Enemy at the Gates

by Vince Flynn

  “What I say next doesn’t ever get repeated. Does everyone understand? This goes to your grave.”

  Nods all around.

  “We’re going to wander around in the woods for a few days. We’ve got no choice in that. But I’m refocusing the primary objective of our mission.”

  “To what?” one of them asked.

  “To us surviving. And if in the process we trip over David Chism alive, then great.”

  “And if we don’t?” someone asked.

  “Then fuck him.”

  6

  NEAR FRANSCHHOEK

  SOUTH AFRICA

  RAPP kept to the speed limit, reacquainting himself with driving on the left as he wound through idyllic vineyards and farmland. Distant mountains were draped with clouds, but overhead the sky was a deep, unbroken blue. His window was down, and sixty-degree air was swirling around the vehicle Claudia had dropped off for him at the airport. With it came an unfamiliar sensation of peace that bordered on relief.

  Unfamiliar, but not hard to understand. More and more, the United States felt like it was collapsing into some kind of internal Cold War. Views that only a few years ago would have been considered tinfoil-hat territory were now being discussed by straight-faced mainstream newscasters. Extremists on both sides of the political spectrum were flailing around breaking things with no apparent goals in mind other than to harm each other. And all the while, politicians did what they’d been doing for a thousand years—trying to figure out how to use it all to cling to power.

  Being in Africa felt vastly different. Not that the entire continent wasn’t hopelessly screwed up—it most definitely was. But it wasn’t his problem. His problems were thousands of miles away. Far enough that if he didn’t squint, they just disappeared.

  The road turned to dirt and began to roll. When he reached the top of the first rise, he spotted the gray roof of the home he was looking for. His home.

  A ten-foot stucco wall topped with broken glass ringed the property and the trees had been cut back almost to a neighboring farmer’s vines, leaving an open perimeter with an unobstructed view. Beyond that, the scene probably hadn’t changed much in the last century or so. A heavier gate. A few subtle cameras. More beneath the surface, but probably not enough. If they were going to start spending a significant amount of time there, security upgrades would have to become a priority.

  The gate rolled back, revealing a pristine Cape Dutch house and two Rhodesian ridgebacks coming at his vehicle like heat-seeking missiles. He pulled in next to the armored SUV that Claudia so despised while the dogs barked uncontrollably and attacked his windows. He’d spent his entire life trying to not be remembered and it appeared to be working with them. Probably best to wait for a rescue.

  The front door opened, and Claudia appeared wearing an apron and with one hand hidden behind her back. For a moment he held out hope that it was because she was holding the pistol he’d given her. When she waved, though, it turned out to be a wooden soup spoon.

  His rescue came in the form of a seven-year-old girl with a missing upper incisor. Anna slipped around her mother and ran toward him waving her hands over her head.

  “Friend! Friend!”

  The dogs, seeing the object of their devotion coming across the grass, immediately ran to her. With the coast relatively clear, Rapp stepped out of the vehicle and grabbed his duffle from the back.

  “We didn’t think you were ever going to get here! It’s been, like, hours!” Anna said as he crouched to give her a hug. The dogs eyed him suspiciously. They seemed to be waiting for her attention to waver long enough to turn him into a chew toy.

  “My flight got delayed for a couple hours in London,” he explained, lifting her in one arm and his bag in the other.

  The dogs escorted them across the grass to Claudia, who threw her arms around both of them and pressed her lips to his.

  “It’s so good to have you home,” she said when she pulled back. “Now come in and get something to eat. And don’t worry. It’s all on your training diet.”

  “How’s school?” Rapp asked Anna as Claudia led them toward the kitchen.

  “I already have a lot of friends. Including my best friend Ahmale. She’s awesome. And she doesn’t live very far from here. But it’s not like in Virginia because people have big farms and yards and stuff. But still she’s, like, a neighbor.”

  “Are you learning anything?”

  “What? In school? Sure. Lots of stuff.”

  “Speaking of which,” Claudia said in the French she tended to use with her daughter. “Is your homework done?”

  “No,” Anna responded in English, continuing the battle of wills between the two. “But I couldn’t do it. I had to save Mitch from the dogs.”

  “Thanks for that,” Rapp said sincerely.

  “Well, he’s safe now and you know the rule. Homework first, play later.”

  He put her down and she scurried off, glancing back as she did. “I’m going to hurry. Then I have a surprise!”

  Rapp gave her the thumbs-up.

  The century-old house’s kitchen was quite a bit more austere than the one in the States, but Claudia had made the best of it. He wandered to a pot steaming on the stove and peeked under the lid.

  “Shrimp bisque,” she said. “But I substituted whole milk for the cream.”

  He ladled some out and took it to an old farm table by the open windows. Claudia brought him a plate piled with grilled vegetables and ringed with carpaccio before sitting.

  “It’s really good, thanks,” he said through a mouthful.

  “How’d shutting down the house go?”

  “No problems.”

  “The animals?”

  “Scott’s got it under control.”

  “And you remembered that face sunscreen I wanted for Anna?”

  “Three tubes in my bag.”

  She smiled. “I like the new Mitch Rapp. So calm. So efficient. So free of oozing wounds.”

  “I’m growing,” he said, tearing off a piece of bread and using it to sop up a little olive oil.

  “I think you are. And I think we could be really happy here if you’re willing to give it a chance.”

  “I said I would, Claudia. And I meant it.”

  In fact, his meeting with the president—and even more so his wife—had made him mean it even more. He’d thought about his conversation with Catherine Cook for much of the thirty-hour trip there and come to a couple of conclusions: First, he probably was capable of evolving to meet the new threats facing America and the world. That realization was overshadowed by his second epiphany, though. That he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  “But how do you feel about it?”

  “Better than I thought.”

  She leaned back against the wall to examine him.

  “What?”

  “You’re taking this too well.”

  “I thought that’s what you wanted?”

  When she spoke again, it was in French, the language she returned to when she needed to get across something nuanced. “I admire what you’ve done, Mitch. Everyone does. But it has to come to an end eventually. Maybe the change in administrations is fate giving you a reprieve.”

  “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before,” Rapp responded in the same language.

  “It’s true. We have. But you weren’t ready for it. Now, I’m wondering if you are.”

  “I’m not interested in getting myself into something I don’t understand and don’t know how to get out of. It’s a little early to know how it’s all going to play out, though. Maybe I never fire another gun again in my life.”

  “Or maybe you do.”

  He just shrugged.

  “I’m not really asking you to change, Mitch. I like you the way you are. I just think it might be time to start turning down the volume a little bit. There must be some happy medium between what you do now and going into business making scented candles. We—”

  “Done!” Anna shouted as she bounded t
hrough the door.

  “With all of it?” her mother asked skeptically.

  “One hundred percent. I left it on your desk so you can look at it.”

  “Excellent,” Rapp said, anxious to escape this conversation. “Now what’s my surprise?”

  “Huh? Oh yeah! Your new bike came.”

  “Really? It’s here? At the house?”

  His idea of returning to the world of triathlons hadn’t lasted long. Running those kinds of distances was too hard on the knees and the ocean that surrounded this part of Africa was full of great whites. The Cape Epic, on the other hand, was a four-hundred-and-fifty-mile mountain bike race through some of the most rugged terrain the continent had to offer. Perfect for someone who was still motivated but had a little wear and tear.

  The competition was done by two-man teams and if he was going to get fast enough again to attract a local pro to partner with, his fifteen-year-old bike wouldn’t cut it. And neither would his lily-white legs. There was a lot of work to be done, but he was strangely excited about it.

  Anna grabbed his hand. “Come on! It’s in the shed. But that’s not the best part of the surprise. It’s not even a surprise, really. You knew you were getting that. The surprise is that I got one, too! And it’s pink. Yours is yucky green.”

  He let her drag him back through the front door and into the territory of the dogs still patiently waiting to tear him apart.

  “And you don’t need to find anyone to do that race you want to do anymore. I can go with you.”

  “Four hundred and fifty miles might be a little long for your first time at bat. And then there are the lions. And tigers. And bears.”

  “There are no bears here! Just lots of big antelope things. We call them bok. Besides, I’ve been practicing and I’m super fast. And it’s only got two wheels, but I can ride it.”

  “On only two wheels?” he said as they walked through the cool air. “Prove it.”

  7

  SOUTHWESTERN UGANDA

  DAVID Chism suddenly realized he was holding his breath but still couldn’t get his lungs going again. He was crouched in the cavelike depression that seemed to be transforming into his permanent home. The fronds and other foliage he’d placed in front of the opening were carefully maintained, replaced whenever they began to lose the emerald color of the rest of the forest.

  He leaned in a little farther, peering through a tiny gap between them and into the bright sunlight beyond. The men that he’d heard talking came into view a few seconds later, walking along the steep slope about fifteen feet below. As expected, they were definitely not Ugandan army. One was wearing what could pass as fatigues, though they looked like they were about to rot off his body. The other was clad in jeans and a T-shirt silk-screened with a flaking Van Halen logo. His only nod to military chic was the assault rifle slung casually over his shoulder.

  Neither was calling his name anymore. Those creepy, heavily accented wails had gone silent a couple of days ago. Whether that was due to strategy, hoarseness, or just boredom, he wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, though, was that Auma hadn’t given up his search and that there was still no sign of a cavalry charging to the rescue.

  He followed the two men’s movements obsessively, one hand on the living screen in front of him and knees sunk into the soft dirt. If they turned toward him to investigate the improbable wall of foliage, the plan was simple. He’d wait until they got within five feet, burst from cover, and charge. The slope was steep enough that if he could knock them over with enough force, they’d go careening down it without getting off a shot. Maybe a few shouts before they dropped over the forty-foot cliff into the jagged rocks below, but those would likely be absorbed by the forest before reaching the ears of their comrades.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  He managed to get some air into his lungs after they passed by but didn’t get the rhythm of his breathing back until they were completely out of sight. Still lucky. For now, anyway.

  The situation had changed significantly since their first night in what they’d dubbed the rat hole. Liu had stepped up beyond his wildest dreams. It turned out she hadn’t grown up the privileged child of wealthy Beijing academics like he’d always assumed. Instead, she’d spent much of her youth living in a remote farmhouse, surviving on what her family could grow or raise. Once she’d accepted their new reality, her old survival skills had kicked in and she was quickly becoming his own personal ninety-seven-pound Rambo.

  Thanks to her nocturnal expeditions, the ground was now largely covered with fronds and there was a well-camouflaged latrine about twenty yards to the east. Another—thankfully as yet unused—emergency latrine had been dug inside the cave in case their shaky water purification protocols failed them.

  Finally, she’d fashioned a mobile cistern out of branches and a sheet of plastic he’d found, allowing them to collect water from the occasional rains and reducing the number of times he needed to make the dangerous journey to the river. Food was completely fruit based but provided them with enough calories to keep them from starving.

  All in all, they could probably just outwait Auma’s men if it hadn’t been for one very big glitch: Matteo Ricci. The inevitable infection from his burns had set in and Chism was powerless to stop it. Antibiotics were the only thing that could help, and they were in short supply in the Ugandan jungle.

  When he was dead sure the two men were gone, he glanced back at Liu, who was crouched with a jagged rock in her hand.

  “We’re safe,” he whispered.

  She dropped the rock and retreated to her homemade cistern. After wetting a piece of cloth, she crawled to Ricci and pressed it against his forehead. He was lying at the back of the cave, slipping in and out of consciousness. One day soon, he’d drift away and never come back.

  The Italian reacted weakly to the cloth touching his forehead so Chism crawled over. “How are you feeling, Matteo?”

  “Nothing a nice Barolo couldn’t fix.”

  Like Liu, he’d turned out to be a lot tougher than Chism expected. His sense of humor had turned dark for sure, but it persisted.

  “We only have the Cabernet,” Chism responded, but Ricci was already out again.

  “Not good,” Liu said simply.

  He nodded, staring down at Ricci’s stubbled, sweat-streaked face. “Could you walk out of here by yourself, Jing?”

  “What?”

  “It’s pretty much impossible to get lost. If you follow the setting sun you can’t help but hit the road.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Look, we know what’s going on here. Those guys spent days shouting my name, not yours. They want to kidnap me and ransom me to Nick. If I give myself up, there’s no reason for them to stay here. They’ll go back to the rock they crawled out from under. When they do, you go for help and get Matteo to a hospital.”

  Ricci’s head lolled toward them and his hollow eyes opened. “That’s the stupidest idea I have ever heard, David.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You’re just going to hand yourself over to one of the most sadistic psychopaths in the world?”

  “It’s not like I’m excited about it, Matteo. But why would they kill me? I’m the golden goose, right?”

  “They’ll kill you because they’re pumped full of drugs and ecstatic visions.”

  “Maybe,” Chism said. “But…” He found it impossible to finish his thought, so Ricci did it for him.

  “But I won’t last the weekend?”

  “Probably not.”

  The Italian waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t mean to sound overly noble, but who am I? A sixty-year-old, chain-smoking scientist of moderately above average abilities. My wife is dead and neither of my children have spoken to me in years. But you, David… You’re a man who can change the world. And as for Jing. There are many things that can happen to a lone woman between here and the road.”

  8

  NEAR FRANSCHHOEK

  SOUTH AFRICA
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br />   “IT’S not as nice as mine.”

  Rapp glanced over at Anna, who was sitting on an old crate looking unimpressed. The outbuilding they were in probably hadn’t been used in a half century, but with almost two thousand feet of floor space, it looked like he was finally going to get the gym he’d been denied in Virginia. Kind of a long-term plan as the roof was barely intact, the foundation appeared to be sinking, and there was no glass in any of the window frames. But with a lot of work, the potential was there. Like it was for the man standing at the center of it.

  “I think those streamers you have coming out of the handlebars might compromise aerodynamics.”

  “I don’t even know what that means. Ahmale—my new best friend, you know—has ones just like them. They’re awesome.”

  Rapp pulled a set of carbon fiber wheels from a box and began installing a tire. The mountain bike had been custom built for him, but his new road bike was off the shelf and needed upgrades before it was ready to ride.

  “Maybe I’ll get a set, then. Do you know how much they weigh?”

  Anna shook her head disapprovingly, threw a leg over her new bike, and pedaled off. The dogs joined her just outside the bay doors, ignoring him as they fell in behind. He took that as a sign of progress in their relationship.

  There was a group of local racers that did a training ride every Tuesday and he was interested in checking out the level of talent. A few months ago, he’d had some testing done at the human performance lab at Old Dominion University and the news wasn’t entirely bad. His battle with Yemeni Acute Respiratory Syndrome didn’t seem to have done any permanent damage and his ability to consume oxygen had declined only about ten percent from his triathlon years. He figured he could knock that back to six or seven percent with the right training and let his increased capacity to suffer carry the rest.

  On the downside, his ability to produce power on a bike had gone to shit from disuse and he had a lot of upper-body muscle that wasn’t going to do him any favors on climbs. With sufficient time—something he appeared to now have—and sufficient determination—something he’d never lacked—all were surmountable problems.