Fear suddenly gripped Rapp. It was not a fear of the man but fear of something that he may have done. He looked at his watch. It was almost seven-thirty. Before he went forward with his plan, he needed to make a call. All of his discipline told him he shouldn't do it, but he had to. He had to know. Rapp retreated into the woods with Shirley and turned on his digital phone.
Just outside the main entrance to the West Wing, an almost nightly occurrence was taking place. Reporters from all the major networks and cable news stations were positioned in front of their cameras, loaded up with makeup and hair spray. They were waiting to tell the people in the mountains and on the West Coast what they had already said to the people in the eastern and central time zones an hour earlier. Anna Rielly was in her usual spot or, as her smart-ass cameraman Pete liked to remind her, «NBC's spot.» Pete kept things interesting; he was a little immature, but in a good way. Rarely serious, Pete loved to give people a hard time. Normally, Rielly was more than willing to play along, but today she hadn't been. The last several nights of sleep hadn't gone so well. She was worried sick about Mitch. He wasn't okay, she was convinced of that. If he were okay, he'd pick up the phone and call her. She had spent every spare minute of the day looking at the newswire, paying particular attention to the Middle East. That was where Mitch was trained to operate. Since the Israeli prime minister was in town for meetings with President Hayes, she had a tailor-made excuse for her interest in the region.
During lunch she broke down, and she'd been cursing herself ever since. She couldn't believe she had cried in front of two other reporters and a producer from CBS. Over a mediocre Caesar salad, Pete started razzing her about Mitch. He began with his usual, «Where's Don Juan? I haven't seen him in a while.» This led to more questions by the others, which gave Pete more material and an audience to entertain. Rielly tried to smile and roll with the punches, but it proved too difficult. The vision of Mitch lying dead in some faraway city was too much, and the tears came. They were there before she knew it. Embarrassed, she got up and abruptly left the restaurant. Pete showed up a short while later in Rielly's closet-sized office in the basement of the West Wing and apologized. Rielly tried her best to act as if it was no big deal, but it didn't work. Pete could see something serious was bothering her, but after already stepping all over it, he dared not delve into the matter.
Pete's camera was set up on a tripod, and he was standing behind it with his hands in his pockets. Underneath his headset was an Atlanta Braves baseball hat. Pete was chewing gum and in general looked very bored. He was still uncomfortable over having made Rielly cry at lunch. The control room in New York called out the time to Brokaw's intro, and Pete held up his left hand with two fingers extended. «Two minutes to Marble Mouth.»
Rielly smiled under the bright lights and nodded. She took this as a good sign. «Marble Mouth» was Pete's nickname for the network's top anchor. Rielly knew Pete felt bad and was about to tell him once again not to worry about it when she felt her cell phone vibrate. She checked the caller ID, but the number came up as unavailable. Her thumb sat poised over the talk button. Normally, this close to the broadcast she'd let it roll into her voice mail, but she decided to answer it with the hope that it was her significant other.
She pressed the button and held the phone to her ear. «Anna Rielly here.»
Rapp's heart melted at the sound of her voice. «Honey, it's me. Are you all right?»
Rielly was speechless for a second, and then she managed to say, «Mitchell.»
«Honey, it's me, but I can't talk long. Are you okay?»
Rielly turned her back to the camera. «No, I'm not okay. I've been worried sick for the last four days.»
«I'm sorry about that, but it couldn't be helped. You're fine, though… right? I mean, other than being worried.»
«I think I'm the one who should be concerned about you.»
«I'm fine.» Rapp sounded rushed.» Are you staying with our friends?»
«Yes. Where are you?»
«I can't answer that. Have you noticed anyone following you?»
«No. When can I see you?»
«I'm not sure. Maybe a few days, maybe a week.»
Rielly didn't like his answer. «Mitchell, I don't care what kind of errands you're running for you know who, I want you home immediately.»
«I can't. Not for a few days.»
«You said you were going to quit, and right now seems like a very good time to me.»
«I am going to quit, but I have to tie up a few loose ends first.»
«Mitch, honey, please. I can't take this anymore. Just please come home.»
«Honey, I'm safe… I'm here in town, and when I finish what I'm doing, I'm going to quit and we are going to spend the rest of our lives together. But you have to trust me on this. I have to take care of a few things before I can do that.» Rapp paused. «I love you, Anna. Will you please just trust me?»
«Yes, but…»
Rapp cut her off, «No buts, honey. You have to believe me.»
All right, but please be careful and hurry up.»
«I will, but I have one more question for you. Has our mend talked to Scott C., or have you seen him?»
Anna had to think for a moment. «I don't think he's talked to Scott, and no, I haven't seen him. What is his involvement in all of this?»
«Nothing. I have to go now. Keep staying where you have been until I tell you different, okay?»
Rielly hesitated briefly. «All right.»
«I love you, Anna.»
«I love you, too.» Rielly listened for a second, and then the line went dead.
RAPP TURNED OFF his phone, relieved that Anna w safe. Now it was time to get some answers. With Shirley in tow, he headed back to the small shed. Rapp had to do some guessing. He knew that Stansfield liked to keep a low profile. Hence no fence or gated driveway. No guards patrolling the grounds with dogs to provide good perimeter deterrence and early detection. Rapp could recite a long list of Stansfield's counterparts in Europe and the Middle East, intelligence chiefs from state-run and terrorist groups, who had five times the protection Stansfield did. In America it was a different story.
The director's only security would be his house itself. At first glance, it looked like any other dwelling on the quiet street, but Rapp suspected it was anything but. Just kicking the door in wasn't going to work. He would have to get them to open the door, and that was where Shirley would come in. Somewhere inside the house was a man from the Agency's Office of Security. The man was bored stiff, probably reading a novel, or, if Stansfield allowed it, he might even be watching TV. He was at, or near, a console that monitored the home's security through a web of cameras, laser tripwires, and probably a few more high-tech gadgets.
Rapp had an idea that might work. If it didn't, he was reasonably confident that he could abort without Stansfield or Kennedy ever knowing that he had been there. He checked the windows again and tried to get a feel for how many individuals might be in the house and where. There were at least five: Stansfield, Kennedy, Coleman, the housekeeper, and one bodyguard. There was a chance there might be two bodyguards, but Rapp doubted it. Congress liked to count every penny in the CIA's budget. They would pay close attention to how much money the director was spending for his own protection.
Rapp grabbed the bag of dog treats from his pocket and held it in front of Shirley, who got excited at the sight and smell of the large rolled-up tubes of faux bacon. Still holding on to her leash, Rapp took out one of the pieces, made that Shirley saw it, and then tossed it into Stansfield's backyard. The piece landed midway between where they were hiding and the door by the kitchen. Shirley tried to go after it, but Rapp held on to the leash. She whimpered a little bit until Rapp pulled out another piece. He tossed this one a little farther, and again Shirley tried to bolt. Rapp continued Until he had launched five of the treats onto the property, the last one coming to rest a few feet from the back door. The dog kept looking toward the treats and then back at Rapp. Each time, she would strain a little harder on the leash. Rapp grabbed her collar and took off the leash.
Releasing her, he stepped back and watched her fly across the yard. As expected, she skidded to a stop at the first treat and snapped it up in her mouth. At the same time, several powerful floodlights came on and lit up the backyard. Rapp retrieved his Beretta from his shoulder holster and screwed a silencer onto the end. He didn't bother to check if there was a round in the chamber. He knew there was, and there were fifteen more in the magazine. With the silencer, the gun was too long to put back in the holster, so he shoved it into the back of his pants and let his jacket fall down over it.
Shirley moved from one treat to the next, working her way closer and closer to the door. Rapp patiently waited behind the shed for his opportunity. A moment later, he saw a man appear at the back door. He looked out the door at Shirley. Rapp prepared to move. If the man was smart, if he was really good, he'd stay behind the locked door. Rapp was banking on the fact that, like bodyguards all over the world, the man would be bored and let his guard down. A dulling of one's senses and enthusiasm was inevitable in the job. That was why organizations like the Secret Service hammered procedure into their agents, but it didn't always work.
When the door started to open, Rapp forced himself to wait for another second. He watched the man poke his head outside and look around the backyard. It appeared he was less concerned with Shirley than with who her owner might be. Rapp was tempted to move but told himself to wait just a second longer. Finally, when the man stepped onto the patio, Rapp moved casually from behind the shed. He didn't walk directly at the house. He walked parallel to it and yelled, «Here, Nimitz! Here, Nimitz!» Rapp intentionally used the name of the dog he'd had as a boy, hoping that Shirley would stay where she was. He continued walking casually along the back edge of Stansfield's yard with Shirley's leash in his right hand.
«Is this your dog, Mister?»
Rapp stopped and turned toward the house. «Oh, I'm sorry. Is that you up there, Nimitz?» He started walking toward the house. «Leave that man alone, and get over here,» he added in a lighthearted voice. «I'm sorry about this. She's usually pretty good.» He continued to close in on the man, hoping that Shirley would stay right where she was. The dog finally looked up, and the bodyguard appeared as if he was about to retreat, so Rapp blurted out, «Hi, my name is Dave. My wife and I just moved in over on Linganore Court.» Smiling, he stuck out his hand and said, «She must have smelled food. I apologize.» The bodyguard was standing with his right side turned away from Rapp, and his hand was hanging loosely at his side instead of up at his hip where it should be. Hell, Rapp thought to himself, he shouldn't be out here. The guy looked very young. Rapp guessed he was still in his twenties.
Then the guard actually extended his hand. «Hi, I'm Trevor.»
Rapp smiled and took it, thinking to himself, You stupid son of a bitch. «Nice to meet you.» Rapp pumped the bodyguard's hand and pointed to Shirley with his free hand. As soon as Trevor looked at the dog, Rapp unleashed a vicious left hook that caught the bodyguard square on the jaw. The man's knees crumpled, and he began to sink. Rapp caught him before he could hit the ground and carried him straight back into the house, where he deposited him on the floor of the mud room. Moving quickly, he closed the door, leaving Shirley outside, and pulled out a pair of plastic flex cuffs. He bound the man's wrists behind his back and checked his body for any backup weapons. There were none. Rapp took the man's gun from his holster and stuck it in his coat pocket, just as he began to show signs of corning to. Rapp quickly undid the bodyguard's pants and started to stand him up. The dress slacks fell to Trevor's knees. With his Beretta drawn, Rapp grabbed the bodyguard by the hair and began pushing him down the hall toward Stansfield's study.
Rapp's right hand had a firm grip of the hair on the back of the bodyguard's head, and his silenced pistol was pressed into the center of his back. The man shuffled as Rapp pushed him forward, his pants now down around his knees. They were at the study door in seconds. Rapp didn't know if it was locked, so he knocked just in case and heard Stansfield say «Enter» a moment later. He kept the gun pressed against the bodyguard's back and let go of his hair. Reaching around his prisoner, Rapp turned the knob and thrust the door open. Taking half a step back, he placed his boot on the man's butt and pushed. The man tumbled into the room, falling to the floor with his pants around his ankles.
Rapp followed right behind him, searching for Coleman with his gun leveled. Stansfield and Kennedy weren't a threat. He found Coleman sitting on the couch next to Kennedy. Rapp shut the door with his free hand. Coleman started to move, but Rapp was quicker. He fired one shot as he crossed the room. Coleman stopped, frozen in complete shock, his eyes fixed on the bullet hole in the cushion of the couch he was sitting on.
In a flat voice, Rapp said, «The next one goes in your knee cap. Sit on your hands, Scott, and don't move.»
Coleman looked back down at the bullet hole. It was less than two inches from his groin. As calmly as possible, he slid his hands under his butt and nodded to Rapp, letting him know that he had the upper hand.
Riellys spirits were soaring. Just hearing Mitch's voice, knowing that he was alive, seemed to make all of the pain and worry vanish. He would be safe now that he was back in America. And she didn't doubt for a second that this would be it. Mitch wanted to put it all behind him every bit as much as she did. She still wished she could see him, but when she stepped back and really looked at it, she could understand what must be happening. He was probably going through some type of a post-mission briefing. She was, after all, a reporter, and she doubted that Mitch's handlers at Langley looked very favorably on their relationship.
Rielly was covering the tripod and some other equipment with a tarp while Pete, squatting on one knee, packed up the camera. Looking up, he said, «What's got you in such a good mood all of a sudden?»
Rielly smiled. «I got some good news before we went on the air.»
«You didn't act like it when you were on the phone. You seemed pretty upset.»
«I was kind of caught off-guard.»
«Was it Mitch?»
«Yes.»
«So everything is okay between you two?»
Rielly hesitated. «Things were never bad between us. We just had a little problem over the weekend.»
«Great,» replied Pete with sarcasm. «You guys had a little problem, I make a little comment at lunch, and then you make me feel bad about myself for the rest of the day.»
Rielly smiled. «I'm sorry, Pete, it was just bad timing. I was a little sensitive today.»
«That's fine,» he continued in his sarcastic tone. «I'm a big target. I can take it. Whatever you need to do to make yourself feel better… go right ahead.»
Rielly laughed. «I see the little baby has his sense of humor back.» She punched him in the arm. «You are so full of it.»
Pete stood up with a weepy expression on his face. «You know, I have feelings, too.»
«Yeah, I know you do, big shooter. I'll make it up to you and buy you a beer.»
«Really?» The pained look vanished.
«Yeah, but not tonight, maybe tomorrow;» Rielly wanted to get home and give Liz the update.
«If you really cared, you'd take me out right now; I'm feeling very vulnerable tonight.»
Rielly just shook her head. «Oh, please. I'll see you tomorrow;» She turned and walked away toward the northwest gate. On her way, she called Liz. After four rings, her friend answered.
«Liz, I'm leaving work. I'm going to grab a cab.»
«No you're not! Michael's right here. I'm kicking him out the door as we speak. He'll be there in five minutes.»
«No. I'm fine. Don't worry, I can catch a cab.»
«Anna, don't argue with me. Michael is on his way.»
«Liz, everything is fine. I talked to Mitch. I'll tell you about it when I get there.» Her friend tried to protest again, but Rielly cut her off. «Don't bother sending Michael. I'll be there in less than ten minutes.»
Rielly hung up the phone without giving Liz a chance to argue further. She passed through the gate, waving good night to the uniformed Secret Service officers behind the bulletproof windows. Walking west down Pennsylvania, she lifted her face to the sky and grinned with relief. The night's fall air felt crisp and clean. One block over, in front of the Renwick Gallery on the comer of 17th, she caught a cab and told the driver the address in Georgetown. The cab pulled out into traffic, and Rielly sank down in the back seat. Her energy was gone-her mind was set on a big glass of merlot and a good night's sleep.
A DARK BLUE Crown Victoria was parked on 17th Street facing south. It had U.S. government plates and two antennas affixed to the back window. Dave Polk sat behind the wheel and watched the cab pull away with his surveillance target in the back seat. Polk started the car and pulled out into traffic. In the trunk of the car was a suitcase. It looked ordinary, but inside was a sophisticated piece of equipment designed to intercept analog and digital phone calls. It was made in Taiwan and was most effective at picking up analog calls, but if the user were in possession of the specific digital number they were monitoring, it was no problem. Two cables ran out the back of the suitcase. One was attached to the antenna on the back window, and the oilier one was strung under the back seat, under the carpeting, and came up between the front seats. It was attached to a small earpiece that Polk was wearing.
He had been on post since three P.M. Most of his shift had been uneventful, with the exception of the last fifteen minutes. This was the first day they'd had her under surveillance. Polk hadn't been told why, and he didn't ask. He was a good soldier that way. He followed orders. That didn't mean he was a robot, though. He kept up on current events, and he had a healthy libido. The two together made it impossible for Anna Rielly to stay off his radar screen. She was the hottest reporter in Washington, and she'd been involved in the hostage standoff at the White House the year before. Polk remembered reading an article about how her colleagues admired her for not trying to capitalize on her personal involvement in the tragedy. Polk had a sneaky suspicion that there was more to the story.
When you were on surveillance, there was a lot of extra time. He had already read the Washington Post and the Washington Times cover to cover. Polk liked to compare the papers and how they spun stories, one liberal and one conservative. They were a daily lesson in how biased the press was.
Polk continued following the cab west down G Street. He was careful to stay far enough back. One of the few things they had told him to look out for was any communication between Rielly and a man named Mitch Rapp. From what Polk had heard earlier, he could safely assume this Mitch Rapp was Rielly's boyfriend. Polk had originally thought that this assignment was about Rielly. Probably something to do with a story she was digging into. But now, after hearing her conversation with Rapp, he was beginning to wonder if it wasn't about him.
RAPP TOLD KENNEDY and Stansfield to leave their hands on their laps where he could see them. Both did as they were told. They were well aware of Rapp's capabilities. Rapp moved behind Stansfield and positioned himself so his back was against the wall and not one of the windows. He rested the butt of the pistol on the back of the leather chair and kept the long black silencer aimed at Coleman. His dark eyes were trained on Kennedy. They were searching for the slightest sign of guilt. There was nothing, exactly what he had been afraid of. The woman was utterly unflappable.
Kennedy was momentarily caught off-guard. It was now evident that she had missed something. She had been so worried about Rapp the last several days that it had never occurred to her that he might think he had been set up by her and Stansfield. She told herself to stay calm and said, «Mitch, I know what you're thinking, but I could never do that to you.»
«Oh, really. And how is it that you know what I'm thinking?»
«Why else would you come in here like this?»
Rapp ignored the question and asked, «Why did you send those two to kill me?»
«Is that what they tried?» Kennedy glanced at Stansfield. At least they had been right about that. «Mitch, I gave them no such order. I'm afraid we were compromised. By whom we do not know.»
Rapp wanted to believe her, but he needed some proof. «The way I see it, Irene, there were only three people who were in a position to set me up. Director Stansfield, you, and the president. Now, which one of you was it?»
«Mitch, I would never do that to you… nor would Thomas or the president.»
«Why were you acting so strange when I talked to you about it being my last job? Was it because you didn't want me walking around with all of your dirty little secrets? Did you want to end it nice and clean?» Rapp raised an eyebrow.
Kennedy shook her head sadly. She looked offended by the accusation. «You know me better than that. I would never harm you. I was acting strange when we last talked because of Thomas.» Kennedy gestured to the director. «He's dying of cancer. You didn't know that, did you?»
«No.» Rapp looked down at Stansfield. Come to think of it, he did look frail.
«All of the vultures are circling, and they're getting ready for their next meal. There's pressure coming from all sides.» Kennedy paused and then added, «Look me in the eye, Mitch, and tell me you really think I could have done such a thing.»
If Rapp had learned one thing in the last ten years, it was that people were capable of almost anything. Despite all of that, though, Kennedy had always been the one person he could depend on. The person who was supposed to watch his back. «If it wasn't you, then who was it?»
«That's what we've been trying to figure out.»
«Just put me in a room alone with the team you sent to Germany, and I'll take care of it.»
Kennedy blinked. «That's going to be a problem.»
«Oh, let me guess,» said Rapp with feigned surprise. «They've disappeared.»
«No, worse.»
«They're dead.»
«Yes.»
«How convenient.»
«Believe me, no one wanted to talk to them more than me.»
Rapp grunted. «Actually, I'm at the top of that list.» He aimed the gun at Kennedy. «She didn't try to pump two rounds into your chest.»
«What exactly happened in Germany?»
«I have a few more questions before we get to that. How is it that you happen to know they're dead?»
Kennedy looked at Coleman. The former SEAL Team commander said, «I witnessed it.»
«You saw it, or you pulled the trigger?»
Coleman shook his head. «I didn't kill them.»
«Scott, no offense, but what in the hell are you doing in the middle of this?»
Stansfield coughed and raised his right hand. «That would be my doing, Mitchell. We received one communique from the Jansens – you knew them as the Hoffmans – after the mission. They stated that the count had been eliminated, but you'd been lost in the process. As we followed developments, it became apparent that the Jansens may have been wrong. There were reports that someone fitting your description was seen leaving the count's estate five to ten minutes after the Jansens left. Then there was the fire. The Jansens had said nothing about that. We became suspicious, and I asked Scott to go to Colorado and bring the Jansens back for a thorough debriefing.»
Kennedy inched forward. «Mitch, what happened in Germany?»
«In a minute.» Looking to Coleman, he asked, «Tell me about Colorado.»
«I went out there with a few men to retrieve them.»
«When was this?»
«Saturday night. The Jansens had a place west of Denver in a little town called Evergreen. We put them under surveillance and were getting ready to move in on Sunday morning when another group showed up and took them out.»
Rapp studied him for a moment, trying to detect a lie. «Who was this other group?»
«I don't know.» Coleman shook his head. «There were four of them. Three men and a woman. They were very professional. Quick and thorough.»
«You honestly have no idea who they were?»
«No.»
«That's bullshit, Scott.» Rapp raised his voice. He looked to Kennedy.» And you?»
«We were discussing this very matter when you burst in here,» Kennedy said a little testily:
«Well, excuse me if I forgot to knock, but I hope you understand if I'm just a little pissed off. You send me on a mission that only a handful of people are supposed to know about, and right after I take care of the count, I turn around and that bitch you sent to assist me pumps two rounds into my chest:' Rapp pointed at himself. «From where I'm sitting, it's pretty clear that someone set me up. You» – Rapp pointed the gun at Kennedy – «had the method and the means, and now I'm trying to figure out what your motivation was.»
Kennedy stood abruptly. «If you think…»
«Sit back down!» shouted Rapp.
«No, I'm not going to sit back down! And stop pointing that gun at me!»
«Sit back down, Irene, or I swear I'll…»
«What? Shoot me?» Kennedy said defiantly as she took a step closer to him. «I know you well enough, Mitch, to know that you would never do such a thing. Not to me, and you know damn well I would never give an order to have you killed.» She took a deep breath and stared at him.
Rapp studied her. Her face was flushed, and her fists were clenched tight. He had never seen Kennedy raise her voice, let alone yell. In the end, he believed her because, more than anything, it was what he wanted to believe. Slowly, he retracted the pistol and pointed it at the ground. Nodding to Kennedy, he said, «Okay: So let's try to figure out who did.»