Kill Shot

Hurley sighed. “Listen, I don’t have your little computer brain. My strengths lie in other areas.”

“How many lists did you make?”

“One . . . but it was more of a file really. I needed to keep track of these guys. Figure out where they were weakest, what they were up to, where they’d be next week and the week after that.”

Stansfield was both relieved and irritated. “And knowing you, this file was kept in an unlocked drawer as opposed to a locked safe?”

“Listen, nobody gets within a mile of that farm without me knowing. The place is as secure as Fort Knox.”

“How do you think Fournier got his hands on our list?”

“I have no idea.”

“I certainly didn’t tell him and I doubt Irene did.” Stansfield turned and looked through the glass. “What about him? He had access.”

“So did Rapp.”

“Do you honestly believe that Mitch handed that list over so he could walk into a trap and get shot? That’s preposterous.”

“I don’t know,” Hurley said, his frustration apparent. “I can’t figure this out.”

“That’s because you don’t want to face the truth.”

“And what truth would that be?”

“That you’re not only wrong about Rapp, but you’re wrong about him, too.”

Hurley studied Victor, trying to discern some truth that he would never get standing on this side of the glass. He rubbed the stubble on his square jaw and said, “Bernstein and Jones are on their way in. I’m going to show them a picture of Rapp and if they ID him, Victor is going to have a really hard time explaining why Rapp would shoot the agents and then try to save one of them.”

“And risk exposing himself in the process.”

“Fuck,” Hurley growled. He didn’t like where this was headed.

“I told Jim I wanted this floor locked down,” Stansfield said. “Victor is to be treated as a potential hostile until I say otherwise. I don’t trust anyone in that room with him other than you. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah. You don’t want him breaking some desk jockey’s neck.”

“Exactly. He’s your creation. Do you think you can still handle him?”

Hurley nodded. “If it turns out he’s been lying about all of this, I’ll snap his fucking neck.”

CHAPTER 44

RAPP hated meets like this. Even when he had the significant resources of the CIA behind him, there was always the unknown, the possibility that someone might go back on his word and kill you. He’d finally gotten to a place where he could trust Kennedy and now Stansfield had been thrown in the mix. Rapp said no when she first told him the deputy director was coming along. Stansfield had bodyguards, and God only knew how many assets the French would have on him. Kennedy told him they had contingencies to deal with all of that. Rapp still didn’t like it and was about to call the whole thing off when Greta talked him down.

“I have known him since I was a little child. He is one of my grandfather’s closest friends. If there is anyone I can trust it is him.”

They were moving from pay phone to pay phone in Greta’s car, running Kennedy through some hoops to make sure they weren’t being tailed or driving into an entourage of vehicles filled with heavily armed men. Rapp had Kennedy give him the description of the car they were driving, and twice in thirty minutes Kennedy had passed within thirty feet of where he was standing. He couldn’t see the backseat, and obviously had no idea if someone was in the trunk, but it was undeniable that Thomas Stansfield was in the front passenger seat.

After an hour of running them around town, he was ready. He’d purchased two very expensive mobile phones and was saving them. The second-to-last waypoint was someplace he and Kennedy had visited together. It was the final resting place of the Irish playwright Samuel Beckett, the unjustly accused French Army officer Alfred Dreyfus, and many other notables. Kennedy had read several books about the miscarriage of justice that had been heaped upon Dreyfus and the national scandal that eventually followed. Rapp had known nothing about the Dreyfus Affair, as it became known, but the previous winter they had stood in front of his grave for nearly thirty minutes while Kennedy explained the tragedy and the national crisis that had resulted from the false conviction and imprisonment of Dreyfus.

Rapp called her cell from a pay phone and said, “We’re getting close. Remember the French Army officer we visited ten months ago?”

“The Jewish one?”

“That’s right. Head there and await my next call.” Rapp placed the phone back in the cradle and walked back to the car. He climbed behind the wheel and said to Greta, “It’s not too late to back out.”

She didn’t bother looking at him. She simply said, “Shut up. I told you to stop saying that. Thomas Stansfield would never harm me.”

“He’s not the one I worry about. It’s Hurley and the guy we saw last night. I don’t want you anywhere near them.”

“I have a hard time believing Stan is as bad as you say. He has always been kind to me.”

“Well, he must like blondes, because he’s been nothing but a prick to me.” Rapp drove for a few minutes, maneuvering through the narrow streets. He parked the vehicle a block from the meeting place, and he and Greta got out. He kissed her and said, “You have your gun?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be afraid to use it.”

“You worry too much.” She kissed him back and then headed off.

Rapp watched her walk away and then found his pay phone. He’d timed how long it would take Kennedy to get from the cemetery to the final meeting place. Rapp placed the call and stayed on the phone with her, telling her each turn he wanted her to make. He saw her turn onto Boulevard Raspail, two blocks away from his position. Rapp told her to park the car and get out. From his concealed position he saw Kennedy and Stansfield get out of the car. “There’s an alley about a hundred feet ahead on your right. Take it and stop at the fourth door on your left.” Rapp hung up the pay phone and fished out his first cell phone. He checked his watch and then headed around the block in the opposite direction. Thirty seconds later he punched Kennedy’s number into the cell phone. She answered on the second ring.

“We’re at the door.”

“Good. I disabled the lock. Here’s what I want you to do.” Rapp walked her through the next move, which was pretty easy.

“All right,” Kennedy said after following his instructions, “I’m on the second floor. What next?”

“Head all the way down the hallway. Last door on your right, it’s unlocked.” Rapp entered the alley from the opposite end and continued to the back door. He checked one last time to make sure no one was following him and then went into the building. Quietly he began to climb the stairs two at a time.

“I’m in front of the door. I assume you want us to enter.”

“I said the door was unlocked. Knock twice and enter, and if either of you is carrying you’d better not have them out, or I’ll blow your heads off.” Rapp stopped halfway up the second run of stairs and edged his head up above the last tread. He got a glimpse of Kennedy and Stansfield. Neither was holding a gun. They walked into the apartment with Stansfield leading the way.

“Head into the living room and take a left,” Rapp said. “Go to the window, put the phone on speaker, and tell me what you see.”

A few seconds passed and Kennedy said, “You know what I see.”

Rapp moved quickly down the hallway. “You’re both standing where I was standing last night.” Rapp reached the door and moved past to check the front stairwell. It was clear. “I didn’t trust Stan, so I found someone who fit my general description and I sent him to the apartment to retrieve something . . . I wanted to see how rough Stan would be with him. I watched that asshole Victor leave the van and hide on the right side of the stoop, and when a completely innocent man left the apartment he came up behind him and shot him in the back of the head. He thought he was killing me.” Rapp slowly turned the knob and slid through Bob and Tibby McMahon’s apartment door without making a noise. He silently closed and locked the door. He moved quietly down the hall with his silenced gun ready, and turned the corner. Kennedy and Stansfield were standing exactly where he’d expected them to be. Rapp pressed the End button on the cell phone, slid it into his pocket, and said, “What I want to know is, who gave him the kill order?”

Kennedy jumped and dropped her phone. Stansfield, always the cool customer, didn’t so much as flinch. They both turned to face the killer they’d helped create. Stansfield looked at the gun in Rapp’s hand and said, “I don’t suppose I can talk you into lowering that thing?”

“Not until you’ve done some explaining.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Who authorized the kill?” Rapp asked.

“Neither of us did, and I don’t think Stan did.”

“So you expect me to believe Victor acted on his own.”

“That’s a possibility, but we have also recently discovered that someone has either been leaking or providing information to the DGSE.”

“What kind of information?” Rapp asked.

“The target list. Who we were going to go after and in what order.”

Rapp considered that for a moment. “So they knew Tarek was next on my list?”

“Possibly.”

“That would explain a lot.”

Stansfield could have provided much more information, but Rapp needed to answer a few questions first. “Victor claims you ambushed him and his men last night. Killed McGuirk and Borneman, and he barely escaped with his life. He said he didn’t know anything about the DGSE agents. That you must have shot them after he fled.”

Rapp shook his head. “Victor’s not very smart. He’s ballsy, he’s reckless, but he’s not very smart.”

“How so?” Kennedy asked.

Rapp stepped forward. “Turn around.” Rapp stood behind them. Down on the opposite sidewalk the crime scene markings were still fresh. “Across the street, down the block about two hundred feet, by that red BMW. That’s where the van was parked last night. If I were to ambush them, wouldn’t it have been down there?”

“Not if you used a decoy like Victor says.” Stansfield pointed at the front stoop. “You got them to leave their position and then jumped them.”

Rapp shook his head. “Victor got out of the van on his own. Ran down the sidewalk and took up position right down there.” Rapp pointed out the location with the tip of his silencer. “Luke came out of the building, went down the steps, took a right turn, and Victor fell in behind him. The gun came up about a foot from Luke’s head, and Victor pulled the trigger. Luke went down immediately and Victor looked like he might start dancing. Then the van pulled up about five seconds later. One of Stan’s SF guys got out . . . I can’t remember his name, but he looked like he was arguing with Victor for a second, and then he grabbed Luke’s legs while Victor picked the body up by the neck of the jacket. Victor swung the torso into the open door and then stepped back while the other guy wrestled with the legs. Victor placed the gun against the back of his head and pulled the trigger.”

“You were still standing up here?” Kennedy asked.

“Yep, and then I saw another muzzle flash. I assume Victor shot the other guy they were with. He thought he had gotten away with it. He thought I was dead and he could blame me for killing the other two guys.”

“And why would he want to do that?” Stansfield asked, already knowing the motive.

“I don’t know. Because you ordered him to do it or Stan did.”

“What if he did it because he was not authorized to kill you? He needed to make it look like you were out of control. You had killed McGuirk and Borneman, that way he was justified in killing you.”

“Or Stan had ordered all of it.”

Stansfield felt as if he was finally getting a handle on this. “What happened after that?”

“Two guys showed up right over there. They had guns out. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it looked like they were shouting for Victor to drop his gun. Victor started to raise his hand and then turned and shot both men. One of them got a shot off, but missed. Both of them were down, and then I saw Victor start walking toward them. That was when I ran downstairs.”

“And did what?” Kennedy asked.

“I didn’t know who these two guys were yet, but I figured they were law enforcement. We have some pretty strict rules about shooting those guys, so I was going to stop him. I came through the front door and I saw Victor lining up to finish them off and I started shooting. I stayed on this side of the street and moved to the right so I could try to get him to break off and head back to the van. I found a spot under a car over here and that was when I shot him in the calf. After that I crossed the street, laid down some suppressive fire, and then when I jumped out Victor was running back toward the van. I fired some shots at him but he was able to jump in the open side door. I gave pursuit and then he opened fire with a rather loud submachine gun.”

“And then drove off,” Stansfield said. “What happened next?” Stansfield was hoping that he was going to hear what he thought he already knew.

“I went back and checked on the two guys. It turns out they were DGSE. One of them was shot in the face and dead, but the other guy was alive and in trouble, so I got my med kit out and patched him up as best I could and then I cleared the area.”

In Stansfield’s mind the scales had just tipped in Rapp’s favor. He breathed an inward sigh of relief and was about to ask a question, but Kennedy beat him to it.

“You said Victor was stupid. How so?”

“I think the man is stupid in general. But it’s worse than that. He’s dangerous. I think the guy is nuts, and what I can’t believe is that you didn’t wash him out a long time ago. I’m a step above a rookie, and I could see he was a train wreck from a mile away. How in hell did you miss it?”

“That’s a conversation for another day,” Kennedy said. “What was your point about him being stupid?”

“You guys will have no problem getting your hands on the police report. The ballistics will back up everything I just said. Victor uses a .45 caliber, I use a 9 millimeter, and the Directorate guys were carrying FNP .357 Sigs. His story won’t hold up. They recovered the body of one of our guys, and you’re going to find out he was shot with a .45 at near point-blank range. You’re also going to find out that both of the DGSE agents were shot with a .45 . . . Victor’s .45. And if you bother asking whoever patched Victor up, they’re going to tell you Victor was shot by a 9 millimeter. My 9 millimeter. He thought I was dead, and he made a huge mistake.”

It certainly did seem that way. Stansfield considered all of this. Rapp was right, they could get their hands on the police report and the information would back up one version or the other, but that might take a few days, and Stansfield wanted to put this thing to rest sooner than that. “You said you had a witness. Someone we could trust. Are we going to get a chance to talk to this person?”

“Nobody followed you guys?”

“No,” Stansfield answered.

“You’re not carrying any beacons or transmitters?” Rapp asked the question only halfheartedly. He didn’t have the skill or the technology to check their answer. He nudged past Kennedy and looked up and down the street one last time to make sure there weren’t any goons lurking about. There were none. He moved away from the window toward the middle of the apartment and called out. “It’s clear. You can come out now.” Rapp watched the door to one of the bedrooms open. Greta stepped into the hallway and Rapp turned to see the expression on Stansfield’s face. It appeared to be a mix of relief and shock.

“Greta,” Stansfield said in sheer disbelief. His mouth asked, “How in the world did you get involved in this?” while his brain was wondering how he would explain this to his dear friend Herr Ohlmeyer.

“Hello, Thomas,” Greta said, stopping at Rapp’s side. “Everything he said is true. I stood at that very window last night and watched this Victor man who works for you gun down five people. He is an animal. A sick dog.”

Kennedy was completely thrown. She was supposed to know every detail of Rapp’s life, yet she hadn’t the foggiest idea who this pretty blonde was. Turning to Stansfield, she asked, “Who is this woman?”

“She is my good friend Herr Carl Ohlmeyer’s granddaughter.” Stansfield turned his eyes back to Rapp and Greta. It was not lost on him that Greta had reached out and was holding Rapp’s arm. They were a couple. More than that, they were in love. One of his best friends, one of the most powerful, civilized men he knew, was going to have to be told that his precious granddaughter was dating one of the most dangerous men on the planet. A man Stansfield had helped create. A man Stansfield had brought into the Ohlmeyer home. The news was not going to be well received.

CHAPTER 45

THEY rode back to the Embassy in the black Mercedes sedan that Kennedy had been driving. There was a brief, heated exchange over who would drive, but Rapp had won out when Stansfield intervened. He was trained to drive very aggressively if need be. Rapp wasn’t crazy about taking Greta back to the Embassy, but Stansfield would have it no other way. The man was unusually shaken by the revelation of their relationship. Rapp and Greta had both argued that Greta could easily drive back to Switzerland and no one would be the wiser.

Stansfield was vehement. “I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do to your grandfather. He is not going to be happy. He would never forgive me if something happened to you, and I would never forgive myself. The safest place for you is at the Embassy. When things have settled down I will take you back to Zurich personally.”

They stopped at Greta’s car, grabbed their bags, and were on their way. A few minutes out from the Embassy Kennedy called the watch desk, gave them their ETA, and told them to have the gate open. Paris wasn’t Moscow, but considering how often Paul Fournier’s name had been popping up, it was worth taking a few extra precautions. They rolled through the big gate without incident and proceeded into the Embassy’s underground parking garage.

After Rapp and Greta had grabbed their bags from the trunk, Stansfield said, “Irene, would you please take Greta to see Gene? Tell him I said to make her comfortable. She might be staying the night.” Gene was the CIA station chief.

As they entered the small underground lobby off the parking garage, Greta stopped and asked Mitch, “When am I going to see you again?”

Rapp glanced at Stansfield and said, “We have some work to do. I’m sure I’ll see you tonight if not sooner.”

Greta got on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Be careful.” And then, turning to Stansfield, she said, “If anything happens to him, I am going to be very upset.”

Stansfield gave her a disinterested nod. “Mr. Rapp is quite capable of taking care of himself.”

The men watched as the ladies entered the elevator. Kennedy had Rapp’s bag. When the doors closed Stansfield said, “Follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Downstairs.” When they were both in the stairwell, Stansfield asked, “How long have you been seeing her?”

Rapp followed two steps behind. “Almost a year.”

“Do you love her?”

“That’s kind of personal, boss.”

Stansfield stopped in the middle of the next landing and turned to face Rapp. “There are literally billions of women on the planet, and you chose to fall in love with her.”

“I never said I was in love with her.”

“Well, she’s most certainly in love with you. That much is obvious.”

“Sir, I’d like to keep my personal life personal.”

“If only it were that easy,” Stansfield grumbled, and started down the next flight. “You have no idea the problems you have caused me.”

Rapp followed in silence, not wishing to explore his personal life any further. The stairs emptied into a small vestibule with a single elevator and a secure door. Stansfield pressed a button next to the door and turned his head toward the camera. There was an electronic buzz and Stansfield grabbed the door and opened it. A long hallway was in front of them. Stansfield went straight for the second door on the right. Three men were inside. Two of them were Dr. Lewis and Rob Ridley whom Rapp knew fairly well. The third one he’d never met before.

Stansfield asked, “How is it going?”

The man whom Rapp didn’t know looked up from his equipment and said, “Much better. Stan’s got him on the ropes. Victor’s starting to slip up a bit, but he’s sticking to his story.”

“How are the readouts?” Stansfield asked, pointing at the polygraph machine.

“He’s keeping his responses within the parameters, but my personal BS detector says he’s lying through his teeth.”

Rapp looked through the big viewing window and saw Victor and Hurley. His entire body tightened into a knot of energy. The first thought to cross his mind was how much he wanted to kill Victor. The second was that he wouldn’t mind taking Hurley out at the same time.

They were both smoking. Victor was in a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. The cotton fabric was stretched tightly over his massive arms. Leaning back in the chair, he was trying to look as casual as possible.

“I know we have to play this game, Stan. I can tell you don’t like it any more than I do. We both know Rapp is a piece of shit. Let’s get this over with so we can go hunt him down and put the bastard out of his misery.”

Every eye in the observation room looked at Rapp. Mitch turned to Stansfield and said, “I think we both know who needs to be put out of his misery.”

“In due time.”

Lewis approached Rapp’s side. “I know this isn’t easy to hear, but you need to—”

“Shut up, Doc,” Rapp said, without taking his eyes off Victor. “No offense, but I don’t want to listen to any of your bullshit right now.”

Hurley stabbed out his cigarette. “You know what I think . . . I think you’re full of shit. I think you’re lying through your fucking teeth. I told you to pull the plug last night. Head back to the hotel and get some sack time, and you disregarded my order.”

“I didn’t disregard anything. We were getting ready to leave when he sent in his decoy. McGuirk and Borneman went to cover the front door and that was when Rapp jumped them.”

“And where was this decoy?”

“I don’t know. I never saw him again.”

“You’re full of shit.” Hurley leaned back and shook his head. “So full of shit.”

Victor smiled. “I know you’re just trying to do your job, but this is a waste of time. Let’s wrap this up and go kill the little shit. I know you hate him just as much as I do.”

“Just because I don’t like him doesn’t mean I want to kill him. There are a lot of people I don’t like.”

“Do a lot of those people gun down two of your operatives and compromise a safe house? Do they blow a mission in the middle of Paris and turn it into an international fucking embarrassment? Nine fucking bodies!” Victor banged his knuckles on the table and then pointed at Hurley and said, “And don’t forget the two DGSE guys he plugged.”

Hurley bobbed his head as if he was agreeing with him and then said, “About those two DGSE agents . . . I heard an interesting story. I have two witnesses who came on the scene shortly after you’d left Borneman’s body on the street in your rush to save your own ass.”

“I already told you Borneman fell out of the van. There was nothing I could do about it.”

Hurley ignored him. “These two witnesses positively ID’d Rapp.”

“There you have it. They put him at the scene.”

“Take a guess what he was doing when they came upon him?”

“I don’t know . . . running away?”

“No . . . that would be you. You were the one running away.”

Victor leaned over the table. “You would have done the exact same fucking thing.”

“You have no idea what I’d do, so shut your fucking mouth before I break your jaw. Now get back on point. What do you think Rapp was doing when these two guys walked up on him?”

Victor leaned back and folded his arms defiantly. “I don’t know.”

“He was giving first aid to one of the agents. One guy was hit in the face and the second was hit in the chest. These two witnesses I’ve worked with for almost two decades say Rapp was patching up the guy with the chest wound.”

Victor shrugged as if it meant nothing.

“Tell me why in hell Rapp would shoot a guy and then try to save him.”

“I don’t know. He’s a total nut job, and when we can catch him we can ask him all of these questions. But this,” Victor said, throwing his hands out, “is all a bunch of bullshit and you know it.”

One of the phones in the observation room rang and Ridley answered it. He listened for a half minute and then said, “Nice work. Stick with it. I’ll call you as soon as we’re mobile.” Ridley set the phone back in the cradle and looked up at Stansfield with a big grin on his face. “Waldvogel got it done. We’re wired for sound and we have a beacon. Guess who picked Cooke up at the airport?”

Stansfield was too fixated on Victor to change gears so quickly. “I have no idea.”

“Paul Fournier.”

“His name seems to be popping up a lot these days.”

“Waldvogel says they’re stopping for lunch and then they have a meeting. Fournier said, and I quote, ‘They are very excited to meet you, but they expect the rest of the list, and they want to know the name of the assassin.’ ”

“What did Cooke say?”

“He said he didn’t fly all the way to Paris just to have lunch.”

Stansfield turned away from Ridley and looked through the glass. Tapping Talmage on the shoulder, he said, “Tell Stan to take a break. I need to talk with him.”

Rapp walked over to Stansfield, and in a voice that only he could hear, said, “Give me five minutes with him. I’m the last guy he expects to see.”

Stansfield was in the midst of considering it when Hurley came into the room looking as if he wanted to punch someone. He froze in midstride when he saw Rapp standing next to his boss. “What in hell is he doing here?”

“Easy,” Stansfield warned. “His story checks out. He’s not the problem,” Stansfield said, nodding at Rapp. “He is.” Stansfield pointed through the glass at Victor, who was looking rather smug considering the situation he’d landed himself in. “Come here,” Stansfield ordered Hurley. The two of them huddled in the corner, where Stansfield relayed everything he’d learned in the past few hours.

“Greta?” Hurley asked in shock at one point.

Stansfield quieted him down and finished. The two of them came out of the corner. Stansfield looked at Dr. Lewis and said, “Tom, Mitch would like to go in there and ask Victor a few questions. I’m running short on time. It appears our deputy director is in the midst of committing treason, and before I do anything about it, I’d like a little more proof.”

“Can you keep your cool?” Lewis asked Rapp.

Rapp frowned. “I don’t think keeping my cool is going to get us anywhere at this point. I watched that fucker kill four people last night. Not one of them was a terrorist. Two of them you knew pretty well. He’s a piece of shit . . . a sick dog, and you guys should have put him out of his misery a long time ago. Now isn’t the time to get weak in the knees.” The last person Rapp expected to support him was Hurley.

“He’s right. Victor thinks he has us outsmarted. The best way to knock him off his game is to send Rapp in.”

“If Mitch walks into that room,” Lewis said, “there’s going to be violence.”

Rapp drew his silenced Glock and said, “You’re damn right there is.”

Lewis looked pleadingly at Stansfield. “This isn’t the way to do this. What if he kills him before we get the answers we need?”

“I promise I won’t kill him, Doc. At least not before we get the answers we need.” Rapp didn’t want to wait around for permission, so he started for the door.

Hurley caught him in the hallway. He grabbed Rapp by the arm.

Rapp spun around with pure anger on face. “Keep your fucking hands off me.”

Hurley held up his hands and said, “This isn’t easy for me, but I wanted to say I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

Rapp took the apology with a nod and said, “Fine, now if you want to help me, make sure you don’t let anyone into that interrogation room until I’m done with him. I don’t care what you hear, you keep that door closed. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. I can do that.”

CHAPTER 46

BRAMBLE thought the morning was going well. He could tell Hurley didn’t have his heart in it. Stan hated Rapp every bit as much as he did and then some. The last round of questioning was a little more intense, but he supposed he had to put on a show for the people on the other side of the glass. That bitch Kennedy was probably henpecking him. The good news was she wasn’t going to be around much longer. With Rapp’s big fuckup there was going to be some housecleaning, and Kennedy would be the first one to receive the ax.

Stansfield, that fossil, was on his way out as well and Hurley wasn’t getting any younger. In another ten years Bramble would be running the show and then he could really start to line his pockets. This job was a license to steal. Bramble pushed his chair back and angled it toward the big observation window. He could feel Kennedy on the other side of the glass, the little killjoy, ragging on Stan and anyone else who didn’t think her little boy wonder was the second coming.

Bramble heard the door open and without turning to look he said, “Stan, let’s stop wasting each other’s time. The longer we dick around in here, the harder it’s going to be to catch that little prick.”

“Little prick?” Rapp said.

Bramble jumped up, knocking his chair over. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He saw the gun in Rapp’s hand and said, “Put that thing down right now.”

“Pick up that chair and sit down.”

“Fuck you. I don’t take orders from you. How did you get in here?”

“I’m not going to tell you again. Pick up the chair and sit down.”

Bramble’s mouth was just beginning to form his favorite word when a bullet struck him in his good knee. It must have shattered his kneecap, because his leg completely folded and he crashed to the floor. Bramble reached for his leg and started screaming.

Rapp stood over him and pointed the gun at his face. “Shut up, Victor. Everyone knows what happened last night. There were eyewitnesses who saw what you did. You’re a fucking dirt bag.”

“I didn’t do anything. It was you.”

Rapp pointed the gun at Bramble’s left foot and fired another shot. He waited a few seconds for Bramble’s screaming to subside and then said, “This is how it’s going to work. I’m going to keep putting bullets in you until you tell us what we already know.”

“If you already know it, then why are you asking me?”

“You’re not very smart, are you? We need corroboration. You’ve been passing along information to the wrong people. You told them about Tarek. You described my methods. You helped set me up.”

“Fuck you!”

“Wrong answer.” Rapp pumped a round into Victor’s right foot. There was more howling and more threats and Rapp ignored them all. When Victor finally ran out of steam Rapp said, “Stansfield gave me the green light to kill you. The only way you can save your ass is to tell us who you were working with.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“So you want another bullet. I’m going to let you pick this time. Right hand or left hand?”

Victor covered his heart with both hands.

“You want me to kill you?” Rapp asked.

“Fuck you.”

“You really need to work on some different comebacks.” Rapp looked Victor over and said, “How about your elbows. That has to hurt like hell. Lots of bones and nerves. Which one . . . left or right?”

Victor squirmed on the floor, trying to push himself farther away, but the blood coming from his feet made the floor slick. “Don’t shoot me again. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You’ve done a lot of wrong shit, Victor, and if you want to live you’d better start telling the truth. Now, who were you passing information to?”

“Stan.”

Rapp shook his head. “That’s pathetic, Victor. Stan knows everything. It has to be somebody else. Somebody outside the group. I need a name. Come on, let’s go.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m going to count to five this time and then I shoot.” Rapp started counting.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Four . . . five.” Rapp chose the left elbow and squeezed.

Victor recoiled in pain and screamed for nearly half a minute. Rapp waited patiently and then asked, “Who was it, Victor? Who’s your guy?”

Victor was mumbling now. Rapp thought he caught a name but he couldn’t make it out. He bent down and jammed the suppressor into Victor’s groin. “I didn’t catch that name. You’re going to have to say it a little louder.”

Victor was writhing in pain. Snot was pouring out of his nose. He mumbled some more.

Rapp shoved the gun down hard. “I’m going to count to five again. Remember how that worked last time? One . . . two . . . three . . . four.”

“Paul Cooke!” Victor yelled.

Rapp stood, looked at the glass, and nodded. He looked back down at Victor and said, “If it was up to me, Victor, I’d put a bullet in your head right now.” Rapp turned for the door.

Victor started laughing. Slow and soft at first and then faster and loud.

Rapp stopped and turned back to face the man. “What’s so funny, Victor?”

He got his laughter under control and said, “I knew you didn’t have the balls for this line of work.”

Rapp looked him over, considered his options, and then raised his gun. He fired two shots into Victor’s groin and said, “Well, I guess that makes two of us.”

Rapp knocked three times on the door and a moment later Hurley opened it. “How’d it go?”

“He fingered Cooke, so I guess we have one more rat to deal with.”

“You got that right.” Hurley looked beyond Rapp and saw all of the blood. “What the fuck did you do to him?”

“I gave him a bunch of chances to tell the truth. It just took him a while to figure out it was in his best interest to stop lying to me.”

“What am I going to do with him?”

Rapp shrugged his shoulders. “I promised Doc that I wouldn’t kill him, so it’s up to you.” He walked past Hurley and down the hall to the observation room. The door opened before he got there and Dr. Lewis stepped into the hallway.

With an anxious look on his face, he asked Rapp, “How are you feeling?”

Rapp stopped, considered the question for a second, and said, “Fucking great, Doc. Never better. How about you?”

CHAPTER 47

FAURNIER had arranged a private room at Les Enfants Terribles. He knew the manager well and could trust him for discretion. Fournier’s morning had been horrible. He’d been forced to defend himself to virtually every bureaucrat and politician all the way up and down the line. The director general of the National Police wanted his head, and the feminists wanted his balls, and all he wanted was for this nonsense to go away. What were one woman’s feelings when he was wrestling with the national security of the Republic?

Fortunately, Cooke had no idea about the morning’s press conference. He stepped off the private jet with a bounce in his step, looking forward to concluding their business arrangement. Fournier liked Cooke for the simple reason that he was a mirror image of himself. He was intelligent and pragmatic. He never got caught up in the emotional component of things, which was the kiss of death in their business. There was no place for compassion or feelings. It was a brutal business and only the best and the brightest could survive.

It was partly why he had such respect for Stansfield and Hurley. They had been such a good team over the years. Stansfield’s brains and Hurley’s heartless, crush-the-enemy-at-any-cost attitude had been a very potent combination. But they were both getting old, and the fact that they’d let someone like Cooke slip under their radar was proof that it was time for them to go. Fournier worried about that. Would he know when to go himself? He had spent a lot of time thinking about it and planning for it. That’s why he had all of his money neatly stashed away. When the time came he would simply vanish if he had to.

“So what can you tell me about these people?” Cooke asked.

Fournier took a sip of wine and said, “They pay handsomely for information. That’s the most important thing.”

“Have they ever threatened you?”

Fournier smiled. “They have a few uncivilized types, but Max keeps them in line. You’ll like Max. He’s a good man. He’s not one of these radicals who’s always threatening to blow things up.”

Cooke laughed. “Well, as long as Max can keep them in line, this should go well.”

Fournier looked at his watch, drained his wine, and said, “We should go. I like to keep them waiting, but not too long.”

“What time were we supposed to meet with them?”

“One.”

Cooke checked his own watch and frowned. It was 1:38. Both men stood. Fournier pulled back the curtain of their private room and made for the front door. Several patrons tried to get Fournier’s attention and many more were staring and whispering. Fournier ignored them all. When they reached the front door, Fournier’s security officer and Mermet were waiting. Mermet looked to be on the verge of an anxiety attack.

Fournier pulled him aside and asked, “More bad news?”

“Yes. The president’s office called. They want to see the file.”

Fournier inhaled through his nose. “That bitch has really caused me some trouble.” He fished out a cigarette and said, “Tell them I am tied up debriefing a high-level intelligence asset and that we will get them the file tonight.”

Mermet nodded and they started across the street. Fournier offered Cooke a cigarette but he declined, telling his friend that he still rowed and it wasn’t good for his lungs. Fournier pretended not to hear a word he said.

The Hotel Balzac was directly across the street. They continued up the carpeted steps and stopped under the circular portico. Fournier turned to Mermet and said, “Wait down here. This should take thirty minutes or so.” The truth was that Fournier didn’t want too many eyes and ears around what was about to happen. A sizable amount of cash was going to change hands, and depending on how the meeting went, Fournier might be tempted to get into his car and drive straight for Switzerland when it was over.

He and Cooke proceeded across the lobby to the elevator bank. There were more stares and one person who tried to approach him, but Fournier kept his eyes front and center and pushed through. Fortunately, the middle elevator was available. He pressed the top button and in less than a minute they were on the top floor of the six-floor hotel. At the far end of the hall Max’s bodyguard was standing post outside the hotel’s nicest suite.

“Hello, Omar,” Fournier called out. “Sorry we’re late.”

Omar didn’t smile. He stepped forward and in very choppy French said, “Open your jackets.”

“Must we always do this, Omar? This is my country, after all.”

“Rules,” was all he said.

After he was done making sure they weren’t carrying guns, Omar pulled out a key and opened the door. Fournier entered first, with Cooke just a step back. They moved into the large main room, where Max was casually reclined on one of the three sofas.

“Max,” Fournier said enthusiastically. “Good to see you.”

“Yes,” Max said with a wink and a nod toward the TV. “I see you have had a very rough day.”

Fournier dismissed the comment with a scoff. “In this business, Max, I have weathered far worse.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have.” Max turned to Cooke and extended his hand. “I have been looking forward to meeting you for some time.”

“And me as well,” Cooke replied.

“Please sit. Is there anything I can get either of you?”

“No, thank you,” Fournier answered for both of them. “We just finished lunch and we’re on kind of a tight schedule.” He sat on one of the big sofas and Cooke sat down next to him.

“I see.” Max took the insult in stride and sat across from them. “So you would like to get down to business.”

“That would be great. As you know, thanks to your friend Samir over there, I have some other problems I’m trying to deal with.”

Cooke hadn’t noticed the man with the bandage on his face until now. He smiled at him but received no warmth in return.

Fournier asked, “Where is Rafique?”

“You’ll be pleased to know he is getting the plane ready. As soon as we are done with our business we will be departing the country.”

“I am very happy to hear that. Thank you.”

“So,” Max said, looking at Cooke, “you have something for me.”

“Yes, I do, but I would like to see the money first.”

“Of course.” Max looked over his shoulder. “Samir, bring the money.”

“I assume mine will be wired as per my usual instructions,” Fournier said.

“Of course. My personal secretary will handle everything as soon as I make the call.”

“Good.”

Samir came back with a large briefcase and set it on the table between the two sofas. He popped the clasps and showed Cooke the money.

“One million dollars, and another million in a Swiss bank account,” Max said. “Now I need the information you promised.”

Cooke smiled and retrieved a folded envelope from his jacket pocket. “His name is Mitch Rapp. I have a photo in there. Known addresses. He has a mother who is terminally ill, but he has a brother who could be used as leverage.”

CHAPTER 48

RAPP and Hurley were parked four blocks away from the Hotel Balzac. Hurley was behind the wheel and Rapp in the front passenger seat. Rapp had seen Kennedy and Hurley argue more times than he could count, but he’d never seen anyone raise his voice with Stansfield, let alone argue with him as openly as Kennedy and Hurley had done. And to make the entire matter stranger, Hurley and Kennedy were for once in agreement. Stansfield was intent on coming with them to the Hotel Balzac, but Hurley had threatened to resign if his boss set foot outside the Embassy compound. There was a chance this could be nothing more than a simple surveillance mission, but it could also be something far more dangerous and complicated. Stansfield couldn’t be anywhere near it. It was bad enough that the damn deputy director of Central Intelligence was off screwing his country, they didn’t need to add to the list the deputy director of Operations getting arrested. Stanfield finally relented and gave Rapp and Hurley permission to go out without him.

They were both dressed in suits and ties and Rapp was carrying a new passport and credit card as well as the ID and gun he’d taken from the wounded DGSE agent.

Rapp had also put in blue contact lenses and added a goatee to try to match the general appearance of the DGSE agent. If anyone looked closely, he’d discover that Rapp was not the man in the photo, but if he needed to use it he wasn’t planning on anyone looking closely.

Ridley and his people were three blocks away on the other side of the hotel in a surveillance van. Rapp and Hurley were getting a live feed from the devices they’d planted on Cooke. The plan was to record everything that was said, allow Cooke to incriminate himself, and then quietly grab him when he was dropped off at his own hotel.

Cooke and Fournier took a long lunch, so Rapp and Hurley were in position by the time they arrived at the Hotel Balzac. They’d heard the conversation outside the restaurant and now they were listening to the introductions inside the room. Rapp was taking everything in stride until he heard his name. He and Hurley looked at each other at the exact same time while they heard Cooke saying, “He attended the University of Syracuse and was recruited by Irene Kennedy. She happens to be a very close confidante of Thomas Stansfield and is someone else you could consider for leverage.”

“Motherfucker!” Hurley yelled.

Rapp was already beyond that. He was imagining each person in the room. Cooke was a traitor, Fournier was a backstabbing snake, and based on the information and names provided by Monsignor de Fleury, Kennedy had identified the other two. Samir Fadi was a midlevel lieutenant from Islamic Jihad, and he was more than likely the prick who had shot Rapp in the shoulder. The second man was far more high-profile. Max Vega was a wealthy Spanish businessman with a radical Saudi father. Over the past several years he had become a key player in funding the various radical Muslim groups. Rapp had known about him because he was the next name on the list of authorized targets.

The decision was easy for Rapp. He grabbed the door handle and said, “Stan, you can shoot me if you want, but I’m going in there. I’m as good as dead if I don’t kill every last one of those fuckers right now.”

Hurley didn’t move or say anything for what seemed like an eternity, and then he put the car into drive and said, “There’s a side entrance for the employees and deliveries on Rue Lord Byron.”

“I know where it is.”

“There’s a staircase almost immediately on your left. They’re on the top floor. I suggest you leave the money. It’ll make it look dirtier.”

“Good idea.”

Twenty seconds later they passed the front entrance. Five seconds after that Hurley stopped in front of the service entrance.

Rapp opened the door and said, “Thanks, Stan. I really appreciate this.”

“No worries. Just don’t get killed and don’t leave any fingerprints.”

“I never do.”

“And just so you know, I never liked Thomas’s plan. Our job is to kill these assholes, not try to turn them.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.”

“I’ll be waiting right down the street for you.” Hurley pointed through the windshield. “You’ve got five minutes. You’d better get your ass moving.”

Rapp slammed the door and ran around the trunk and onto the sidewalk. The employee entrance was a small garage door. It was unlocked. Rapp grabbed his DGSE badge and entered. A busboy barely gave him a passing glance. Rapp smiled, flipped open the badge, and said, “Police.”

The staircase was right where Hurley said it would be. Rapp took the stairs two at a time as fast as he could. By the time he reached the top floor his heart was pumping, but he knew he would recover within seconds. He stopped just inside the fire door and took a couple of deep breaths. Then he used his hip on the crash bar so he wouldn’t leave any fingerprints and pushed through. There at the opposite end of the hall was Omar. All six and a half feet of him. He had to be close to three hundred pounds.

Rapp walked straight for him at a brisk pace. He called out a few soft apologies in French, and just as he had hoped, Omar started coming toward him. Rapp thought it was unlikely that he was armed, but he had to assume he was. When they were thirty feet away Rapp said, “I work for Director Fournier.” He pulled the ID case out of his breast pocket and said, “I need to speak with him.”

Omar stopped in the middle of the hall, waiting to inspect the ID.

Rapp had to time it just right. Too close and Omar might get his hands on him. Too far away and Omar might hit the floor so hard furniture would topple over. He had the ID in his left hand and extended his arm all the way so it looked as if he was trying to help Omar. His right hand slid between the folds of his suit coat and gripped the FNP. Rapp drew the gun, kept his arm in tight, and pivoted his wrist so the tip of the silencer was pointed directly at Omar’s heart. Normally Rapp would only use one bullet, but with a guy Omar’s size you never knew, so he squeezed three times and then lunged forward.

Omar’s reaction was normal. Both hands clutched at his chest, and then he started to stumble. Rapp closed the ID case and did his best to help Omar gently to the floor. He went down on his knees first, and then it was just a matter of tipping him backward. Rapp laid his head on the ground and searched for the keys. He’d stayed at the Balzac and knew they still used the old-fashioned kind. Big bulky things. Rapp found it in the outside left pocket of his suit coat. Rapp pulled on a pair of latex gloves, grabbed the key, and quickly moved down the hallway. Moving Omar wasn’t an option, so he had to work fast.

Rapp kept the gun out and silently slid the key into the lock. He turned it, left it in the lock, and pushed the door open. Cooke and Fournier were sitting almost directly in front of him and a little to the right. Rapp held a finger up to his mouth, giving them the universal sign to be quiet. It was just enough to freeze them as Rapp moved into the room, finding the other two men on the couch to the left. The tall one was about to open his mouth when Rapp shot him in the forehead. While he swung the pistol to the other man on the couch he moved his left hand inside his jacket and found the grip of his silenced Glock. Rapp fired the FNP a second time and hit the second man in the forehead.

As much as Rapp wanted to say something to Cooke and Fournier, he knew Ridley and others were listening, so he kept his mouth shut, swung the Glock around, and shot both men in the chest. He gave four to Fournier and three to Cooke. The first rounds were in the heart, and he spread the others around to make it look as if it was the work of someone with less skill. Moving to Samir, Rapp placed the Glock in his hand and fired two shots into the sofa across the way. He let the gun fall to the floor at Samir’s feet and then grabbed the papers and envelope that were in Max’s lap.

Rapp looked at the photos of himself and the biographical information. He folded them up and stuffed them in his right breast pocket. He grabbed a handkerchief from his back pocket and quickly wiped down the FN pistol, then placed it in Fournier’s hand, aimed the weapon at Max, and sent two rounds into his torso. He pumped three more into Samir and left the gun in Fournier’s grip. The police would be intrigued when they discovered that both weapons had been used during the shooting of the two Directorate agents. Judging from Fournier’s reputation, not a lot of people in Paris were going to be sad to hear this news. Rapp moved on to Cooke and ran his hands over the inside of his jacket to see if he had a duplicate copy of the information he’d given Max. He found another envelope and stuffed it in his pocket.

Rapp stepped back and did a quick 360 to see if he’d missed anything, then headed for the door. He grabbed the key and let the door close behind him. He ran to Omar’s body, put the key back, and rushed for the staircase. He went down the same way he’d gone up, two at a time, except that he wasn’t as tired this time. He took the latex gloves off just before he came upon two employees who were smoking by the back door. Rapp ignored them and pushed through into the bright afternoon sunlight. He turned left and walked at a brisk pace, but nothing that would bring any extra notice. He was just a busy guy trying to get back to his office after lunch.

A block later he looked around, but there was no Hurley. Rapp didn’t wait. He continued up Rue Lord Byron and contemplated why Hurley had decided to screw him. He must have had second thoughts about how Stansfield would react. There was a good chance they’d put a price on his head, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He’d have to get to the closest Metro stop and get as far away as a train could take him.

His thoughts turned to Greta. Stansfield would take care of her, and he would also do his best to make sure that Rapp never saw her again. Her grandfather was their clandestine banker. He allowed them to move operational funds without tipping off the wrong people. His function within their group was crucial. The man would be livid when he found out his granddaughter had been placed in harm’s way by one of Stansfield’s assassins, but Rapp knew he would have to risk seeing her just one more time. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t.

The black Mercedes raced up alongside him. Hurley stuck his head out the open window and asked, “You need a ride?”

Rapp stopped and shook his head. “Where the hell were you?”

“Some damn traffic cop made me move. I had to drive around the block.”

Rapp climbed in and Hurley gunned the engine. Rapp’s adrenaline hangover kicked in and he rolled down his window for some fresh air.

“How’d it go?” Hurley asked.

“Pretty good.” Rapp reached in and grabbed the two envelopes. He opened the second one he hadn’t checked and found Hurley’s ugly mug staring back at him. “Look at this. He was going to sell your ass out, too.”

Hurley looked over. “What an asshole. I was the kicker.”

They took the next block in silence and then Rapp asked, “How much trouble am I in?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been trying to figure it out, but I think it might be a good idea for you to lie low for a while.”

“Yeah . . . you’re probably right.”

“Where do you want me to drop you off?”

“There’s a Metro stop two blocks up. That should work.”

Hurley nodded and said, “I haven’t been very fair to you. I apologize for that.” Hurley pulled the car into an open space. “Check in with me in a few weeks. I’ll see if I can smooth things over.”

Rapp handed Hurley his dossier. “I appreciate it.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“You, too.” Rapp got out of the car and then looked back in at Hurley and said, “Four dead assholes. Not a bad afternoon.”

“I’d say it was a pretty good one.”

“Good luck.”

“You too, kid.”

Rapp closed the door and watched Hurley drive away. In a strange way he felt like his own man for the first time in two years. No one to answer to, and no place to be for the foreseeable future. He’d get on a train and then a plane and disappear for a few months. See what it was like to try to live a normal life. Rapp moved with the other people down the stairs into the Metro. By the time he reached the platform he knew it was all wishful thinking. He’d be back if they’d have him. He wasn’t like other people and he never would be. They had changed him forever.