Separation of Power mr-3

by Vince Flynn

  Rapp grabbed Anna by the shoulders. "Lower your voice."

  She tried to break free from his grip, but couldn't. "Let go of me."

  Rapp held her tight. "Anna, she isn't drunk. She's been shot. She's on morphine, and I think she's slipping into shock, so if it's okay with you I'd like to discuss this later." Rapp didn't wait for an answer. He released Anna and walked into the living room. He opened the mini bar and grabbed a bag of cookies and a bottle of water. He came back to the bed and propped Donatella up against the headboard. "Here." Rapp held the bottle of water to Donatella's lips. "I don't know how long it'll be until a doctor gets here." She drank half of the bottle and then Rapp handed her a cookie. When she was done with the cookie she drank the rest of the water. Rapp laid her down on the bed and shoved some pillows under her legs to get her feet elevated. He covered her with a blanket and checked her eyes again. Hovering above her face he whispered, "Everything is going to be fine. I want you to just lie here and rest. No more talking. Just rest."

  Rapp turned around and found that Anna had again adopted her defiant pose. This time, however, there was a scowl on her face that told him he was in trouble. Rapp grabbed Anna by the arm and brought her into the living room. He closed the doors to the bedroom and said, "I know you're mad, but I can explain."

  In an extra catty tone she said, "Please do."

  "That woman and I used to work together. We were--" Anna eyed him. "Have you ever slept with her?"

  Rapp looked her in the eye. The thought occurred to him that he should lie, but he knew it was wrong to keep a secret like this from her. "That's beside the point. It has nothing to do with this--"

  "Answer the question." Anna took a step toward him and poked him in the chest. "Have you ever slept with her?"

  "Yes, but it was--" Rapp was blinking in frustration, trying to figure out a way to make her understand.

  She brought her hand up fast and slapped him across the face. "You bastard."

  Rapp's demeanor changed instantly. He grabbed Rielly by the wrist and stuck his face within inches of hers. Very slowly, clearly and deliberately he said, "Don't ever hit me again! I don't hit you, you don't hit me!"

  Rielly yanked her hand free. "Don't change the subject. We come to Italy to get engaged, and you take off on some meeting." Rielly mocked him by making quotation marks with her fingers. "To take care of some final business. What was that final business? One more screw with your old girlfriend?"

  Rapp closed his eyes. "It wasn't like that. We used to work with each other."

  "And you used to screw."

  "Yes, but that was before I met you."

  "Yeah, right. I screw everyone I work with."

  "Stop it"

  "No. Do you actually expect me to believe this crap? You keep all of these secrets from me because you say it involves national security." Rielly was getting louder. "And then you go have a drink with this gal who you used to work with. Now I'm no spy, but I sure as hell wouldn't think that the fact that you and this girl used to fuck each' other is a national secret." She folded her arms across her chest and looked at Rapp with hatred in her eyes.

  "Anna, please don't do this. I love you. I have never cheated on you, and I will never cheat on you."

  "Then why didn't you tell me about her?"

  "She was before you. I don't ask you about any of your old boyfriends."

  "Excuse me, but I don't fly to foreign countries to have secret meetings with my ex-boyfriends. I don't show up in our hotel room with one of my ex-boyfriends who just happens to have been shot!"

  Rapp took a step back and tried to figure a way out of the mess. "Anna, my darling, you have to trust me on this. I did not cheat on you. I will never cheat on you. This was official business."

  Rielly wasn't buying any of it. "What did you have to talk to her about?" After hesitating Rapp said, "I can't talk about it."

  "How did she get shot?"

  "There were some men waiting for her in her apartment."

  "Oh, so you went to her apartment. Did you have sex?"

  "No."

  "Oh, that's right, you couldn't because these men were waiting for her. But you would've, right?" "No, I would not have," Rapp said patiently.

  Bullshit. Who were these men? Why were they waiting for her?"

  "I can't talk about it, Anna."

  "The hell you can't. I am so sick of your secrets. I am so sick of this double life. I'm so sick of worrying that you're going to get killed every time you walk out the door."

  Rapp moved toward her. "I just have to see this last thing through," he moved to put his arms around her, "and then everything will be fine"

  Rielly blocked him and stepped away. "No." She began shaking her head. "No, it'll never be over. I can't live like this." She moved toward the door, tears welling up in her eyes. "I can't do this."

  Rapp held out his hand for her. "Anna, I love you. I promise I'll make everything right."

  She stopped by the door and wiped some tears from her face. Turning, she faced Rapp and said, "I love you, too, but I know now I can't live this way." She grabbed her purse and her jacket. He moved toward her and she held up her hand. "Don't!" Rapp stopped. "I had my doubts before tonight. This ... this mess only confirmed what I already feared. I can't be married to you." Rielly opened the door and without looking at Rapp she said, "Don't follow me. I think it's best if we don't see or talk to each other. "With that she went into the hallway, and the door closed behind her.

  Rapp stood in the middle of the room unable to move. He didn't know if he'd ever felt such pain. The woman he loved more than anyone in the world had just told him she would not marry him, that she did not want to talk to him or see him again. None of it made any sense. This was supposed to be one of the happiest times of his life and it had just turned into one of the worst. He couldn't just let it slip away like this. As Rapp started for the door, his phone rang. He stopped, thought about not answering and then decided he had to. It was Kennedy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

  Wolf Trap Park, Virginia, Thursday evening

  The last vestiges of daylight were slipping over the horizon, but the wind was still gusting. A small beagle darted off the path and scampered through the dry leaves that covered almost every inch of the park. The dog found a sapling with a yellow ribbon tied around it and lilted his leg. His owner puffed on a pipe and watched. It looked like they had the park to themselves. Jonathan Brown's outward appearance didn't show it, but he was nervous. So much so that he'd dug through the boxes in his basement and broken out his old pipe. He just hoped the boys from Langley's Office of Security hadn't decided that today was the day to follow him. Or even worse, the counterespionage people over at the FBI. They followed everybody from time to time, no matter how senior.

  The beagle finished relieving himself and trotted back to the path. The owner and dog started winding their way through the park again. Brown had obsessed all day about the risks involved with the meeting. He wondered if it was a good idea to meet in a park so close to his home. That's where they'd busted the traitor Robert Hanssen, in a park right by his house. Brown couldn't remember exactly, but he thought he'd even been walking the family dog. He looked down at Sparky for a moment as if the pooch might be a bad omen. Brown shook his head and told himself he was being paranoid. Hanssen had been spying for the Russians. Brown wasn't spying for anyone. He was simply trying to do the right thing. He wouldn't be breaking any laws by meeting with this Steveken fellow. At least none that he knew of. The retired judge cringed at the use of such poor reasoning. It was one of the first things he'd learned in law school. Ignorance of the law is no excuse.

  When accepting his job at the CIA, he'd had to sign a National Security nondisclosure document. The heinous contract was so long, and cast such a wide net, that Brown was sure the CIA would be able to find him in violation of something. Whether or not he could beat those charges was up for debate. With his reputation as a jurist, he would stand a good chance of being r
egarded as an honest man who was trying to right a wrong.

  Work had been depressing and stressful of late. Kennedy was taking a position that had been promised to him. Brown knew that she and the other deputies had hidden things from him. They didn't trust a federal judge with no practical experience in the spy trade, and that was fine. He'd see how quickly they changed their tune when he became director. He would clean house, and bring in people who were loyal to him, people who would do things by the book. And then when the time was right he would move into Clark's administration for one of the top spots.

  The wind died down for a second, and it was then that he noticed the footfalls of someone on the path behind him. Nervously, he looked over his shoulder and saw a man approaching. Sparky darted off the path again. Brown stopped and turned so he could get a good look at the man. There was a casual recognition in the eyes of the person as he approached, a slight nod as a precursor to a verbal greeting. Brown had no idea what this Steveken looked like. A horrific thought flashed across his mind. What if this was a trap? Brown's pulse quickened. Peter Cameron had just disappeared several weeks ago. Maybe it was Brown's turn. The deputy director watched as the man smiled at him and began to extract something from the pocket of his trench coat. Brown flinched and brought his hands up.

  Steveken was not nervous about the meeting. He'd thought it through and came to the conclusion that he was doing nothing even remotely illegal. He was a former special agent for the FBI helping a U. S. congressman look into any illegalities that may or may not be occurring at the CIA.

  As Steveken withdrew his right hand from his jacket he saw Brown flinch. He stopped several steps away and asked, "Judge Brown, how are you?"

  Brown lowered his hands and said, "Ah ... fine."

  "I'm Norb Steveken." Brown took his hand and said, "Hello."

  "Someone who respects you very much gave me your name." "Oh really," said Brown tentatively. "Who was that?"

  Steveken shrugged off the question. "He doesn't want to get involved in any of this, but he said you're a man of great integrity and honor."

  "You seem to have me at a bit of a disadvantage, Mr. Steveken. What is it you do for a living?"

  "I run a security consulting business here in Washington. Before that I was with the FBI for eleven years."

  "Oh," Brown announced with genuine trepidation.

  "If you have a few minutes, I'd like to ask you some questions."

  Brown didn't respond, he simply turned and started down the path. Steveken fell in beside him. "Judge Brown, I'm going to be blunt with you. I followed some of your cases while you were on the bench. I know that you ran your courtroom by the book. You had a reputation for being very hard on the Bureau."

  "Your former employer sometimes thinks they don't have to follow the rules like everyone else."

  "You'll get no argument from me. Judge." After a few steps, Steveken asked, "What about your new employer, Judge? Do they like to play by the rules?"

  "That's an interesting question." Brown watched Sparky dart off the path again. "Who asked you to come see me?"

  Steveken didn't answer right away. He thought about ignoring the question but decided if Brown was going to trust him he'd have to take some gambles. "Congressman Rudin."

  "Ah ... Albert. He's no fan of my current employer."

  "Would that be the federal government or the CIA?"

  "No, he's a big believer in the federal government, it's the CIA he takes issue with."

  "Congressman Rudin seems to think Dr. Kennedy is a bad choice to be the next director."

  "Dr. Kennedy is a very competent person."

  "So I've heard. Does she like to play by the rules, or does she like to bend them from time to time?"

  Brown looked warily at the man Senator Clark had told him to expect. "What are you getting at, Mr. Steveken?"

  "You were awfully hard on the FBI. I'm just wondering if you have a new set of standards or if you're using the same ones you had when you were on the bench?"

  "Are you questioning my integrity, Mr. Steveken?"

  "Not at all, your honor. I know the difficult position you're in, but I'm here to tell you that it's only going to get worse. If Kennedy is confirmed next week, you're stuck."

  "This is a dangerous game you're asking me to play."

  "It doesn't have to be. The congressman doesn't want you to get dragged into this. In fact, he thinks you should be the one going through confirmation right now. Not Kennedy."

  "That changes nothing. Lets just say hypothetically that I'd seen some things. If I went before the congressman's committee I'd never get another job in this town."

  "The congressman knows that. He has no desire to ruin your reputation and turn you into a whistle blower. All he's looking for right now is enough information to slow down Kennedy's confirmation." Steveken stopped and grabbed Brown by the arm. "Something legitimate that he can take to the press. Something from an unnamed source at Langley."

  "He wants to slow down Kennedy's confirmation or derail it?"

  Steveken grinned. "I'm sure he'd prefer to derail it. I've already told you, he'd rather see you at the helm."

  Brown started walking again. "I'll need some time to think about this"

  "I'm sorry, Judge, but we don't have a lot of time. The Senate Intelligence Committee is scheduled to vote on Monday afternoon."

  Brown stopped abruptly and extended his hand. "It was very interesting meeting you, Mr. Steveken." Brown pumped his hand twice and then leaned in close. He whispered, "Come back tomorrow evening, and we'll talk some more." With that. Brown released Steveken's hand and walked away. In the darkness of the coming night a smile creased his lips. The real world of plotting and trading secrets was far more exhilarating that he'd ever imagined.

  Andrews Air Force base, Maryland, Friday morning

  The united states Air Force executive jet was on approach for landing. It had left the U. S. Air Force Base in Aviano, Italy, just prior to sunup. There were only two passengers on board, one was sleeping, and the other had been and wished he still was. He'd slept for the first part of the flight, but despite badly needing more, he could not attain the elusive state of rest. His mind simply would not allow it. There was too much to think about.

  Mitch Rapp stared out the window at the dark countryside beneath. Porch lights, street lights and headlights dotted the predawn rural Maryland countryside. He had to admit that the power of the United States was, at times, awesome. Five minutes after Anna had stormed out of their hotel room, a van was waiting for Donatella and him by the side door. There was no time to go after Anna, no time to write a note, no time to try and reason with her. He had to get Donatella out of Italy fast.

  Waiting for them outside the hotel was a man who introduced himself only as Chuck. The Agency had sent him. Twenty minutes after leaving the hotel, Rapp and Chuck were carrying Donatella through the back door of a clinic on the outskirts of Milan. They were met by a doctor who was on the CIA's payroll. The elderly man re-cleaned, packed and dressed Donatella's wound. He typed her blood and replaced two liters through an IV. He gave her more antibiotics and another shot of morphine for the pain. After just two hours at the clinic, the doctor gave Rapp an extra liter of blood plasma to bring with him and specific directions on how to monitor her blood pressure. He told Rapp that her wound was not life threatening and that as long as she continued taking her antibiotics and didn't exert herself for the next four or five days, she'd be fine.

  They left the clinic shortly before one in the morning and began their journey across the northern part of Italy, passing through Verona and Venice and then heading north toward Udine. Donatella slept during the entire three-hour drive. Rapp could not afford to. He'd never met this Chuck fellow before, and he wasn't about to trust his life with a complete stranger. When they reached the base they were waved through security and escorted to the waiting plane. Within minutes they were airborne and headed for America, no customs, no police, no video cameras. Rapp had
virtually passed out after takeoff. He and Donatella were alone in the spacious cabin portion of the plane. The flight crew had been told not to disturb their two passengers. A little over four hours into the flight, Rapp had woken up suddenly. He was agitated and disturbed. He'd been having a nightmare. Anna was in his dream. She was in his house with another man. Someone he'd never seen before. They were happy, laughing, holding hands and kissing. Rapp was outside looking in. Anna noticed him in the window and shook her head at him as if to say, You had your chance and you blew it. It hurt. He loved her dearly, but the way she'd handled things back at the hotel had given him pause.

  Staring out the small window of the plane he was rocked by a barrage of emotions over the entire disaster. He was mad at Donatella and her crazy Italian passion. She didn't need to tell Anna that they'd been lovers. It was hardly the time for the confession. Rapp would like to have thought that it was the morphine talking, but he knew Donatella well enough to know that she was more than capable of such verbal confrontations when she was sober. He could be mad at her for her lack of tact and timing, but that was it. In light of the information he'd been given by her, he had to let the other stuff go, and besides, she'd been very loyal over the years.

  As the landing gear locked into the down position, Rapp realized that part of him resented Anna for not understanding the severity of the situation. Hell, she didn't even wait around to let him explain. People had died, Donatella had been shot, and he had just been given a piece of information that would impact the national security of the United States in ways he could only begin to imagine. The news that the head of Mossad was involved in the assassination of a former CIA employee was very serious. A lot of questions needed to be answered. Was Peter Cameron a spy for Mossad, a double agent? Was Ben Freidman acting on his own when he'd ordered the hit, or was he taking orders from someone else? One thing was for certain; things would get worse before they got better. Rapp had gone to Italy to get an answer. All he wanted was a name from Donatella, and he had been foolish enough to think that one name would end it.