This was just the beginning. At first, her assignments were simple, nothing more than observing a certain individual or passing on information as she jetted around the world, but as the years passed, things got more serious. She had four more relapses into drug use, and with each one they drew her in a little more. The training changed. At first, it was done under the guise of self-defense, but it slowly became apparent that something else was going on.
Colonel Ben Freidman of the feared Mossad had become her teacher and her protector. He was one of the two men she had ever met in her life whom she could trust completely. The other hurt too much to think about.
Donatella had to be honest with herself, though. From the beginning, she had enjoyed it immensely: The thrill of stalking another human being and killing them was like nothing she had ever experienced. It was better than any I drug, even better than sex. Donatella Rahn had an addictive personality, and she couldn't stop. She enjoyed her work, and she was paid extremely well.
As Donatella hiked up the heaved cobblestone sidewalk, she did so knowing who she was. She knew it might seem like a small thing to most people but not to her. She had spent her entire life confused, searching for a father she never knew, and eventually hoping she would never find him. And now, she had finally figured out who she was and where she was headed. To her, that was a very big thing.
THE CROWN VICTORIA rocked gently as it rolled down the old county road in rural Maryland. The familiar landmarks gave Rielly some comfort. They had just spent more than an hour driving all around the city. At one point, Rielly thought she might get carsick. She didn't know her way around the city that well and had been lost five minutes after they'd picked her up. There were a couple of times where she thought things looked familiar, but she couldn't be sure. The experience was very disorienting, and after a while she found it best to sit back, crack her window, and close her eyes.
The two agents seemed competent enough. Special Agent Pelachuk had told her when they got into the car that they were going to have to take some standard precautions to make sure they weren't being followed. Special Agent Salem, the blond one, was doing the driving. He didn't say much. Early on. she had asked them where they were taking her. She was happy to find out that they were going to Mitch's house. Rielly asked if Mitch was already there, and Pelachuk told her he didn't know.
Rielly grew eager with anticipation as they turned off the country road and onto the street that would take them to Mitch's. There were no streetlights this far from the city. The communities around the Chesapeake Bay had a tendency to want things to stay as they were a hundred years ago. Building permits had to be paraded past one inspector after another, and variances were rarely granted. Something as modern as a street lamp would be a blight on the landscape. Rielly knew this was one of the reasons Mitch had moved this far out. He loved his alone time, and out here he could get it. As Rielly looked out the window, the only things she could make out were the lights of several farmhouses off in the distance.
A few minutes later, the car slowed to ten miles an hour, and the two agents stuck their chins over the dashboard in an effort to find the right address.
From the back seat, Rielly said, «It's the third one on the left.» As they got a little closer, she added, «That one right there by the white mailbox.»
The car turned and started down the long driveway. Rielly immediately noticed that all the lights were off in the house, and her heart sank. Mitch wasn't there yet. Salem turned the car around, driving on the lawn in the process, and parked in front of the garage facing the street.
Neither agent made an effort to get out of the car, so Rielly asked, «What are we doing?»
«We're waiting,» answered Pelachuk.
«For what?»
As innocently as possible, he said, «I don't have a key.»
«Well, I do.»
Pelachuk looked at his partner. «What do you think?»
«How long are we going to be waiting?»
«I don't know. An hour… maybe two.»
«I say we wait inside if she has a key.»
Pelachuk looked back at Rielly. «Would you like to go I inside?»
«Yes.» Rielly reached for the door handle.
«Hold on a minute. Let me go check things out first, I and then we'll go in.» Turning back to his partner, he said, «Anything funny happens, get her out of here and don't worry about me.»
Special Agent Pelachuk got out of the sedan and closed the door. Standing next to the car, in plain view of Rielly, he drew his weapon and disappeared around the side of the house. When he reached the deck in back, he looked down at the dock briefly and then put his gun away. The man knew no one was there. They'd had the house under surveillance since Monday. Grabbing his digital phone, he punched in a number and held the tiny encrypted phone to his ear.
After three rings, a voice said, «Hello.»
«We have the girl, and we're at the rendezvous point.»
«Does she suspect anything?»
«No. She even offered to let us in. Just like you thought.»
«Good. Don't touch anything when you get inside. We have no idea what kind of surprises he might have.»
«All right. Anything else?»
«What are you doing about her phone?»
«We're jamming it from the mobile unit in the trunk.»
«Good. Keep me informed if anything changes.»
«All right.» The man posing as a federal agent ended the call and put the phone away. After they took care of this reporter, and whoever her boyfriend was, he would have to convince the Professor to let him go after Gus Villaume again. Jeff Duser looked out at the blackness on the other side of the deck railing and thought about how profitable things had gotten since they started working for the Professor. He decided he would kill Villaume for free. It would be fun.
Peter Cameron was sitting on the long brown leather couch in Senator Clark's study. He closed his flip phone and set it on the coffee table in front of him. With a huge grin spreading across his bearded face, he leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. «They have Rielly, and she suspects nothing.»
Clark took a moment to look up and acknowledge Cameron. The senator was sitting at his desk, wearing his reading glasses and a pair of latex gloves. Resting on the surface before him was Anna Rielly's journal. A few days ago, Clark had begun to wonder if divine intervention were responsible for allowing Rapp to escape his executioner in Germany. Now things were falling into place more perfectly than he ever could have dreamed. Far better even than his original plan.
«Are they at Rapp's house?»
«Yes, and she's going to let them in just like you thought.»
«Good.»
«Are you going to tell me the rest of your plan?»
Clark closed the journal and placed it back in the bag. He took off the gloves and set them on his desk. With drink in hand, he walked over and sat in the leather chair across from Cameron. «What does Mitch Rapp want more than anything in the world right now?»
«Anna Rielly.»
«Wrong. He doesn't know we have her yet.»
Cameron thought about the question and shook his head. «I don't know.»
Clark pointed at the Professor with his drink. «He wants you, Peter.»
Cameron licked his lips. «So what's your plan?»
«It's simple. You are both the bait and the trap. Rapp wants to meet you, right?»
«Yeah, but that's because he wants to get to you.»
«That's what he said, but believe me, he wants to kill you as bad as or worse than me.»
«That's only because he doesn't know who you are. If he knew it was you… Senator… the chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee…» Cameron rolled his eyes. «You'd be at the top of his list.»
«He's never going to find out that I am behind all of this, is he, Peter?»
«No… no, sir, he isn't.»
«And why not?»
Cameron wasn't sure how to answer the question. «Ah… because I'd never tell him.»
«And because you're going to kill him, Peter. You are going to use yourself as bait, and you are going to, as deftly as possible, get him to meet you at his house. If you can do that tonight, it would be perfect, but if come tomorrow morning he isn't responding, I want you to use the girl. Tell him he has thirty minutes to meet you at his house, and if he doesn't come alone, the girl dies.» Clark looked at Cameron sternly: «Under no circumstances are you to set foot in that house. I don't want you anywhere near it. Let Duser and his men handle it. I want them to make it look like Rapp killed Rielly and then blew his own brains out. A murder-suicide.»
Clark raised his glass and took a drink. The plan was perfect. NBC's White House correspondent found dead in the home of suspected CIA operative. The investigations would start in both the House and the Senate. Clark would take the high road and remain dignified during the televised hearings, and then, when the timing was absolutely perfect, he would produce Rielly's doctored journal. The journal would be filled with facts that would bring President Hayes to his knees and disgrace the Democratic Party. By the time the next election rolled around, Senator Hank Clark would be the GOP's lead horse. The plan was perfect.
THEY HAD GATHERED in Stansfield's study: It was a quarter past ten in the evening. The director had just returned from the White House and looked tired. At Rapp's urging, Stansfield had requested extra protection. No one in the CIA's Office of Security had asked any questions. They didn't even bat an eye at the request. They were used to such things. Within thirty minutes of Stansfield making the call, a mobile command post and a Chevy Suburban arrived at the director's house. The mobile command post came with two men to monitor the CP's communication and surveillance equipment and two more heavily armed men to provide security. The Suburban had brought two German shepherds. The dogs and their machine-gun-toting handlers now patrolled the perimeter.
Inside the study, seated around the fireplace, were Rapp, Coleman, Kennedy, and Stansfield. Rapp looked at Stansfield and said, «I think it's someone at the State Department.»
«It could be, but I'm not so sure.» Stansfield was speaking with a slight lisp. He was back on the morphine.
«Secretary Midleton has never been a big fan of the Agency,» added Kennedy.
Stansfield looked over at Coleman. «What do you think, Scott?»
The former Navy SEAL thought it over and then said, «We don't have enough information.»
«We rarely do in this business,» said Rapp.
«I've gone back and looked at the map of that area where the cell tower is located.» Coleman shook his head. «The State Department isn't the only organization around there that has a beef with the CIA.»
«True, but they are the strongest candidate,» Stansfield said.
«We need to find out who this Professor is.» Coleman looked from Stansfield to Rapp. «He is the key to this whole thing.»
«I agree, but he's not answering his phone, and right now that's the only link we have to him.»
«How is Marcus coming along with the search through the State Department files?» Kennedy asked.
«We looked at photos for almost three hours tonight,» said Coleman. «And we came up blank. When we're finished here, I'm going to go back to look at more.»
«This is the key,» said Stansfield. «You have to keep looking for this Professor. He has to have a past. People don't just fall into this line of work with no prior experience.» Everyone nodded in agreement.
«What about Secretary Midleton?» asked Rapp. «From the get-go, he was sticking his nose in this thing.» Rapp looked at Kennedy. «He called you the very next day after I hit Hagenmiller and wanted to know if the CIA had any involvement. Isn't that jumping the gun just a bit?»
«That's why I don't think it's him,» Stansfield said.
«Why?»
«Because jt's too obvjous. Charles Midleton is a very subtle person. If he knew the real facts behind what had happened in Germany, he would not have been so eager to call Irene.»
«I don't know. There's something about the man I don't trust.»
A rare smile creased Stansfield's face. It must have been the morphine. «Mitchell, how many people do you trust?»
Rapp smiled. «Not many.»
«Exactly. That is why you are still alive, despite multiple attempts on your life.» Stansfield paused for a moment, then looked at Coleman and back to Rapp. «I want you two to do whatever it takes to find out who this Professor is, and men you must take him alive. If need be, we'll have Dr. Hornig go to work on him.»
Rapp grimaced at the thought of getting Dr. Hornig involved. The woman was a complete sadist, skilled in the art of physical and mental torture. «You're setting no boundaries for us.»
«There are always boundaries, Mitchell. Just use your best judgment, get results, and don't get caught.»
«I might have to turn Marcus loose inside the NSA's computer system:' Rapp checked to see how Kennedy was reacting to this piece of news.
Kennedy looked less than pleased, but before she could respond, Stansfield said, «Just make sure he doesn't get caught. There is more at stake here than I fear any of you realize. No offense, Mitchell, but you were not their end game. Whoever is behind all of this has much bigger plans.»
«What do you think they're after?»
Stansfield looked into the fire. «I'm not sure yet, but I'm beginning to see a few things… a few possibilities.» Looking back to Rapp, he said, «You two need to get moving, but before you go, there is one more thing we need to discuss. I want both of you to go pay Congressman O'Rourke a visit. It appears that you sent him an e-mail, Mitchell, that has him a little upset.» Stansfield looked at Kennedy.
The director of the Counterterrorism Center turned to Rapp. «Why didn't you tell me about the e-mail?»
Rapp shrugged. «I didn't think it was important.»
«Congressman O'Rourke is very important to me,» Stansfield said. «And it is my hope that in my absence, he will be very useful to Irene.»
«I don't see what the problem is.»
«Like all of us:' started Kennedy, «he doesn't like too many people knowing certain things about his past. He came to my office today, very upset. He wanted to know who you were and how you knew about the relationship among himself, his grandfather, and Scott.»
«That e-mail might not have been the best idea, but at the rime I didn't know what I was up against. I wanted him to take me seriously and keep his mouth shut.»
«Well, you don't know Congressman O'Rourke very well,» Kennedy stated evenly. «I think I repaired the damage that you caused, but I want both of you to go over to his house and explain to him that his secret is safe.»
«When do you want us to take care of it?»
«Tonight. The sooner you can calm him down, the better. Call him first, and see if you can stop by on your way back into the city.»