The Last Man (26 page)

They found Rapp sitting up in his bed with a tray of food in front of him, watching an episode of Justified. After some brief pleasantries the doctor looked his chart and asked, “How do you feel this morning, Mr. Cox?”

“Better,” Rapp said, moving his head around. “No headache, and I’ve got my appetite back.”

The doctor scribbled a few notes on the chart. “That’s good. How’s your memory?”

“Pretty good.” Rapp pointed at the TV. “I know that I’ve seen this episode before and I remember most of the characters . . . Dewey Crowe, Boyd Crowder, Raylan Givens, Art Mullen and Dickie Bennett.”

“Good show?” Nathan asked, without looking up.

“I think I’m the wrong guy to ask, Doc. I really don’t have much to compare it to.”

Nathan laughed. “And your recall in general?”

“Seems like it’s getting a lot better.”

“All right, where’d you go to college?”

“Syracuse.”

Nathan rattled off the same questions he’d given Rapp late yesterday. Mother’s maiden name, grade school, high school, childhood best friend, and on and on. Unlike yesterday, he got them all correct today. Nathan decided to expand the list. “First job out of college?”

Rapp gave Kennedy a strange look and then told Nathan he didn’t know.

“Current job?”

“I think I’m an assassin.” Rapp watched his doctor look up with wide eyes. “I’m just kidding, Doc. I work for the CIA and if I tell you any more than that, I’ll have to . . .”

“Kill me,” Nathan finished the sentence for him.

“Exactly.”

Nathan glanced sideways at Kennedy. “Is he always this funny?”

Kennedy was relieved that he was coming back. She smiled and shook her head. “He’s never had much of a sense of humor.”

Before Rapp could comment, Nathan asked, “Favorite color?”

“Blue . . . I think.”

“Wife . . . kids?”

The smile fell from Rapp’s face and his entire bearing changed. He didn’t answer for a long time and then he looked at Kennedy for help.

Kennedy had been dreading this. It was hard enough to live through it once. It couldn’t be easy learning it for a second time. It was obvious from the pained expression on his face that he remembered something about the tragedy. “Your wife,” Kennedy started and then stopped.

Nathan picked up on the mood and nodded for Kennedy to continue. “All memories are important . . . the good ones and the bad ones.”

“I remember,” Rapp said, his voice almost disembodied. “Her name was Anna and she was pregnant.”

Kennedy nodded slowly.

Caught up in the story, Nathan asked, “How did she die?”

“I don’t think we want to talk about this right now.”

Rapp looked up and said, “She was murdered.”

“I’m sorry,” Nathan answered softly.

There was a long silence and then Rapp began to frown as if something was occurring to him for the first time.

“What is it?” Nathan asked.

Kennedy thought she knew what it was and she stepped forward. “I think this is enough for now.”

Rapp shook his head as if trying to free a jumbled thought. “There’s a face. A man I know, but I can’t remember his name. He has something to do with my wife, but I can’t make it connect.”

Kennedy chastised herself for not consulting with Dr. Lewis. Thomas Lewis was their in-house psychologist. He had worked very closely with Rapp over the years, and it was likely that he could offer insight about how they should handle this unique situation. Between Rickman, Hubbard and Wilson showing up, she’d simply forgot to call Lewis. Her fear that Rapp would kill Gould was not unfounded, and she wasn’t even sure she would object to it, but Major Nathan had warned them that Rapp didn’t need any undue stress until he his condition was stabilized.

There was a knock on the doorframe and she turned to see Coleman with a welcome expression. The retired SEAL had blond hair, blue eyes, and dimples, which gave him a boyish look at times. This morning, however, his sharp jaw was set in a way that she had seen many times before. He had news that she was waiting for.

“Please excuse me for a second.” Kennedy left the room and stepped into the hallway with Coleman. “Wilson?”

“Yep. We had both his phones dialed in but he wasn’t using them. We found out which trailer he was staying in and bugged it while he was at dinner last night. I’m still trying to get my hands on his laptop, but no luck so far. About thirty minutes ago one of his agents wakes him up and hands him a phone. It was Hargrave on the line and although it’s a one-sided conversation, it’s pretty obvious Wilson is getting his ass handed to him.” Coleman held up his iPhone. “I’ve got it all right here for you. Would you like the highlights first?”

“Please.”

“Wilson claims to have received an anonymous package at work that contained evidence that Rick and Mitch were siphoning off cash and putting it into personal accounts in Zurich.”

Kennedy frowned. With Rickman it was a possibility, but not Mitch. No way. The man had his own money. He didn’t need to steal cash from Langley.

“It sounded like Hargrave pressed Wilson pretty hard. Wilson claims to have account numbers, dates of transfers and a sworn affidavit from the banker who says Mitch came into his bank and set up the account.”

“Do we know who this banker is?”

“Not yet, but we’ll keep digging. There’s one more thing. Wilson’s been recalled, and he didn’t take it well. He told Hargrave that everyone knows he’s too close to you and when he’s done proving that Rick and Mitch were stealing funds, he’s going to make sure Hargrave goes down.”

Kennedy was thinking about Hargrave. Sam was a good man. Trying to manage an ego like Wilson was going to drive him to an early grave. “When is he leaving?”

“About two hours, from the way they’re talking. He’s really throwing Hargrave under the bus to his people. I mean the type of shit that could land his ass in some serious hot water.”

“Maybe we’ll send an anonymous package of our own.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Any chance you can get your hands on his computer before he leaves?”

Coleman thought about it for a second. “I’ll try, but it’s unlikely. I’m not worried, though. Marcus can do this shit in his sleep.”

Kennedy nodded. “Have Marcus start poking around their data base. See what he can find out.”

“Will do.”

Both Kennedy and Coleman looked up to see Hayek coming down the hall. She was moving at a good clip, and as she drew to within a few steps she shook her head and said, “I screwed up.”

Chapter 36

Operating in the field always presented a unique set of problems, but a good number of them were predictable. There was a mark that they were all aware of, or at least were supposed to be aware of it—seventy-two hours into any crisis, the effectiveness of the team dropped off considerably. The Agency wasn’t the only group that had studied the issue. Every branch of the military looked into the issue with a need to understand combat effectiveness. Battlefield commanders needed to know how long they could keep a unit in the fight without sleep, with food and water and without food and water. The FBI, CIA, and any other federal agencies that dealt with crisis or catastrophe all conducted their own studies and they all pretty much found the same thing—seventy-two hours was the limit. After that, your people became almost worthless. Cognitive skills were drastically reduced, hallucination set in, and the body began to shut down. As with everything, of course, there were a few exceptions.

Elite warriors, like the ones produced by Delta Force and the SEAL teams, could push beyond the seventy-two-hour mark in extreme circumstances, but not much further. They taught their men to grab an hour or two of sleep whenever they could—even during a prolonged firefight. If the manpower was available, it was crucial to rotate teams. Three teams were ideal, each one working an eight-hour shift, but Kennedy didn’t have that luxury. As it was, the Go Team that had been assembled was barely sufficient to operate in two twelve-hour shifts, and that was to handle the Rickman crisis. That team was weakened when she pulled people off it to start looking for Hubbard. Then she had to deal with the aftermath of the police shooting and now with the release of Rickman’s interrogation, more of her attention was put into damage control. It was no longer just about Joe Rickman.

Even though it felt like it, Kennedy knew from the start that it had always been about more than just Rickman. Rickman’s brain possessed hundreds of names and those names represented real people who were assets of the CIA. Some of them were Americans, deep cover operatives who were operating in foreign countries without the aid of diplomatic cover. If these people were exposed, the likelihood was that they’d be killed. And then there were the agents—the men and women who worked for foreign governments. They came in every stripe from politicians, to bureaucrats, to scientists, to financiers, to military personnel, to intelligence operatives and janitors and secretaries.

More than any satellite or listening device, these men and women were the eyes and ears of the CIA. They offered snippets of information that when pieced together aided Kennedy and her people in understanding the intent of their foes and sometimes, when needed, the ability to predict their next move. These assets were the lifeblood of the CIA. Without them, the Agency would cease to become an effective intelligence agency. If Rickman continued to crack, Kennedy would have no choice but to begin pulling out her network of spies. It would take at least a decade to rebuild the network, possibly longer.

Despite the urgency Kennedy knew what had to be done. Hayek looked tired. They all looked tired. They understood what was at stake, so they were all eager to prove the doctors wrong and push past the seventy-two-hour mark. Kennedy held up her palm and stopped Hayek’s rambling apology. “When was the last time you slept?”

The question caught her off guard and she took an unfocused look at nothing and tried to recall the last time she’d closed her eyes for more than a few seconds. “I think I got an hour or two last night.”

Kennedy looked at Coleman and asked the same question. “As much as possible, I’ve stuck to a schedule. Ten on and two off.” Kennedy thought of Coleman’s six-man team.

“Starting when?”

“From the very beginning. I made sure everyone grabbed at least four hours on the flight over.” He shrugged. “There wasn’t much for us to do until we landed.”

Leave it up to the retired SEAL to maintain discipline in the midst of chaos. He’d done this countless times. Kennedy was embarrassed that she hadn’t maintained better discipline over the schedules.

“I’ll be honest,” Coleman said, “I could use some sleep. I’ve been up for thirty-plus hours straight. With everything that went down two days ago and losing Reavers, that put me down one man and I didn’t bother to reshuffle the schedule.”

Kennedy placed a hand on his arm but looked at Hayek. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We were understaffed to start with and then the shootout with the police threw us all for a loop. We have another twenty-six people due to land in about three hours. Once they’re in position, I don’t want anyone working more than a sixteen-hour shift. Scott, keep an eye on Wilson until he’s in the air and then stand down your whole team. Don’t set any alarms, just sleep. We’re going to need you at some point and you guys need to be fresh.”

Kennedy considered her own schedule for a second. She’d been able to grab four hours of sleep overnight and all things considered, felt pretty good. She had a staff meeting in fifteen minutes and then after that, the working group back at Langley was to give her a full report on the potential extent of the damage that could be caused by the Rickman affair. Then she had a meeting with Nadeem Ashan from the Pakistani Intelligence Service. She liked Ashan and hoped that he was here to offer some information and assistance, but knowing the ISI, his motives lay more in self-preservation.

“This police officer,” Kennedy said to Hayek, “I’m not sure I understand his relevance.”

Coleman answered for Hayek. “We ran into him at the safe house. He’s one of Darren’s reintegration projects. Abdul Siraj Zahir . . . a real piece of shit. Long story short, he barges into the safe house and starts making threats, Mitch pulls on him.” Coleman looked quickly over both shoulders to make sure no one else could hear him and then added, “Mitch tells the guy he’s going to blow his head off. ”

Kennedy shook her head ever so slightly and frowned.

“I know it doesn’t sound good but when it happened it didn’t seem so bad. At any rate there’s some back and forth and then Mitch decides he’ll let this guy live if he works for us and finds out what happened to Rick.” Despite not wanting to, Coleman decided he needed to give her the full context. “Mitch gave the guy forty-eight hours to come through with some information or he was going to put a five hundred thousand dollar bounty on the guy’s head.”

“And Mitch asked me to put a trace on his phone,” Hayek quickly added. “Langley has been recording his calls and following his moves for the past two days. Only, I forgot about it until about fifteen minutes ago.”

“And?” Kennedy asked.

“He’s been trying to get hold of Mitch. He’s left him five messages since last night.”

“Saying?”

“Basically, ‘Don’t kill me. I have some information for you.’ The guy sounds scared.”

“Well, if the guy has information, call him.”

Hayek shook her head. “I think Mitch needs to make the call. If I or anyone else calls, he’s going to want to renegotiate.”

“I agree.”

“Does Mitch even remember the guy?”

“I don’t know,” Coleman said, “but I could probably talk him through it.”

Kennedy thought about her other problems. “And Wilson?”

“I have two people on him.”

“All right. Brief Mitch and make the call. If anything important comes out of it, call me.”

Rapp didn’t remember Zahir at first. But after Coleman described the man’s shoe-polish-black beard and his snug gray-blue police uniform, he got the visual. The context of their meeting was a little more complicated. The previous night Coleman had explained to Rapp why they were in Afghanistan. Rapp had only a vague recollection of Rickman. When Coleman explained to Rapp how he had threatened the local police commander, Rapp’s eyes got big. “I said that?”