by Vince Flynn
Just the thought of Cameron caused Clark to grimace. He had recruited him personally. As the trusted chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee, there wasn’t much that Clark couldn’t get his hands on. He had chosen Peter Cameron after several years of studying the man’s every move. Cameron was a twenty-four-year veteran of the CIA’s Office of Security; the CIA’s own little private Gestapo. One of the Office of Security’s chief jobs was to watch the watchers, to spy on the spies.
Cameron knew things and had contacts that the senator was more than willing to compensate him for. After more than two decades of mediocre pay, Cameron leapt at the chance to become a well-paid mercenary for the senator. It had been Cameron’s idea to kill Rapp and leave him in Germany for all the world to discover.
Despite all of his suppressed anger Clark had to be honest with himself. The plan had been a bold one. Clark had shadowed Rapp and Kennedy and intercepted the orders. Cameron had used his contacts inside the Agency and paid them well. Clark was sure of that, for he had been the one handing over the suitcases of cash. If the plan had succeeded, Chairman Hank Clark would have presided over the most sensational hearings this country had seen in decades. The facts Clark was prepared to slowly unearth would have destroyed President Hayes, and wounded the Democratic Party for at least the next two general elections. It would have allowed the senator to virtually handpick the next director of the CIA. A director who would be more than willing to open up the treasure trove of secrets formerly known as Echelon. And more important than all of it, the entire affair would have allowed Hank Clark to launch his bid for the White House. He would have had the money from Ellis and his associates in Silicon Valley, the nationally televised committee hearings would have given him the all important face time and name recognition, and his party would have been beholden to him for bringing the Democrats to their knees. It was a lock. They had come so close. If only Peter Cameron had succeeded.
Clark had failed to listen to Freidman and he was now paying for it. When the Germany operation blew up in their faces Cameron assured Clark that he could handle the CIA’s top killer. Clark had given him one more chance, and Cameron had screwed that up too. Disguised as FBI special agents, Cameron and his cronies had picked up Anna Rielly and brought her to Rapp’s house. Once again, Cameron underestimated his target, and before the night was over more men had died at Rapp’s hands.
That was when the senator had decided to cut his losses. In a brief coded e-mail to Freidman, Clark had arranged for Peter Cameron to meet his maker. Twenty-four hours later Cameron was dead and Mitch Rapp had run into a brick wall in his pursuit to find out who had ordered the hit on him in Germany.
If Clark had learned anything from his experiences of the last month it was to be extra careful. The lure of ultimate power had caused him to make some poor decisions, and he was not going to let it happen again. He would heed the advice of Ben Freidman, and from this point forward he would be more careful.
Leaning back in his chair, Freidman gestured with his hands, telling his friend to unload his burden. “How can I help?”
Clark hesitated briefly and then said, “The woman you sent to take care of Cameron?”
Freidman raised an eyebrow. “I never told you it was a woman.”
“The CIA has tapes of her.”
“When you say the CIA, who do you mean specifically?”
“Kennedy.”
“What do the tapes show?”
“They show her coming and going.”
Freidman noticed that Clark seemed very disturbed by this bit of news. Always with one eye on the end game, he decided to play the whole thing off as unimportant. “She’s a pro. I doubt they will find anything on those tapes.”
“But what if they do?”
Freidman acted as if he were giving the senator’s words serious concern. He scratched one of his muscular forearms and said, “I’m not worried. Even if they got lucky and found her, they would never get anything from her.”
The thought of the CIA finding the woman caused Clark’s chest to tighten. He reminded himself to keep breathing and stay calm. “I’m worried,” he said flatly. “I would like this potential problem to go away. No loose ends. Rapp got close enough last time.”
Freidman grimaced at Clark’s words as if he were wrestling with an idea he didn’t like. “This woman is very good. One of my best. I have put years and years of training into her.”
“Five hundred thousand.”
Freidman liked the number. It was easily double what he had expected. That was another thing he really liked about Clark and his cowboy attitude. There was no dicking around when it came to money. After considering the issue for a bit longer, Freidman nodded and said, “I’ll take care of it, but it will have to wait until I return. This is too delicate to handle from America.”
Clark felt as if a heavy weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. Relieved, he asked, “When are you heading back?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
Smiling, Clark said, “Ben, I can’t thank you enough for coming all this way. I really appreciate it. I should have listened to you when you warned me to steer clear of Rapp.”
“Don’t worry.” Freidman shrugged off the comment as if it were trivial. “You have been a good ally, and when you are president,” the director of the Mossad raised his glass in a toast, “you will be an even better ally.”
6
MARYLAND, MONDAY EVENING
The stars were bright even with the fire. Anna had given him a portable wrought iron fire kettle for his birthday, and Mitch had put it to good use. The temperature was around fifty and dropping. Rapp sat on the deck of his small cottage overlooking the Chesapeake. A slight breeze was coming in off the water, just enough to keep the smoke from billowing into his face. He was dressed warmly in jeans, a beat up sweatshirt and an old brown Carhartt jacket. He was sitting all the way back in a white Adirondack chair with his feet up on a footstool that was barely a foot from the flames. Shirley was lying at his side quietly. All he needed to make the night perfect was for Anna to get home.
Ten minutes later he got his wish, or at least he hoped. Shirley heard the car first. Her head snapped up, which alerted Rapp. He listened carefully to the sounds with his eyes closed for a moment. The dog leapt to her feet and scampered off the deck and around the side of the house to investigate. Rapp continued to listen while his left hand slid between the folds of his jacket in search of the cold hard comfort of his 9-mm Beretta. The harsh reality of Rapp’s life was that people wanted to kill him. During the first ten years of his career in counterterrorism he could always count on coming home and letting his guard down. His job required it. The weeks and sometimes months that he spent abroad on missions was absolutely draining. The sheer amount of information he had to memorize for a mission was sometimes overwhelming: maps, codes, specifics on his target, the local authorities, political groups and competing terrorist groups. It all had to be memorized, and that was before being inserted.
Once he was in the country it got even worse. Without letting others see, he had to be hyperaware of everything that occurred around him. Imagine walking through a sea of people in the vibrant city of Damascus. Not only did he have to track those he had been sent to kill, but he also had to constantly look over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him. This was no easy task in a part of the world where ninety plus percent of the men had black hair and mustaches and most of the women were covered from head to toe in the traditional Muslim wrap. If his true identity were discovered he would be painfully stoned to death without a tribunal, and that would be the easy way out. If he were caught by the police, or a foreign intelligence service, he would be brutally tortured. And not just slapped around and screamed at. This was the Middle East. No part of his body would remain unviolated. He would be forced to endure the most inhumane conditions imaginable. Rapp regained control of his wandering imagination and pushed the horrible thoughts from his mind.
This was
why he needed a safe place. A place where he could let his guard down and recuperate. That had been taken away from him, though. Someone in America knew about Rapp’s secret life. They had tried to kill him twice now: once in Europe and once back in the States. Europe was bad enough, but setting a trap for him in his own home and using his girlfriend as the bait was way too close. Someone knew too much about Rapp and as each day passed it strengthened his resolve to find out who that person was. Before he could get on with his life he had to close this chapter. And Rapp desperately wanted to get on with his life. He wanted Anna, and he wanted children. He wanted a normal life, but he knew as he looked into the kitchen and saw Anna standing in front of the refrigerator that it would have to wait. He would have to do what he was trained to do. He would have to hunt down the person who had hired Peter Cameron, and he would have to kill him.
Rielly stepped out onto the deck with Shirley following close behind. She had a beer in each hand and a sly grin on her face. She bent over and kissed Rapp on the lips. “How was your day, honey?”
“Just great,” he replied with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. “How was yours?”
Rielly straightened up and handed him a beer. “Fine.” Turning, she said, “I’m going to put some jeans on. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Rapp smiled at her as she went back into the house. That was easy, he thought. He’d been dreading the interrogation she would give him about his meeting with Kennedy. Rapp took a swig of beer knowing that as soon as she came back down she would dig in. He wondered how he should edit his story so it would come out in the best light. There were certain things he couldn’t tell her for reasons of national security and others that he just couldn’t tell her because he feared she would think less of him.
When Rielly came back outside she had on jeans, one of Rapp’s flannels and an old wool blanket draped over her shoulders. She plopped down in her chair, tilted her chin up, pursed her lips and closed her eyes.
Rapp leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “Thanks for the beer.”
“You’re welcome.” Rielly took a sip of her own and said, “Now tell me all about the meeting.”
“You know . . . we talked a little bit about this and a little bit about that. It lasted about an hour. No big deal, really. Anything happen at the White House today?”
“Nice try.” Rielly grinned. “You could care less about what happened at the White House today, and I have no idea what a little bit of this and a little bit of that means. So cut the crap and tell me what happened.”
“I’m not sure where to start.” Oh, he loved her. She was so beautiful and strong, both physically and mentally. Rapp was equally drawn to both. He knew himself well enough to know that if he were to ever survive in a long-term relationship he would need a woman who would keep him in line from time to time. Rapp had been a loner for far too long and had picked up some habits that weren’t very helpful in running a successful partnership.
In an intentionally condescending tone Rielly said, “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
“Well, I wore my gray three-button suit and that tie you bought me for Father’s Day.” Rapp stopped and looked at her with a shitty grin. “Why did you buy me a tie for Father’s Day, by the way? We never settled that. Was it wishful thinking on your part, or were you trying to imply that I may have some children that I don’t know about?”
“I’ve got all night, Mitchell, my darling. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can just tell me, or I can wear you down hour by hour.”
Rapp smiled as he took another drink. “I can hold out.”
“Oh . . . I’m sure you can. But two can play at that game.” Rielly gave him a devilish smile and turned her attention to the fire.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Rapp with a little more eagerness than he would have liked to show.
“No sex.”
Rapp groaned, “Oh God. Don’t you pay any attention to all of those stupid relationship books that you and your friends read? They all say the same thing. Never! And I repeat, never use sex as a weapon.”
“I’m not using it as a weapon.” Rielly shook her head. “If I decide to abstain I will do it on religious grounds.”
“And what would those be?” Rapp laughed.
“That I shouldn’t be giving myself so freely to a man who I am not married to, much less engaged.” Rielly quickly took a drink of beer to hide the smile that was spreading across her face.
Rapp watched her for a second and said, “So you want to become some sort of born-again virgin?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Rapp laughed. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Only a sexually repressed Irish Catholic girl from Chicago could come up with something so ludicrous.”
“We’ll see how ludicrous you think it is after a couple of weeks of cuddling and nothing else.”
Still laughing, Rapp held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. You win. What would you like to know?”
Rielly smiled triumphantly. “What was the new job offer?”
“Come to work in the Counterterrorism Center. She hasn’t decided on a title yet. I’d be attached to the Middle East desk in some form or another. Either as a senior analyst or a special assistant to the DCI on Islamic terrorism.”
Rielly raised her eyebrows in exaggerated excitement. “I like the second one. It sounds very important.”
With a grimace Rapp said, “I’m not sure I like either of them.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know if I can go to work in that damn puzzle palace.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not used to punching the clock, and as you know, taking orders is not my strong suit.”
“Yeah, but what else are you going to do?”
Staring into the fire Rapp said, “I don’t know. I’ll stay home and raise the brood.”
“Oh no, you won’t.” Rielly shook her head. “The last thing I want is a brooding husband raising the brood. You’ll go nuts, Mitchell. You need challenge in your life. Don’t get me wrong. I think you’ll be a great father, but a Mr. Mom you’re not.”
“Yeah, I know, but—” Rapp stopped and took a drink.
“But what?”
“I don’t think I’m cut out to play all of the Mickey Mouse games they make you play at Langley.”
Rielly reached over and touched his hand. “I think you should do it. At least give it a try.”
“Really?” Rapp said, a little surprised.
“Yeah. And don’t forget, you’ve got the director in your corner if anything goes wrong.”
Rapp studied her. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“I just didn’t expect you to tell me to take the job.”
“We all have to do something, honey. You were very good at what you did for the last ten years.” Rielly reached out and touched his cheek. “I got to see it firsthand.” Softly she added, “You saved my life.” A warm smile washed over her face and she leaned over and kissed him. “And now that I’ve fallen in love with you, you are going to have to retire from the front lines and take a desk job.” She pinched his cheek. “The transition might be a little difficult at first, but you know too much about the Middle East to just walk away.”
“It doesn’t bother you at all that you’ll have to tell your family and friends that I work for the CIA?”
“Are you kidding me?” Rielly grinned. “My girlfriends all drool over you as it is; when they find out you’re a spy they’re gonna lose it.” She laughed.
“No, I’m serious. Won’t it affect how you’re treated at work? You know . . . sleeping with the enemy.”
“No.” She shook her head and then after thinking of a couple of potential problems added, “And if it does, I’ll deal with it.”
Thinking about what she had just said, Rapp slowly nodded his understanding. “Well, that makes me feel better about it.”
“G
ood. What else did you talk about?”
Rapp thought about Kennedy asking him to take over the Orion Team, but that was strictly off limits. He had never uttered the words to her, nor would he. “Not much else. Just salary and some administrative stuff.”
Rielly gave him a skeptical look. “Come on. What else?”
“Nothing that I can talk about.”
“Mitchell?”
“Anna,” Rapp replied in a mocking tone. “You’re going to have to get used to this. If I take this job, almost everything that I touch will be classified. I won’t be able to come home and chat about it.”
Rielly rolled her eyes. “Your whole life is classified.”
“Honey, we might as well come to terms with this right now. If you won’t respect the fact that I can’t talk about ninety percent of what I do or see at work then I might as well tell Irene right now that I don’t want the job.” Rapp stared at her intensely to make sure she knew he was extremely serious about the issue.
“I’ll respect it, I’ll respect it. Don’t worry.”
“Good.” Rapp leaned over and gave her a long kiss. Her lips felt so good. He was head over heels in love. He knew it was affecting his judgment, but there was nothing he could do about it. There was no turning back, no slamming on the brakes; he didn’t even have the willpower to tap them. After a while he worked his way to her ear and asked, “Can we go upstairs and have sex now?”
Rielly purred her response, and they rose together and went into the house, leaving behind the warmth of the fire.
7
OVAL OFFICE, TUESDAY MORNING
What in the hell is this meeting about?” President Hayes tilted his head down so he could look over the top of his specs at the three people standing in front of his desk. He was still drinking his morning coffee and reading the day’s schedule when the three of them had come waltzing in with apprehension on their faces. They then proceeded to dump something in his lap that was unusual, to say the least.