The Last Man mr-13

by Vince Flynn

  When he spoke he sounded congested. “It’s not easy to talk. I think they broke my jaw.”

  Durrani’s entire being stiffened with anger. “I will kill them. I swear to you I will kill them.”

  There was gruff laughter from the doorway. “I think you’re a little late for that.”

  Durrani looked over his shoulder at Kassar. “How could you have let this happen?”

  “It was your idea,” he said, not wanting to own any of this. “All part of your grand plan.”

  “This,” Durrani said, pointing at Rickman, “was not my plan.”

  “Relax, Akhtar,” Rickman said, reaching out with his left hand.

  When Durrani saw the mangled and broken fingers he took a quick step back.

  “I’m alive,” Rickman said. “It worked. Vazir took care of your two Taliban dupes. I’m told the entire thing was quite dramatic. Fortunately, I had passed out by then.”

  “Are you in pain?” Durrani asked.

  It was a relative question, or at least the pain was relative. He was not comfortable, but compared to his pain during the beatings he was at peace. “I’m okay.”

  “You are no such thing. You are a bloody mess.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “I’m not sure you will.” Durrani looked to Kassar again. “How could you have let this happen?”

  “He insisted,” Kassar said. “You’ve told me many times my job is to follow orders. I wanted to stop sooner, but he said we had to make sure it was convincing.”

  “To follow my orders.” Durrani hit himself in the chest repeatedly.

  “Well, you weren’t there, General. I was following Joe’s orders.”

  Durrani found Kassar’s unflappable behavior unnerving at times. Rather start yelling at him, Durrani turned his attention back to Rickman. There wasn’t an inch of his face that wasn’t bruised, swollen, or cut. “Why did you do this to yourself?”

  “I didn’t… it was your Taliban flunkies. They were not very smart, by the way. Perfect for the job, really. I must compliment you.”

  Durrani cracked a small smile. He had always found Rickman humorous. “It looks like they went too far.”

  “It was the only way. I had to sell it.”

  Durrani was dumbfounded. He knew the American was smart, but he had no idea he was so tough. “You are either the bravest man I know, or you are crazy. Which one is it?”

  “I little bit of both, I suppose.” Rickman started to smile, but then had to stop because it hurt too much.

  Durrani considered the bigger picture. He would have preferred not to cut this so close, but he was thankful that Rickman was alive. He had pulled off one of the greatest intelligence coups in the history of the world. “This is a great day.” He put his right hand on Rickman’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

  Rickman moaned and Kassar said, “I think his shoulders were dislocated while they were tied above his head. I wouldn’t do that.”

  Durrani withdrew his hand and said, “Has the doctor seen him?”

  Kassar shook his head and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from his suit coat. He tapped one free and pointed the unfiltered end at Rickman. “He won’t allow it.”

  “What?”

  “I said he won’t allow it.”

  Durrani shot Kassar a scowl. He was the only person who worked for Durrani who even attempted to defy him. “I heard what you said. Why won’t he allow it?”

  “Because he doesn’t trust our doctor. He thinks the fewer the people who see him the better.”

  “But he needs medical attention.” Durrani looked at the broken man lying on the large bed. “We need to have a doctor look at you.”

  “And then you will kill him.” Rickman shook his head slowly an inch to his left and then his right. “I will heal. Just let me rest.”

  “Thank you,” Kassar said, “I will be the one who has to kill him, and I like Dr. Bhutani. He has stitched me up on several occasions.. a very handy man to have around. I would prefer it if we could keep him.”

  Durrani turned halfway and swatted the air with his arm, telling Kassar to leave. The impudent man took a long pull from his cigarette, shrugged, and then disappeared. Hovering over Rickman, Durrani said, “Are you taking anything for the pain?”

  “Yes.” Rickman squirmed a bit in an effort to lift his head. “It’s not as bad as it looks… at least not compared to the beating I had to go through.”

  “What can I get you?”

  “Nothing. I just want to lie here.”

  Durrani’s gaze narrowed. He had no great knowledge of medicine or the human anatomy, but he had been involved in plenty of interrogations. A good number of them had ended in death, and it wasn’t always because the heart gave out. There had been plenty of cases in which the subject died from infection. The infections were no surprise considering the squalor of the cells. Add to that the way the nervous system was assaulted and the lack of sleep and it was no wonder the immune system crashed and the patient died. Durrani decided at that exact moment that he would have his doctor here within the hour. He was former Army and was cleared to work with the ISI. He was also sympathetic to the cause of Pakistani self-determination. There was always a risk, of course, but Durrani could have him killed later if there was a problem.

  Rickman stifled a cough and asked, “What about Rapp?”

  This was the one part Durrani had been dreading. Everything else had worked so well. “He escaped death, but do not worry. He has other problems.”

  Rickman tried to sit up, but didn’t make it very far before a coughing fit ensued and he was forced to lie back down. Blood began to trickle from his mouth as he said, “I can’t believe this.”

  “Calm down. Do not upset yourself.”

  “I told you, Rapp absolutely had to be dealt with. It was the one part of the operation that couldn’t fail.”

  “I know,” Durrani said, prepared to deflect, “but your assassin didn’t take the shot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He walked across the street to the clinic and surrendered himself to Rapp.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Well, you’d better. I had two of my best men there, and I lost one of them. Your assassin marched right across the street and presented himself to Rapp. Your man failed, so I had to use my backup. General Qayem sent in his men and it was a bloodbath.”

  “Bloodbath?”

  “Twenty-one men were killed.”

  Rickman was shell-shocked. “How many people did Rapp have with him?”

  “Four.” Durrani held up his nicotine-stained fingers, practically yelling. “And then your assassin joined his ranks. I’m told he personally killed a good number of Qayem’s men.”

  Rickman was suddenly feeling every ache and pain. What was it about Rapp? Why wouldn’t the man just die? A sense of foreboding weighed on Rickman’s chest and he began to worry that he wouldn’t be able to breathe. At that same moment he feared for Hubbard. The plan had been for him to send Rapp to the veterinary clinic. Rickman had thought this through for more than a year. He knew Kennedy would send Rapp to head the search for him, and he knew how Rapp thought better than Rapp himself did. Rickman had carefully left those clues for Rapp, knowing his damn instincts would tell him that certain things didn’t add up. If Rapp had survived the trap he had laid for him, that would mean Hubbard was either dead or running for his life. Rickman suddenly wished he could open his eyes so he could read Durrani’s face.

  “What about Hubbard? Where is he?”

  Durrani knew this was inevitable, but the truth was not an option for him. Not if he wanted Rickman to work with him. His friend was already clearly agitated, which was a shame as there was so much to celebrate. The truth was that Durrani had never planned on getting Hubbard out of Afghanistan. Where was he supposed to hide a six-foot-five-inch, bald, pasty American in a country filled with darkskinned men where the average height was five-seven. He’d gone along with Rickman’s desir
e to bring Hubbard to Pakistan because it was the only way to get him to agree to the plan, but in truth he knew he would kill Hubbard from the onset.

  “It pains me to tell you that your friend is dead.”

  Rickman swallowed hard. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “We think it was Rapp, but we’re not sure.”

  Rickman’s battered body tensed and he yelled, “Did you do anything right?”

  “That is not fair, Joe. We knew from the very beginning that this was going to be a very complicated operation. Your friend knew that as well.”

  “I can’t believe Rapp is still alive and Hubbard is dead. You need to get men to Zurich. Rapp cannot get his hands on Obrecht.”

  “I have already taken care of it,” Durrani lied. He had completely forgotten about the deception involving the Swiss banker. With Rapp dead, he was going to be a crucial witness to Rapp’s corruption. It was Rickman’s idea of muddying the water. “You are still alive,” Durrani said. “That is what’s important. You are free, and you are rich beyond your dreams.”

  With each passing revelation Rickman was feeling less than stellar about his situation. “And Mitch Rapp is still alive and he’s going to hunt my ass down and kill me.”

  “He will never find you. My plans are intact. Once you undergo the surgery, no one will ever know.”

  Rickman’s thoughts returned to Hubbard. “How did Hubbard die?”

  “We’re not sure… other than the fact that Mr. Hubbard did not make it to his rendezvous point.” Hubbard had in fact made it to the warehouse in Jalalabad, and that was where he was killed, but that information would only serve to upset Rickman. Durrani knew what was best for him. Things would be much smoother this way.

  “So he might be alive?”

  “We don’t think so. There was a shootout… things are a little sketchy, but it sounds like Rapp killed him.”

  “Sounds like… so you’re not sure.” Rickman was becoming extremely agitated. “If Hubbard is still alive, you and I are as good as dead.”

  “Well,” Durrani said, trying to think of a way to calm Rickman down, “he is most certainly dead. I’m just being cautious.”

  “Vigilant! You should have been more vigilant in making sure Rapp was killed. Fuck.” The word was filled with despondency. “I told you killing Rapp was crucial. I’ve run all the calculations. Mitch Rapp is the last man I want looking for me. You don’t know him like I do. He won’t stop until he finds me, and that means you, too.”

  “They all think you’re dead,” Durrani said dismissively.

  “Most of them will, because that’s what they want to believe. But Rapp doesn’t operate that way. It’s not a matter of what he wants to believe or doesn’t want to believe. He’s human bullshit detector. He’s going to sniff out the cracks in our plan and he’s going to start hammering away until the entire thing collapses and then he is going to hunt our asses down.” Rickman moaned and then added, “I went through all of that pain for nothing.”

  “You exaggerate the abilities of your former colleague.”

  “I exaggerate nothing. I’ve worked with him for over twenty years. He’s the fucking Energizer Bunny of covert operatives. He just keeps killing and killing and if you want to stay alive, you’d better figure out a way to kill him, and you’d better do it quick.”

  Rickman was overreacting. “I want you to calm down. There is far too much to celebrate.”

  “I can’t calm down as long as that man is above ground.” Rickman started coughing and it wasn’t long before a trickle of blood began to run down the corner of his swollen mouth.

  Durrani couldn’t believe the doctor wasn’t here. “Just one minute,” Durrani said, holding up a finger and retreating from the room. He ignored Rickman’s coughing and moved quickly down the hall and into the living room. “Get Dr. Bhutani here immediately. I am extremely disappointed that you ignored my orders.”

  Kassar looked up from his magazine and said, “He refused to let me call a doctor and he was doing fine until you got here and upset him.”

  “One of these days,” Durrani said, shaking his fist, “you are going to push me too far.”

  “You may get rid of me any time you like.”

  “Just get Dr. Bhutani and get him fast.”

  Kassar set down the magazine and stabbed out his cigarette in the large copper ashtray in the middle of the table. He stood and said, “I will get Dr. Bhutani, but as I said, I like the man. If you decide he is a liability at some point you will have to find someone else to do your dirty work.”

  “Fine,” Durrani snapped. “Just get him.”

  “And I heard what you two were talking about.”

  “What?”

  “Rapp.”

  Durrani was exasperated. He didn’t want to talk right now, he wanted Kassar to get the doctor. “What about him.”

  “Put it out of your mind.”

  “Put what out of my mind?”

  “Killing him, or at least asking me to kill him.”

  “I don’t know when you got the idea that we were equals. I give the orders and you follow them.”

  Kassar gave a nod of mutual understanding. “You have made that clear. I am a contract employee. You have me on a retainer and if at any point you are not satisfied with my performance, my contract will be terminated. That goes both ways.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No,” Kassar said tersely. “I’m simply trying to stop you from doing something stupid. Leave Mr. Rapp alone and hope that he never discovers your hand in this.”

  “Are you afraid of him?” Durrani asked mockingly.

  Kassar pulled out his phone and began searching for Dr. Bhutani’s number. “I respect the man and his abilities and you should as well. If you are foolish enough to try to kill him again, you’re going to have to find someone other than me. Someone who is reckless enough to think he can take him.”

  Chapter 44

  LangLey, Virginia

  Kennedy reviewed the final edited version for the eighth time. The assault on her conscience was not quite as bad as it had been on the first or second viewing. The impact had lessened a degree or two, which made her wonder how many times she’d have to watch it before she was completely desensitized to the horror. She knew that would never happen, but there was a part of her brain that wished it could be that simple.

  The internal drive from the camcorder provided exactly two hours of footage. Two hours of the most brutal, dehumanizing violence Kennedy had ever witnessed, and she was not unaware that things like this happened. She had in fact seen similar tapes before. Saddam Hussein had tapes like this all over his palaces. Those tapes never required more than a minute or two of viewing as analysts sifted through them to see if there was any actionable intelligence. Kennedy was then brought individual snippets to view.

  This time she had forced herself to watch the entire two hours. She’d done it on the flight back from Bagram. The morning after Hayek had shown them the video they received word that Hubbard’s body had been discovered in a warehouse of an industrial park on the outskirts of Jalalabad. The cause of death was a single bullet to the head. Mike Nash had approached her midmorning and told her that she needed to get back to headquarters. Kennedy was reluctant, but Nash was forceful, telling her that with Rickman and Hubbard dead, the worst of the crisis had passed. She was needed back in D.C., where there would be a lot of important people asking questions. They all knew it would get ugly, and Kennedy knew Nash was right. She needed to be in Washington, so she left Nash behind to help Schneeman manage the cleanup.

  Kennedy had been trained to accept the more difficult aspects of her job, but she was still human. Watching Rickman beg his captors to stop was one of the most heart-wrenching things she’d ever experienced. The ugly specter of the outcome hung over the entire thing. There was no surprise ending, no hope that SEALs or Delta Force commandos would burst into the room and g
un down the two interrogators. She’d seen the ending first, which made watching it all that much harder. All the relief she’d felt knowing that her secrets were now safe with the death of Rickman quickly transformed into a crippling guilt that she’d found solace in the death of someone she was responsible for.

  Rapp, as always, had been able to look right through her and know what she was thinking. Somewhere over Europe, in the middle of the night, Kennedy looked down the fuselage of the G550 and decided that everyone was either sleeping or trying to sleep. She decided it was time to watch the interrogation in its entirety. She opened her laptop and began watching Rickman’s final two hours of life. She cried for most of it. Somewhere near the end Rapp came up on her left shoulder and closed her laptop. She took off her headphones.

  He sat down across from her, leaned forward, and said, “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

  Kennedy tried to compose herself, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her sweater. “I had to watch it. I need to know what he gave up.”

  Rapp shook his head in a slow, disapproving way. “That’s not true and you know it. You can’t make out half of what he says in a quiet room… up here forty thousand feet you might be able decipher 20 percent. The audio needs to be cleaned up, and that’s what they’re doing at Langley right now. By the time we land you’ll have a detailed transcript of everything he said. Twenty-four hours after that you’ll have a damage assessment from your top people, and we’ll deal with it, but there is no reason to watch that other than to beat yourself up.”

  “Thomas always told me I needed to understand just how rough things could get in the field.”

  Thomas was Thomas Stansfield, Kennedy’s mentor and her predecessor. Rapp thought highly of the man, but there were times where he wondered if Kennedy didn’t try a little too hard to live up to Stansfield and his legend. “Being detached has never been a problem of yours. Don’t beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. It’s just part of the job.”