Consent to Kill (34 page)

W
ASHINGTON
, DC

I
rene Kennedy was emotionally drained. She’d gone straight from the hospital to CIA headquarters with the knowledge that she needed to put things in motion before meeting with the president and several of his cabinet members in the morning. From the moment the doctor told her Anna was dead, she knew where they were headed. There would be no stopping him. Under normal circumstances he was difficult enough to manage, but now in the wake of his own personal hell, it was foolish to think that anyone could control him. There would be those in Washington, however, who would think otherwise—powerful people who were used to having their orders followed to the letter.

Where the president would fall in this regard, Kennedy was unsure, but she had little doubt where her new boss would come down on the issue. Support from the other members of the National Security Council was sure to be sparse. Some of them would be deeply concerned that the rule of law be followed, and others would be terrified over the thought of a vengeful American on the loose undermining their diplomatic efforts. One or two of the members might support Rapp, but they would never do so publicly. For all of its bellicose underpinnings, Washington was a town that prided itself on civility. These people would blanch at the idea of a government employee on the loose seeking vengeance for the murder of his wife.

If they wanted to avoid the inevitable they had just two options. The first would be to incarcerate him, but Kennedy had already taken the precaution of having Rapp transferred from Johns Hopkins to a CIA safe house in rural Virginia. Even if they somehow managed to jail him it would only be a temporary solution. They could not hold him forever. The other, more permanent, solution would be to have him killed. The problem here was that the only people with the temerity to do so, the quiet warriors like Coleman, were already lining up to support him. Kennedy knew that in a month or a year many of these civilian leaders would have wished that they had thought of killing him, but none of them had the stomach to issue such an order. For now, though, they would delude themselves into believing they could actually order him to stand down.

During the night Kennedy had talked to the head of the Jordanian Intelligence Service three separate times. They now had a name to go with the bounty that had been placed on Rapp’s head: Saeed Ahmed Abdullah, a Saudi billionaire. Kennedy had not made the connection at first, but one of her counterterrorism analysts did shortly after the information was dispersed. Saeed Ahmed Abdullah was the father of Waheed Ahmed Abdullah, a terrorist who had been involved in a plot to detonate nuclear bombs in both New York and Washington. U.S. Special Forces had apprehended the man in the border region between Afghanistan and Pakistan, just days before the attack was to take place. With the clock ticking, Rapp was left with little alternative other than to torture Waheed into revealing the details of the plot. The information Rapp got from the terrorist helped intercept one of the bombs before it could be brought into the country.

How the father had learned of Rapp’s role in his son’s downfall was unclear, but Kennedy had her suspicions. For now, she’d ordered the Counterterrorism Center to collect every scrap of information on Saeed Ahmed Abdullah, and keep it within the family. She’d already made the risky decision that the CIA would not be passing everything they learned onto their sister agencies—agencies that were hamstrung by the rule of law. They would give the appearance of full cooperation, and reams of information would be handed over to the FBI, but almost all of it would be useless. The valuable intel would be used to stay out in front of the actual investigation.

Kennedy arrived fifteen minutes early for the meeting, as was her habit when meeting with the president. She was escorted to the Oval Office by one of the White House staffers where she waited by herself until 9:05, when she was joined by the president’s national security advisor, Michael Haik. The two possessed similar temperaments and had a very good working relationship. Haik unbuttoned his suit coat and sat next to Kennedy on the couch.

“How are you holding up?”

“Fine.”

“I know you are, but how are you holding up?” It was a question from one friend to another.

“I’ve been better,” Kennedy answered honestly.

“How’s Mitch?”

“He’s pretty beat up, but the worst of it is behind him … at least physically.”

Haik was the steady type of thinker every president needed—pragmatic, disciplined, and cautious. There wasn’t much that ruffled his feathers. “How did he take the news of his wife?”

Kennedy kept it together. She’d already cried and she would cry more, but not here, not in the Oval Office. “He had to be sedated.”

Haik nodded as if he’d anticipated the answer and then he leaned back and draped an arm over the back of the couch. It was clear that he wanted to say something, but that he was trying to figure out where to start. “Irene, we’ve always been straight with each other, so let me tell you what’s going on here this morning. Right now the president is in his private dining room finishing up a meeting with the vice president, Secretary of State Berg, Attorney General Stokes, and Director Ross.”

Even though she was surprised Kennedy nodded as if she’d already known this.

“To put it bluntly, they are deeply concerned over what Mitch might do when he recovers.”

“So am I.”

“I mean they are really concerned. They don’t think you can control him and a few of them think you won’t even try.”

Kennedy showed no emotion. Her breathing stayed steady and shallow. She obviously wasn’t the only person who had spent the night strategizing. “Why?”

“They think you have a conflict of interest. That your loyalty to Mitch will cloud your judgment and put you at odds with what is best for the country.”

What was best for the country was debatable, but Kennedy wasn’t here to argue. “I can assure you there is no conflict.”

Haik wasn’t sure if he believed her, but it didn’t matter; he wasn’t the one raising the stink. “I sneaked out early because I wanted to give you some friendly advice. They’re going to come filing in here any minute and you’re not going to like what they have to say.” Haik paused for a second and picked a piece of lint off his trouser leg. “Do yourself a favor and go along with what they want.”

“I get the sense you’re trying to help me, Mike, but your advice seems off the mark.”

“What I’m trying to tell you is that a deal has already been struck. Three cabinet members are in there right now telling the president what has to happen and they say they have more members on board. They’ve got him buttoned up with no room to maneuver. Officially he has no choice but to follow their recommendation.”

Kennedy felt a sickening feeling in her stomach, and she chastised herself for not getting to the president before them. “I’m not sure I can sit here and play nice on this one.”

“You know what a riptide is?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t survive by fighting it. You conserve your energy, you go with the flow, and when the moment is right, you swim parallel to shore.”

“So you want me to just sit here and go with the flow this morning?”

“Not entirely. I think the president would be disappointed if you didn’t state the obvious, but in the end let them have their way.”

“And what will I get in return?”

The door handle to the president’s private dining room started to turn and voices could be heard on the other side. “When this meeting is over go down to the Situation Room. The president would like to speak to you in private.”

The president entered the room first. Kennedy and Haik both stood. President Hayes was six foot one and his salt-and-pepper hair was mostly all salt after three years in office. He came straight across the room and opened his arms. He hugged Kennedy and said, “Irene, I’m so sorry. I know you were very close to them.”

Kennedy stayed stoic. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

The president released her and said, “How’s Mitch doing?”

“He’s resting.”

The president stared at her for a long moment as he tried to imagine what must be going through Rapp’s mind. “This is such a tragedy.” He shook his head and motioned for everyone to take a seat. Haik and Kennedy sat on one couch while Secretary of State Berg, Attorney General Stokes, and Director of National Intelligence Ross sat on the couch across from them. There were two chairs in front of the fireplace. The president took the one on the left, and the vice president took the other one. President Hayes clasped his hands and asked Kennedy, “Have you learned anything since we talked yesterday?”

“Not really, sir.”

“Is it still your opinion that this was a professional hit?”

“Yes it is, sir.”

“Irene.” Director Ross sat forward and addressed Kennedy in a gentle voice. “I’m going to get this out in the open for everyone’s sake. I know this is very difficult for you. You have a personal relationship with Rapp and his wife and this is a horrible tragedy, but while we respect your opinion,” Ross winced as if he was trying to be gentle and then added, “we do not share your conclusion that this was a contract kill.”

Her brown eyes stared straight through him. Everything had changed in less than twenty-four hours. A day ago she had been willing to ignore the man’s mounting flaws, but now she felt genuine hatred coursing through her veins. It took great restraint not to blurt out the obvious—which was that Ross had almost no experience in his current position.

“We were briefed by the FBI this morning,” Ross continued, “and we feel that there is not enough evidence to support the theory.”

Kennedy nodded. “You spoke to Special Agent McMahon?”

Ross looked at Attorney General Stokes.

Stokes answered Kennedy by saying, “No, as you know, Director Roach is out of the country so we were briefed by Deputy Director Finn.”

“And has Mr. Finn been to the crime scene?”

“No,” Stokes answered flatly.

“Irene,” Ross said, “how did the press get the idea Mitch was dead?”

Both DC morning papers ran stories that Rapp and his wife had been killed in a propane explosion at their Maryland home and all of the TV outlets were reporting the story. With no guilt whatsoever, Kennedy looked Ross in the eye and said, “I have no idea.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s at a secure location recovering.”

“Where?” Ross persisted.

“One of our safe houses in Virginia.”

“Which one?”

Kennedy tilted her head slightly. “Why are you so concerned about Mitch’s location?”

Ross glanced at the others and then said, “Mitch has a bit of a reputation as a maverick. We think it would be best if the FBI kept an eye on him until things cool down.”

“Oh … I wouldn’t worry about that,” Kennedy said in a sarcastic voice. “I’m sure if the three of you explain to Mitch that the explosion was an accident, he’ll drop the entire matter.”

It was obvious Ross did not like Kennedy’s tone. He sat up straight and asked, “Who were the two men you sent to Rapp’s house last night?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“I spoke with the Anne Arundel sheriff this morning and he told me that two men showed up last night and said that you sent them out there to poke around.” Ross folded his arms across his chest. “Apparently they caused quite a stink.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Who were they?”

“Professional assassins.”

Ross’s face flushed with anger. “I don’t think this is the time for humor.”

“No humor.” Kennedy shook her head. “They were a couple of black-bag guys who specialize in killing people and making it look like an accident.”

Ross’s nostrils were flared in anger. “What were their names?”

Kennedy shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t have the security clearance.”

“I’m your boss,” he said in a voice on the verge of outright rage.

“That does not mean you have clearance,” Kennedy insisted. The mood in the room got very tense. “Mark, I’m surprised that you seem more concerned about who they were than what they had to say.”

“Who they were is a genuine concern,” stated Attorney General Stokes. “If this was in fact a crime, my people will have to build a case, and it will not look good in court to have a couple of professional assassins poking around a fresh crime scene tampering with evidence.”

“And, Irene,” said Ross, “this so-called evidence they found is incredibly thin. A few trampled blades of grass and a tire track.” Ross shook his head and frowned. “Balance that against the fire chief’s report that it was an accident, and this thing will never get off the ground.”

“So what would you propose we do? Ignore the warning we received from the Jordanians last week that a bounty had been placed on Rapp’s head? Ignore the findings of two highly trained, and highly decorated, Special Forces veterans who know more about this kind of thing than all of us combined?”

“We’re not saying that at all,” answered Ross.

“Then why are you so hell bent on trying to write this thing off as an accident?”