by Vince Flynn
“On balance, I’m convinced that it is, sir.”
“The devil you know. Is that what you’re saying, Irene? Let me ask you something. What if this goes beyond bin Musaid? What if King Faisal is too old and sick to keep tabs on what his people are doing anymore?”
“It’s something we need to look into.”
Alexander just stared into the distance. “Faisal won’t do anything. He has a soft spot for that little asshole. His dead sister’s son, right? And even if he didn’t, we both know that he’s just running out the clock. Waiting to die so he can leave his problems to someone else.”
“I’d say that’s an accurate assessment.”
“What about Nassar? It seems like the king’s putting a lot of faith in him. You said he was ambitious. Is he ambitious enough to be thinking about who’s going to take over when the old man’s gone? Because when I look at the front-runners, I see a pack of complete dipshits.”
“Overthrowing the Saudi monarchy would be no small task, sir. But it’s something we’ll include in our analysis.”
“Your analysis,” Alexander said, and then laughed bitterly. “I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER 15
East of Manassas
Virginia
U.S.A.
TWENTY-SIX! Come on, Mitch! You can do thirty!”
Based on the daggerlike pain coming from an old elbow injury, thirty would probably be a bad idea. Anna groaned theatrically when he dropped off the pull-up bar and worked his right arm around. The gym Claudia had installed in the basement was incredible—better than anything inside of fifty miles. The fact that the lap pool bisected it was a little inconvenient, but she liked the way it reflected the glass-fronted wine cellar along the north wall. Who was he to argue?
“You could have done more,” Anna complained.
“And you could end up in the pool.”
He started chasing her, and she squealed with delight as she ducked through a squat rack. He nearly had her cornered when Claudia’s voice rose up behind him.
“I bought you all this equipment and this is what you do with it?”
They froze, both looking a little guilty when they finally turned toward her.
“I went to tuck you in and you weren’t there. It’s after nine.”
“There’s no clock down here, Mom.”
Claudia looked around the expansive room, discovering that her daughter was right. “That’s no excuse. Now march. When I get up there, your teeth better be brushed and you better be under the covers.”
“Okay,” she said. As she passed Rapp, she gave him a hard jab in the leg and then darted away. He would have liked to chase her up the stairs, but it would be too obvious. He’d avoided being alone with Claudia for about as long as he could.
“She’s never going to get to sleep now.”
“Sorry. But there really isn’t a clock down here.”
“There will be tomorrow,” she assured him. “Would now be a good time to talk?”
“Well, I’m in the middle of working out,” he said, immediately regretting it.
“Is that what you two were doing? Working out?”
Checkmate.
“I guess I can cut it short.”
“Thank you.”
They just stared at each other for a few seconds. This was her pet subject. If she was waiting for him to start, they were going to be here for a long time.
“I need to do something, Mitch. After finishing your house, my life has lost its sense of direction. I love being Anna’s mother—it’s the most important thing in the world to me. But it can’t be the only thing.”
“You take care of me, too.”
“You would be fine in a tent in Afghanistan,” she said, and then waved a hand around her. “Does any of this even matter to you?”
“A few months ago I would have said no,” he said honestly. “That shithole I was living in kept the rain off my head as well as any place. But now? Yeah. It matters.”
“And us? Me and Anna?”
He thought about her question for a long time, finally realizing that he’d been wrong. He didn’t really give a shit about the house. The concrete, glass, and overpriced furniture weren’t what made it home. Claudia and Anna were.
* * *
Claudia slid back beneath the sheets, pressing her naked body against Rapp’s. The pace of her breathing increased for a moment but then returned to the gentle rhythm he’d been listening to for the last three hours.
The point of no return with her—and with Anna—had now been crossed. He thought about his wife and how much he’d loved her. About his unborn child and what that child would have meant to him. And, of course, about Claudia’s role in their deaths.
Were they looking down on him right now? And if so, what were they feeling? Betrayal? Anger at the fact that every day their memory lost a little bit of sharpness? Or relief that he’d finally moved on?
Ironically, the hours they’d just spent creating a seismic shift in their relationship had also allowed him to once again delay the conversation about her going to work for Coleman. Giving orders was no longer an option—if it really ever had been. Maybe tomorrow she’d make the observation that Scott paid better than the Agency and that maybe he should be the one to stay home with Anna.
The phone rang, and he snatched it off the nightstand in an effort not to wake the woman who was no longer sharing just his house. “Yeah. What?”
“Sorry about the hour, Mitch. Do you have a minute?”
His instinct was to bolt upright in bed, but he couldn’t do that anymore, either. A call in the middle of the night from the President of the United States now only rated sliding carefully off the mattress and padding into the bathroom.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Of course I do.”
“Shit. You weren’t alone. This is obviously a bad time . . .”
Incredibly bad. But not as bad as a couple of hours ago. “It’s fine, sir. Is there a problem?”
“There’s always a problem. That’s the life we’ve chosen, right?”
His voice had a strange undertone that Rapp hadn’t heard before. Frustration and anger, sure. But there seemed to be something hidden beneath. Something that even this consummate politician couldn’t hide.
“I suppose so, sir.”
“There’s something I need to talk to you about. But not over the phone.”
“Do you want to schedule a meeting for later this morning?”
“Honestly, it’s not a conversation I want to be seen having, either.”
Rapp was intrigued but also a little guarded. He’d been in this business a long time and the president had never called him personally to set up a completely black meeting. He tended to use Irene Kennedy as an intermediary. Best not to be seen with a man whose job description no one ever spoke about but everyone understood.
“It seems like we’re both awake, sir. How about now? With no traffic I can be there in less than an hour.”
“I don’t want to take you away from anything,” he said, although it was clear that it was exactly what he wanted.
“Not a problem.”
“Thank you, Mitch.”
Rapp disconnected the call and slipped into the bedroom to find some clothes. When he came out of the closet and started for the hallway, Claudia called after him. “Mitch? Who was that?”
“Work. I’ve got to run out.”
“When are you going to be back?”
“A few hours,” he said, wincing a bit.
“Oh,” she responded, sounding like she’d thought he was going to say a few months. “There’s a sticky on the refrigerator. Could you pick up the things on it? Anna doesn’t have anything for breakfast.”
“Sure.”
And then she was asleep again.
>
That was it? His late wife would have been wide-awake, cross-examining him about where he was going, who he was meeting, and why it couldn’t wait until after sunrise.
Some of the tension he’d felt over the past few hours started to dissipate. Maybe this could actually work.
CHAPTER 16
The White House
Washington, D.C.
U.S.A.
RAPP pulled Claudia’s Q5 up to the White House gate, rolling down the window as a guard approached.
“Morning, Charlie.”
The man studied Rapp for a moment and then checked his clipboard. “I don’t see you on the list, Mitch.”
It was a long-standing joke between them. His name was never on the list.
“Just open the damn gate and go back to your coffee.”
He grinned, as he always did, and let Rapp through.
President Alexander hadn’t been kidding when he said he wanted to keep this meeting quiet. No security was in evidence, and the lights indicating power to the surveillance cameras were conspicuously dark.
He walked through the semidarkness to the Oval Office’s partially open door. The president was at his desk, scanning a document through metal-rimmed reading glasses.
“Sir?”
“Come on in,” Alexander said. “Close the door behind you.”
Rapp did as instructed and then took a seat in front of the man’s desk.
“Can I get you anything, Mitch?”
“I’m fine.”
The relaxed façade that Alexander normally kept between him and the world was showing cracks. Not that this was unusual during their meetings. If Rapp was at the White House, something had gone very wrong. On this particular morning, though, the cracks seemed dangerously deep.
“I assume you’re aware of what happened in Morocco with Prince bin Musaid?”
“I’m sorry about that. With Scott out of action, we’re spread pretty thin.”
He nodded. “And you’re aware of my meeting with Aali Nassar?”
“Irene mentioned it.”
“And how did she characterize that meeting?”
“As less than ideal.”
“So she didn’t tell you that he unzipped his fly and told America to get on its knees?”
Actually, in her own sterile way, she had.
“Nassar isn’t a diplomat. He—”
“Don’t start. I already got that speech from your boss.”
Alexander began pacing around the room, forcing Rapp to scoot his chair around to keep eyes on him.
“I assume you’re also aware of the deal that was made with the Saudi government after 9/11.”
Rapp nodded. In fact, he was far more aware than Alexander was. While the administration at the time had ordered the CIA to drop the matter, the director had interpreted those orders loosely. The Agency had quietly continued to gather intel, which was now squirreled away on an encrypted drive accessible only by Irene Kennedy. The specific names, dates, and bank account numbers in that file were no longer of much practical use—the players were largely dead or headed for the nursing home. What was still relevant was the portrait of a country playing both sides hard, counting on oil reserves and radical Islam to keep it intact.
“I know something about it,” Rapp replied.
“So do you think bin Musaid’s a lone wolf? An anomaly that got by the king?”
“I don’t have enough information to make that call.”
“Then speculate.”
Rapp thought about it for a moment. “I’d be surprised if Faisal was involved. He just wants to keep the shit from hitting the fan until after he’s dead. As far as the prince is concerned, he’s a useless prick who thinks he’s being unfairly passed over by the family. This could just be a tantrum.”
Alexander continued to pace, considering what he’d just heard. “I thought the same thing. But what if it’s not? My concern is that bin Musaid isn’t smart enough to do something like this on his own. How did he make these contacts? How did he set up the meeting? Neither thing is rocket science, but it would take a certain amount of persistence and initiative that he’s never demonstrated.”
The president’s anger seemed to be on an unstoppable upward trajectory. Rapp had heard rumors about Alexander’s temper but had never known anyone who’d experienced it firsthand.
“That deal was one of the biggest mistakes this country ever made,” the president said, spinning toward Rapp. “Those royal motherfuckers don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves. They’d destroy their own country, America, the world, and anything else they can get their hands on for another gold-plated Rolls-Royce.”
The volume of his voice had risen to the point that Rapp glanced over at the door to make sure he’d pulled it all the way closed.
“What if this is just the tip of the iceberg, Mitch? Faisal’s going to be dead inside of two years and his successor is going to have the power to decide who he’s going to back. The radicals or us.”
“More likely they’ll just try to keep limping along, playing it down the middle.”
“Unacceptable!” the president yelled.
“Sir, I think you should call—”
“I am not going to be the man who ushered in another decade of those pricks sitting around London nightclubs while our guys bleed in the sand defending them. They’re either with us or they’re against us. And if they choose the second one, I’m going to squash them like fucking bugs.”
Rapp rarely found himself in the position of being the voice of reason, but things were getting out of hand. “This is something you should sit down and talk to Irene about. She can—”
“You think I’ve lost my mind, don’t you?” Alexander said.
“No, sir. But I’m not sure why I’m here.”
“Then let me tell you. You’re here because it’s time for us to put the fear of Allah into these sons of bitches.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I could slap the harshest economic sanctions in history on their country and you know what those royal assholes would do? Fly to Paris and drown their sorrows in ten-thousand-dollar bottles of wine while their people starved. The only way we’re going to get them to fall into line is by creating a penalty that they feel. From now on, I want them to know that it’s their asses on the line.”
“And how would you propose we do that?”
Alexander looked like he was going to make a move for the chair behind his desk, but chose the one next to Rapp instead. “I think you need to have a talk with Prince bin Musaid and at the end of that talk I think he needs to be dead.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
“I’m not sure I did.”
“I want you to find out if this goes any further and I want you to make the point that no one is off-limits.”
“And how would I make that point?”
“By killing those people, too. It was suggested to another prince once that it’s better to be feared than loved. When the new Saudi administration comes in, I want it to be clear that when America says jump, the only appropriate response is to ask how high.”
Spent, Alexander leaned back in his chair. “You’re surprised.”
“That’s a lot of plain talk coming from a politician.”
“Then, while I’m on a roll, let me give you some more. This conversation never happened. The CIA can’t be involved in any way. If you decide to do this and you get caught, I’ll abandon you so fast, it’ll make your head spin. The Saudis need to know I’m responsible, but they can’t be able to prove it.”
“Understood.”
“So what do you think?”
Rapp shrugged noncommittally. “Obviously, you’re playing my tune. But then, you know that or you wouldn’t have called me.”
Al
exander smiled, the storm apparently over. “Let me give you a piece of advice, Mitch. You should tell me to go fuck myself. Then we can forget this conversation ever happened and talk about the Redskins’ chances this season.”
* * *
When Rapp exited the building, he discovered that Claudia’s car was gone. The White House wasn’t exactly a high-crime area and that could mean only one thing.
His suspicions were confirmed when a Lincoln Navigator glided up in front of him. He opened the back door and slid inside.
“You’re up early, Irene.”
As always, she looked impeccable—gray suit, dark hair pulled back, and shoes meticulously polished. “I couldn’t sleep.”
The silence stretched out between them as they pulled onto a quiet Pennsylvania Avenue. Finally, she broke it.
“The president’s angry about bin Musaid and the Saudi government.”
“Really?”
“The subject didn’t come up?”
Rapp shook his head. “He just wanted my thoughts on the White House football pool.”
It was a statement that would make the discussion he’d just had completely clear without making her complicit.
“Alexander’s a good man. I’ve been lucky in my career. We both have. We’ve worked for smart, reasonable administrations.”
“Yeah.”
“But he’s still a politician.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, Irene.”
“He won’t just turn his back on you,” she continued. “Neutrality won’t play well on the international stage. He’ll do everything in his power to track you down. And capturing you won’t be the goal. America can’t risk you being questioned.”
“Uh-huh.”
She looked out the window, watching the buildings pass by for a few moments. “I understand that things are going well with Claudia.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant by that. Could she know? The woman had an intuition that inspired confidence when it was working for you but was infuriating when it was turned against you. He remained silent.
“You have the beginnings of a good life, Mitch. And while I’m not here to suggest that you slow down, I’d recommend that you avoid running off any cliffs. Just for a while, until you figure out what you want for yourself and for the people around you.”