The Survivor

CHAPTER 55

Mitch, I’m getting really cold and freaked out.”

Marcus Dumond’s voice over his earpiece.

Rapp stayed in the shadows beneath the overhang, unbuckling his boots and sliding along the building’s wall until he reached the door. A gentle twist of the icy knob suggested it was open, but he didn’t immediately enter. The storm had kicked up again and the gusts were coming with a predictable rhythm. He waited a couple of cycles to solidify the timing in his mind and then used the roar to cover his entry.

“Mitch?” Dumond prompted again, the fear in his voice notching higher. “Are you still out there? Are you okay?”

Coleman responded. “Stay off the comm, Marcus. Everything’s fine. Just a few more minutes.”

Rapp crouched and swept his Glock across the room. No movement. Light was flooding down a staircase to his left and he could hear muffled voices at the top. There was no other way up, so he padded toward it in damp socks. The ancient wood looked like it was barely holding together, forcing him to test each step for sound before fully committing his weight.

He paused on the landing, listening for evidence that his approach had been noticed. Nothing.

Rapp swung around the wall and into the room with a single fluid motion. Pavel Katdsyn was trying unsuccessfully to stand, fear and pain etched deeply into his face. The Pakistani was carelessly sitting with his back to the entrance, staring intently at a computer screen in front of him.

Katdsyn spotted him and Rapp put a finger to his lips. Unfortunately, the Russian had been pushed well beyond the point where he could comprehend an instruction that subtle. He reached out with a shaking hand. “Help me!”

The seated man had made an amateur mistake by putting himself in that position, but the speed of his reaction suggested it was an aberration. He leapt to his feet, simultaneously spinning and kicking the wheeled chair backward. Rapp was forced to dodge right, but didn’t lose his line on the head of the Pakistani drawing a pistol from a holster strapped over his bulletproof vest.

Rapp’s finger tightened on the trigger but at the last moment he lowered his aim and fired three rapid shots into the man’s sternum. When he jerked backward, Rapp charged, knocking him to the floor and pinning the Beretta beneath his foot.

The man’s eyes and mouth were wide open but he wasn’t making a sound. The rounds Rapp was using hit like a Mack truck. His sternum would be broken, most likely along with a few ribs. Painful as hell, but probably not fatal. On the off chance he was unable to get in a breath and suffocated, at least his face was intact for an ID.

Rapp reached down and relieved him of his weapon, noting the burning hatred in his expression before rolling him over and looping a set of flex cuffs over his wrists.

“I’m clear in here,” Rapp said into his throat mike. “Get those people inside.”

“Roger that,” Coleman responded. “Can I send Wick for Marcus?”

“Yeah. Bring him here.”

A hand closed around Rapp’s ankle and he turned to see Pavel Katdsyn looking up at him. “Thank you.”

In acknowledgment of his gratitude, Rapp brought his silencer to within an inch of the Russian’s forehead. “Good people are dead because of you, you son of a bitch.”

Katdsyn tried to pull back, but Rapp followed with his weapon.

“Please!” he whimpered.

“What did he want?”

“The… The encryption key to some files.”

“From a law firm in Rome?”

“Yes.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“He was letting my friends freeze to—”

Rapp hit him across the cheek with his silencer. “Did you give it to him?”

“Yes! Yes, I gave it to him. I had no choice.”

The door opened on the ground floor and Rapp heard footsteps on the stairs. A moment later Marcus Dumond appeared. His hair was dusted with snow and he was shaking a bit, but otherwise he didn’t look much worse for the wear. Spotting the computer, he went directly for it, kneeling in front of the keyboard and ripping off his mittens.

“Katdsyn says he gave up the encryption key,” Rapp said.

“Yeah, I see it here. And there’s a thumb drive. Looks like Rickman’s files are on it.”

“How many?” Rapp said, leaning over the younger man’s shoulder.

“Two hundred and three.”

Rapp let out a long breath. The number was higher even than the worst-case scenario he and Kennedy had come up with.

“Let’s see if it works,” Dumond said.

He chose a file at random and was prompted for a password. A moment later, Rapp was reading a detailed account of a series of assassinations that had taken place in the UAE without the local government’s knowledge. He himself had pulled the trigger on two of them and as near as he could tell all the information was accurate.

“Did he send it anywhere?”

“Sorry, Mitch. The key went out a couple of minutes ago via email.”

“Can you intercept it?”

“No way. It’s gone.”

Rapp swore under his breath. “Where?”

“A Gmail account. There’s no way to know who it belongs to. I doubt even Google does.”

There was a quiet chime from the computer and Dumond leaned into the screen. “Hold on, we’ve got a response.”

“What’s it say?”

“Key received and fully functional. Well done. Destroy everything.”

Rapp stepped back and stared out the window at the storm. Two hundred and three files. Ops, agents, informants, and God knew what else. Endless scenarios were churning through his mind, each one more catastrophic than the last.

“Do you want me to reply?” Dumond said.

“Just say ‘understood.’ ”

Dumond typed the word while Rapp went to the man on the floor and rolled him onto his back. He was breathing, but in shallow gulps that barely provided enough oxygen to keep him conscious.

“Who did you send it to?”

The Pakistani actually managed a strangled laugh. “The CIA is done,” he gasped. “We have your entire network.”

It wasn’t bravado, Rapp knew. The Rickman files would contain enough fodder for years of grandstanding hearings by the self-serving political hacks back home. They would portray the Agency as being completely out of control and, now with its network compromised, completely useless.

“Marcus. Can you get me a secure video link to Irene?”

“Yeah.”

“Do it.”

Rapp knelt next to the man on the floor. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Who did you send that email to?”

He tried to spit on Rapp but didn’t have the strength and ended up just drooling down his cheek.

“Link’s up, Mitch.”

“Irene, can you hear me?”

“Barely,” came the crackling response over the computer’s speakers. “What’s your situation?”

Rapp grabbed the man by the bulletproof vest and dragged him toward the webcam above the monitor. The pain from his damaged chest stopped his breathing again, leaving him silently opening and closing his mouth as he struggled not to asphyxiate.

“Can you see?” Rapp said. “Get a screenshot and run his face through our computers.”

Kennedy’s image was badly pixelated by the weather’s effect on the sat link but he could see her shake her head.

“I don’t have to, Mitch. That’s Kabir Gadai. Ahmed Taj’s personal assistant.”

Rapp let the man go and he collapsed to the floor next to Pavel Katdsyn.

“Do you have the encryption key?” Kennedy asked.

“Yeah, but I’m not the only one. Gadai emailed it out before I could get to him.”

There was a long pause before she responded. “Then you’re saying Taj has access to the files?”

“All two hundred and three of them.”

“That many?”

She raised her hands to her temples, rubbing them in slow circles as the image broke up.

“Marcus. Send her the files and the encryption key.”

At least now they wouldn’t have to guess. She could start damage control and try to get ahead of the ISI. Not that it was likely to do much good. A little like putting a Band-Aid on a severed limb.

“We’ve… We’ve won,” Gadai said weakly. “The ISI will dominate the world intelligence community for the next half century. And it was all made possible by your work and your dollars.”

Rapp wanted nothing more than to leap into the air and land with both feet on the man’s broken sternum, but he held back.

“God rewards His servants,” Gadai continued. “And He punishes His enemies.”

Rapp stepped back and looked down at the man, finding him willing — maybe even anxious — to lock eyes.

Everyone had a weakness. For some it was intolerance to pain. Others had a faith that was less unshakable than they imagined. Gadai’s was suddenly clear: arrogance. Despite the agony speaking must have caused, he continued to gloat. To demonstrate his superiority. Deep down, he wanted to talk. He wanted the Americans around him to know how thoroughly and easily they’d been beaten.

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself,” Rapp said. “We have access to the files now and Taj doesn’t know it. We’ll pull in the people we need to and the others we’ll watch. We’ll tie the ISI up in so many knots you won’t trust your own mothers.”

“You’re a fool,” Gadai gasped. “When I don’t come back, Taj will assume you have the information. We’ve outsmarted you at every turn and he will continue to do so.”

Rapp glanced up at Kennedy and she gave a slight nod, indicating that she’d heard. Gadai had just unwittingly confirmed that Taj was behind this.

“The CIA’s network will be destroyed and after tomorrow night, there will be nothing you can do about it,” Gadai continued. “Run. Both of you. Before your own politicians set out to destroy you.”

Rapp smiled and pressed his foot down on Gadai’s damaged chest. Not hard, but enough to silence the man. “Tomorrow night. What happens tomorrow night?”

The surprise on the Pakistani’s face was easy to read. He realized he’d said too much.

The door downstairs opened again, followed by the sound of footsteps running up the stairs. Dumond retreated against the wall as Rapp aimed his pistol toward the landing. He lowered it when Scott Coleman appeared.

“Where do we stand?” Rapp asked.

“All the people are inside. Wick and Bruno are working on them. The easiest way out is going to be the snowcat these guys came in on. We can bring in a plane that can better handle the weather and rendezvous with it in Ukhta.”

Rapp nodded and pointed to Gadai. “Take him.”

The Pakistani couldn’t walk and he let out a gurgling cry when Coleman lifted him into a fireman’s carry. Rapp pointed to Katdsyn and Dumond took the hint, helping the man to his feet and following Coleman out.

Rapp waited until he was alone before he turned back to the image of Irene Kennedy. “Tomorrow night is President Chutani’s reception for the secretary of state, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Sunny’s already arrived in Islamabad with a congressional delegation led by Carl Ferris.”

“But why kill her? Or a bunch of congressmen? What good would that do? As far as I’m concerned, he’d be doing America a favor if he gets rid of Ferris.”

“I don’t think he’s after our people, Mitch.”

“Then what?”

She stared intently out from the screen. “If President Chutani were killed at that function, it wouldn’t be hard for Taj to convince Pakistan that we’re responsible. It’s already one of the most anti-American places on earth.”

Rapp had to admit that there was a certain twisted logic to it. Coups were the national pastime in Pakistan and the timing was perfect. Taj could run the CIA ragged with Rickman’s files while he took control of the country and its nuclear arsenal.

“So you think we should warn Chutani?” Rapp said.

Kennedy remained silent. Her expressions were always hard to read, but the poor image quality made it impossible.

“What?” Rapp said.

“In the context of that region, Chutani is a reasonable man. But I don’t think either of us has any illusions about him. He’s a violent, power-hungry dictator who allies himself with us because it’s in his best interest. If he gets Taj, then it’s likely he also gets the files. I’m not sure I want to spend the next twenty years being blackmailed by him.”

“Agreed.”

“How fast can you get to Islamabad?”

“Figure eight or so hours to get to Ukhta and then flight time.”

“Do it. And extract as much as you can from Gadai en route. I’ll try to determine our next step from here.”