Consent to Kill (42 page)

L
EESBURG
, V
IRGINIA

T
he stolen Mercedes ML 500 had only 8,456 miles on it. It was black and had dark tinted windows just as Tayyib had requested. He had seen quite a few of the mini sport utility vehicles since he’d arrived in America. They were fairly common, but still expensive. Tayyib thought it would be a good vehicle to both blend in and remain above suspicion. After leaving the shop in Alexandria, he had taken the expressway out toward Dulles International Airport. From there he’d taken the Hirst-Brault Expressway north toward Leesburg. About six miles south of the town he took a detour and headed west. He came upon the horse farm a few minutes later and kept his speed at 55 mph as he drove along the edge. Trees dotted the fence line and obscured the house that sat atop a hill a good four hundred yards off the road. The main gate had cameras mounted on both the left and the right. Tayyib guessed Castillo and his people would have little trouble getting past it.

He continued down the county road for a few more miles and then turned around to head back to town. It was twilight and he needed to get into position. On the way into Leesburg, Tayyib drove past the Loudoun County Sheriff’s Department. He’d found the address on the internet and printed directions from MapQuest. Six cruisers and a Suburban were parked in the lot along with another half dozen civilian cars. He continued into town and did a slow pass of the government center and the police department. He noted three police cars in the lot and another one pulling out. He had no idea when the shift changes took place but he doubted it was at 9:30 on a Saturday night. He drove slowly through the quaint town. It was filled with antique stores, bed and breakfasts, and a smattering of coffee shops, ice cream parlors, bars, and restaurants.

Tayyib parked on the street around the corner from a café. He walked back to the café and was greeted by an overly enthusiastic and underdressed young woman. He ordered an espresso to go and looked around the place. There were three other patrons inside: two teenagers making out near the front window and a young man pecking away on his laptop computer. Tayyib felt like slapping the young couple but reminded himself he had more important things to do. After paying in cash he went and stood in front of the café until the time was right. The air seemed a bit chilly, but none of the locals seemed to mind it. A woman in a tank top passed by walking a dog, and a couple of teenage girls sat in front of the ice cream parlor in skirts that barely made it a third of the way down their thighs. Across the street he could hear loud music spilling out of a bar, couples were out and about, and a few teenagers whizzed by on skate-boards. They all seemed to be having a grand time.
Well, that’s about to end,
Tayyib thought to himself.

Tayyib was standing next to a small tree. He studied the branches for a second and picked his spot. After checking his watch one more time, he drained the rest of the espresso and threw the cup to the ground. Turning to the side so the two young lovers couldn’t see what he was doing, he reached into his left jacket pocket and pulled out a hand grenade and a coil of fishing line. Tayyib turned his back to the café, looked to his left and his right, and then took the grenade and slid the spoon over one of the branches. The grenade dangled there like a piece of fruit—its matte green finish not quite blending in with the bright fall colors. Tayyib grabbed the end of the fishing line. One end was tied to the pin and he wrapped the other end around two fingers, dropping the loose coil to the ground. Casually, he started back for the car. A middle-aged couple passed him on the sidewalk and he edged closer to the street so they wouldn’t get their feet tangled in the line. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of shrapnel in his back.

When Tayyib reached the corner he stopped and turned around. He could only make out the first few feet of the fishing line and then it disappeared in the shadows. The middle-aged couple were almost to the café and two women were approaching from the other direction.
The more mayhem, the better,
Tayyib thought to himself. He grabbed the coil firmly in his hand and continued around the corner. Once he was shielded he drew in the slack and gave the line a good yank. The line popped free and Tayyib dropped the loose bundle of fishing line to the ground.

He started for the car, counting the seconds in his head. He got to five, and then it happened. A loud explosion ripped through the still night air. Tayyib unlocked the Mercedes, climbed behind the wheel, and put the car in drive. He drove down Plaza Street and two blocks later stopped for a red light. When the light turned green, he continued past the police station and headed out of town, careful to maintain the posted speed.

Tayyib reminded himself that the important thing was to stay calm. He put on a pair of gloves and grabbed a black ski mask from the passenger seat. A few minutes later he turned onto Catoctin Circle and pulled up in front of the Sheriff’s Department. Nothing had changed. The same vehicles were parked in the same spots. Tayyib pulled the ski mask over his head and threw the Mercedes in park. He calmly got out of the car, walked around to the rear of the vehicle, and popped the tailgate. Inside was an oily tarp from the garage. Tayyib moved it out of the way and grabbed a Chinese-made rocket-propelled grenade. It was loaded and ready to go. He shouldered the weapon and turned to aim it at the front door just as two deputies were rushing out. Tayyib widened his stance, put most of his weight on his back foot, and squeezed the trigger. The 40mm round traveled at a speed of 400 feet per second and Tayyib was a mere eighty feet from the building. There was a split-second delay and then a swooshing noise followed almost immediately by the detonation of the grenade.

Thousands of shards of glass flew in every direction. Tayyib lowered the weapon and looked at the two deputies. They were both on the ground just his side of the door. Neither was moving. Tayyib assessed the damage that had been done by the RPG round. Smoke was pouring out of the building and he could hear people screaming from inside. He dropped the RPG to the ground, and it clattered on the asphalt. In a nearly robotic fashion he pulled the last grenade from his pocket, yanked the pin, and threw the grenade through the shattered entrance, over the bodies of fallen deputies and toward the chorus of panicked voices. He turned, closed the tailgate, and was at the open driver’s door when the grenade detonated. He didn’t even flinch. He got behind the wheel, put the car in drive, and calmly pulled back out onto the county road.

Tayyib removed the ski mask and checked his watch. Castillo and his men would be moving into position and starting their attack any minute. As tempted as Tayyib was to go monitor the situation, he knew he needed to get rid of the vehicle as quickly as possible. He stepped on the gas and headed south for Dulles International Airport.

CIA S
AFE
H
OUSE
, V
IRGINIA

S
teven carried the conversation during dinner, regaling Irene and Tommy with stories of what Mitch had been like growing up. His quirky, self-depreciating sense of humor helped take everyone’s mind off the tragedy for a short while. Even so, there had been moments during the meal where Mitch would get that faraway look in his eye. To his brother, it was obvious he was thinking of Anna. Steven would respond by saying, “Remember that time …” and then he would be off telling another story.

The meal wound down, the wineglasses were drained, and young Tommy let out a yawn. Irene took this as an opportunity to give the two Rapp brothers a moment alone. She had decided since it was a Saturday night and Mitch was up and moving around that it would be best if they all stayed over. Steven had agreed. “It looks like someone is ready for bed.”

Tommy shook his head. “No. I don’t have school tomorrow.”

“It’s still late.”

“But I didn’t get a chance to show Steven my Game Cube.”

Kennedy looked up at the grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room. It wasn’t yet 9:30. Before she could respond, Steven Rapp asked, “You have a Game Cube?”

Tommy nodded enthusiastically. “Yep!”

“What games?”

“Tony Hawk Pro Skater Four, Star Wars …” Tommy rattled off a half dozen titles.

“How much money do you have on you?”

Tommy looked confused, not quite understanding why the question was being asked.

“Hundred bucks a game. You and me.”

Tommy’s eyes got big and he looked at Mitch, who was shaking his head. Mitch looked at his brother and asked, “You like picking on an eight-year-old?”

“You sure had no problem doing it when I was his age.”

Mitch just shook his head rather than go down that road again.

“All right,” Steven said, “a buck a game, and I’ll spot you as many points as you want.”

“First we do the dishes,” Irene insisted. “Come on, Thomas, help me clear the table.” Irene stood. “Would anyone like any coffee?”

Both men declined.

“Why don’t you two go into the living room and relax?”

As Irene and Tommy picked up the dishes, Mitch grabbed another bottle of wine from the sideboard and opened it. He filled his glass and offered some to Steven.

“Why not?” his brother said. “I’m not driving tonight.”

They walked into the formal living room. It had a distinctly feminine feel: yellow walls; white enameled woodwork; blue and yellow floral patterned drapes; an ivory-colored couch with a mishmash of pastel pillows, matching side chairs, and white carpeting. Like most of the house, it looked like it hadn’t been decorated since the mid-eighties. Mitch sat on one end of the couch and his brother took the other end.

There was an awkward moment of silence and then Steven asked, “Have you made any plans for the funeral?”

Rapp stared off into space and shook his head. “Her parents are handling all of that.”

“Don’t you think you should have a say in the matter?”

“I got their daughter killed, Steven. I think that disqualifies me from having a say in anything.”

“Have you talked to them?”

“No.”

“Don’t you think you should?”

“I’m going to see them tomorrow.” Mitch looked into his wineglass and added, “I have no idea what I’m going to say. She was their only daughter. They adored her.” His eyes misted over. “They were so damn proud of her.” He thought of the pain they must be in. Their beautiful daughter was gone forever.

Steven was at a loss for words.

Mitch looked up with tear-filled eyes. “I’m fucking falling apart. I never felt more helpless in my life.”

“I don’t know … you were in pretty rough shape after Maureen died.” Steven was referring to his brother’s girlfriend who had been aboard the Pan Am flight that had been blown out of the sky over Lockerbie, Scotland.

“That was nothing compared to this. I was a kid back then. I didn’t know what real love was.”

“That’s a lie,” Steven said a bit forcefully. “You and Maureen were in love, and that’s not taking anything away from Anna. It’s simply the truth. You survived her death, and you’ll survive Anna’s. It’s not going to be easy, but you owe it to her.” Irene had explained to Steven that his brother was nearly catatonic over his wife’s death. One of the doctors had recommended putting him under suicide watch. Steven had never hidden a thing from his big brother and he wasn’t about to start now. “The last thing she’d want is for you to take your own life over this.”

Mitch made a face that suggested his brother’s concern was an insult. “Steven, I would never kill myself. That’s not my problem. It’s what I’m going to do when I get out of here.”

“How do you mean?”

Mitch didn’t get to answer the question. There was a noise from outside that caught his attention. His face turned to the ceiling, his ears focusing intently on the slightest sound. The solid construction gave the house great insulation, but even so, Mitch had spent so much time on gun ranges, indoors and out, that there was no mistaking what came next. The muffled crack of a rifle.

“Irene!” Mitch screamed at the top of his lungs. There were several more shots and he sprang to his feet. “Where are your bodyguards?”

Mitch grabbed Steven by the arm and yanked him out of the chair. More muffled shots rang out. They moved quickly from the living room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen.

Kennedy was at the kitchen sink, Tommy at her side. She had a dish-towel in her hand and a confused look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Gunfire outside!”

“I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Trust me. Where are your bodyguards?”

“They’re outside.”

“Shit!”

Mitch grabbed mother and son by the arms and moved them quickly across the kitchen. Kennedy had the presence of mind to grab her purse from the counter.

“Get to the tunnel and head over to the interrogation facility.” Rapp opened the door to the basement and started moving the Kennedys and his brother down the stairs. “When you get over there lock yourselves in one of the cells. Go!” Mitch yelled.

“But what are you—” Kennedy started to ask.

There was an explosion outside that shook the house. “Go, dammit!” Rapp screamed. He slammed the door shut and raced across the kitchen for the back stairs. He bounded up the first two steps, ignored the instant pain from his thigh injury, and continued up the steps two at a time, grabbing the handrail as he went. At the small landing there was another explosion. As Rapp reached the second floor he heard machine-gun fire from the rear of the house and wondered if he’d made the wrong decision to stay behind.