds like it could be him, but why the fuck would he shoot a DGSE agent and then patch him up?”

  Kennedy and Stansfield shared a quick look, and then Stansfield said, “Because he didn’t shoot the agents. Someone else did?”

  All eyes turned to the man sitting in the interrogation room. There was a lengthy silence and then Stansfield said, “Stan and I need a moment alone. Irene, I’ll meet you upstairs. Jim and Tom, stay close. This isn’t going to take long.” Once they were all gone Stansfield said, “I need an honest answer from you.”

  Hurley nodded.

  “I need a verbal commitment. You need to look me in the eye and swear that you are going to answer this question honestly.”

  Hurley hated being penned in like this. “Fine,” he said, looking his old friend in the eye. “I won’t bullshit you. Ask away, and I’ll tell you the truth.”

  “Remember when we made out the list of targets?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And we memorized them, and then I shredded the list and put it in my burn bag?”

  “Yeah.”

  Stansfield could already tell by the way Hurley was fidgeting that he’d done something wrong. To strangers or adversaries he was a world-class con artist and liar, but when it came to his closest friends he was lousy. “When you got back down to the farm, did you by chance re-create that list?”

  “How do you mean?” He took a half step back and folded his arms across his chest.

  “By writing the names down again?”

  Hurley sighed. “Listen, I don’t have your little computer brain. My strengths lie in other areas.”

  “How many lists did you make?”

  “One . . . but it was more of a file really. I needed to keep track of these guys. Figure out where they were weakest, what they were up to, where they’d be next week and the week after that.”

  Stansfield was both relieved and irritated. “And knowing you, this file was kept in an unlocked drawer as opposed to a locked safe?”

  “Listen, nobody gets within a mile of that farm without me knowing. The place is as secure as Fort Knox.”