Consent to Kill (52 page)

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K
ennedy’s armor-plated sedan pulled up to the Southwest Gate. The Secret Service officers were accustomed to her coming and going, but checked the undercarriage and trunk nonetheless. Kennedy had been to the White House so many times she’d stopped counting years ago. There were still moments, though, like now, when she could feel her pulse quicken and her stomach tighten. Most of these visits were simple, standard intelligence briefings. Occasionally there was a crisis to handle, but more often than not her duty was to inform and advise the president and the rest of the national security team as was needed.

This afternoon was going to be different, though. Nothing boring, benign or otherwise. It was going to be a high stakes game, and the players were some of Washington’s most powerful. Three people in particular wanted her head on a platter—the director of National Intelligence, her supposed boss; the secretary of state; and the attorney general. On top of it all, her recent travels had tired Kennedy out. DC to Zurich and back in less than sixteen hours. Add to that the murder of Anna Rielly, the attack on the safe house, and a boss who had no idea what he was doing and you ended up with a frayed and worn-out director of the CIA. Kennedy would have preferred to go straight home to see Tommy and then go to bed early, but there was no postponing this meeting. They were too upset, and to be completely honest, there was a devious side to her that was looking forward to it. She’d learned from Rapp. Sometimes it’s best to let it fly. Especially when the deck is stacked in your favor.

Kennedy checked her watch. It was 5:18 on Monday. Fortunately, she’d managed to get a few hours’ sleep on both the flight over and the flight back. When she’d decided to follow the lead to Zurich, she did so with the comforting knowledge that the president would at least privately support her. She was always prepared to play the game and kiss the ring fingers and curtsy, in order to keep the Cabinet members and other important types happy. She herself, after all, was one of the important people, but that wasn’t going to help her out on this one. These people were above her and she had committed the ultimate insider’s sin. She had kept them out of the loop and she had stepped all over their toes. In the end, at least in their eyes, she had made them look bad. That was the problem. This group didn’t like being made to look bad.

Kennedy left her large briefcase in the backseat and grabbed a brown leather folder. She stepped from the car and stood on the curb for a second. Her shoulder length brown hair was pulled back in a simple black clip that matched her black pantsuit and black shoes. Kennedy slid a hand between her blue blouse and her pants waist to make sure the shirt was tucked in. She adjusted her glasses and then set off through the door and into the West Wing where she was stopped by another Secret Service officer. Kennedy flashed her badge and signed her name in the logbook. From there she went upstairs and straight to the president’s gatekeeper, Betty Rodgers, a DC native and extremely competent assistant.

Betty’s office was small, like most of the rooms in the West Wing with the exception of the Oval Office and Cabinet Room. Betty looked up at Kennedy over the top of her reading spectacles. She was in her early fifties, but she already had that grandmotherly look. She pursed her lips as if she had something to say and then stopped.

Kennedy liked Betty, which was important. As the president’s top assistant she got to see some of the country’s most treasured secrets. She was someone who needed to be tough and discreet. She was both.

“Good evening, Betty.”

“Irene, what have you been up to?” Betty asked in a friendly but accusatory tone.

“Very little.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard, honey. You’ve got some very angry people in there. They’ve been burning up the phones all day.”

Kennedy cared about their reaction, but she was most interested in getting a read on the top boss. “How is the president?”

“Different.”

“How do you mean, different?”

“I don’t know … he just hasn’t been himself lately. It has nothing to do with your little trip to Switzerland. He’s actually been pretty calm about that. It’s the other ones who’ve been raising a stink. They all called individually to complain and then they came over here together at lunch to do it all over again.” Betty took her glasses off and let them hang from the chain around her neck. In a hushed voice she asked, “I hope you got what you were looking for, because they want to burn you at the stake.”

Kennedy smiled and patted her brown leather folder.

“Good.” Betty looked at her watch. “Get in there and give them hell. And be quick about it. I have dinner plans.”

Kennedy thanked her and entered the Oval Office. They were all waiting for her. The president, Ross, Secretary of State Berg, Attorney General Stokes, and even Vice President Baxter. Baxter and the president were sitting in the two chairs directly in front of the fireplace. The power chairs. Ross, Berg, and Stokes were lined up on one couch like a firing squad. The identical couch opposite was empty. That was where they wanted her to sit. Isolated, like some child being called to the principal’s office. Kennedy gladly accepted her seat of solitude. She set her leather folder on the glass coffee table and leaned back, confident that their argument would be emotional whereas she had some pretty damning evidence on her side.

Ross was the first to speak. He was wearing another one of his perfectly tailored Brooks Brothers suits. It was dark blue, almost black, and made out of a light wool. He had on a white shirt with some type of special weave, the kind that costs more than some people’s monthly rent. His silver tie complemented his silver and black hair. Just two weeks ago Kennedy remembered thinking the man was handsome. Now all she saw was a man obsessed with his own vanity.

Ross shifted his position on the couch and straightened up a bit. He looked at Kennedy with a no-nonsense glare and asked, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Kennedy shook her head. She wanted to draw them out.

“Well, let me tell you how my day went,” Ross said in an irritated tone. “Shortly before lunch I got a call from Secretary of State Berg. She wanted to know if I knew you were in Switzerland.” Ross glanced at the president and then back at Kennedy. “Do you think it’s acceptable to leave the country and not inform me?”

“You’re a busy man, Mark. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Not a good move.”

Kennedy shrugged.

Ross was visibly irritated by her casual attitude. “Do you have any idea the problems you’ve caused today? The Swiss foreign minister called Beatrice this morning,” Ross pointed to the Secretary of State, “and raised holy hell over your unannounced visit.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to know what in the hell you were doing in his country meeting privately with five of his top bankers.”

Attorney General Stokes leaned forward. “I have a major case pending in front of the Swiss courts right now. We have been working on it for years. So help me God, if you’ve screwed it up, you and I are going to have some big problems.”

Stokes was clearly upset. Kennedy figured he and Ross had been feeding off of each other’s anger. They were the two career politicians, and next to the vice president the two men who would more than likely run for president at some point. Kennedy found it interesting that Secretary of State Berg was sitting out the first round.

“Do you know what happened in Riyadh today?” Ross asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you know anything about it?”

“That’s a pretty open-ended question.”

“Do you know who was responsible?”

“Maybe.”

“Would you care to share?”

“No.”

“Dammit, Irene,” Ross snapped, “do you think this is some game?” Ross flipped open a folder he had on the coffee table. There was a black and white, eight-by-ten surveillance photo inside. “This was sent to me by Prince Muhammad.”

Ross spun the photo around so Kennedy could see it. There was a man dressed in traditional Saudi garb walking down a street. Someone had drawn a red circle around him. His arm was extended and he was flipping the surveillance camera the bird. The photo was pretty grainy. Kennedy studied it. He was about the right size, but other than that it was impossible to tell who it was.

“Any idea who that is?”

Kennedy shook her head.

Ross angrily tossed another photo her way. This one showed two men about to embrace. “The man on the left is Waheed Ahmed Abdullah. I assume you know who he is, at least?”

Kennedy nodded.

“Why did we tell the Saudi government that he was dead six months ago?”

“Is this the same Waheed Ahmed Abdullah who was a top lieutenant for al-Qaeda?” Kennedy’s tone was one of false confusion. “The same Waheed Ahmed Abdullah that helped finance and plan a terrorist attack earlier this year? An attack that involved smuggling two nuclear weapons into this country?” She studied the photo. “The same Waheed Ahmed Abdullah who wanted to vaporize Washington, DC, and New York City?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“And you didn’t answer mine. Have you read the file on Waheed?”

“I don’t need to. I want to know why we’re lying to one of our staunchest allies.”

“If you think Saudi Arabia is one of our staunchest allies, I humbly suggest that you offer your resignation to the president immediately.”

Ross’s face flushed with anger. “And I suggest you watch your step, Dr. Kennedy. You are on very thin ice.” Ross glanced at the president once again, as if to say, I told you so. He looked back at Kennedy and asked, “Where is Mitch Rapp?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” barked Ross as he stabbed his finger at the first surveillance photo. “That’s him right there. What did we tell you? There was a right way to handle this and a wrong way. Having a vigilante on the loose setting off bombs in Saudi Arabia is most definitely the wrong way.”

Kennedy grabbed the third and last surveillance photo. She held it up for Ross and the others. “Who is this man right here? The one Waheed is about to hug?”

“That is Saeed Ahmed Abdullah,” Ross answered angrily. “Waheed’s father and one of Prince Muhammad bin Rashid’s closest friends.”

“Really,” Kennedy said with feigned surprise. Ross had just put his nuts on the chopping block. She opened her own folder and displayed a series of financial transactions. “Is this the same Saeed Ahmed Abdullah who earlier this month paid a former East German Stasi officer twenty million dollars to have Mitch Rapp killed?” Kennedy let the multiple sheets spill forth onto the coffee table. “I’m pretty sure we’re talking about the same guy.”

Ross, Berg, and Stokes all leaned forward to take a page.

Kennedy looked to the president. “The bankers were actually quite cooperative. Several of them told me in the future they would prefer to handle things this way rather than waging these public battles in the courts.” Kennedy turned to Attorney General Stokes. “Battles that take a lot of time, resources, and money. By the time we get the information we’re after, the money has all been moved and the information is so old it is all but useless.”

Stokes was about to offer a lame protest, but Kennedy cut him off. “The information I was given today is generating other results. My cyber people have begun looking into other Swiss accounts used by Saeed Ahmed Abdullah. In just eight hours’ time we have identified over one hundred million dollars that he has given to al-Qaeda and other terrorist accounts in the past year alone.”

“One hundred million dollars,” was all Attorney General Stokes could think to say.

“Beatrice,” Kennedy said to Secretary of State Berg, “the next time you talk to the Swiss foreign minister tell him that I will pass on his complaint to Mitch Rapp. Tell him that Mitch would be more than happy to fly to Bern and sit down with any Swiss official and listen to them explain why they feel it is so important to protect the confidentiality of terrorists like Waheed and his father.”

“And, Mark,” Kennedy said to Ross, “when you had breakfast with Prince Muhammad bin Rashid the other day, did you happen to mention that Mitch Rapp was still alive?”

Ross started shaking his head before he had time to think about the question.

“You didn’t say anything about him convalescing at a CIA safe house?” Kennedy acted like she had some proof, but in truth she was operating off of a hunch.

“I didn’t talk to him about anything like that.”

“Well, when you speak with him again, ask him if he knew his closest friend took out a twenty-million-dollar bounty on my top counterterrorism official. And while you’re at it, ask him how he feels about Saeed Ahmed Abdullah giving over a hundred million dollars to terrorist organizations in the last year.”

“Are you trying to say he’s involved in this?”

Kennedy shook her head and stood. “Not yet, but trust me, the man is rotten. He is no ally of ours.” Kennedy picked up her folder. “The next time you talk to him, tell him that I have a feeling he had a hand in this somehow, and that if I can prove it, he can expect a visit from Mitch Rapp.” Kennedy started for the door.

“Wait a second.” Ross shot up out of his chair. “We’re not finished here.”