Pursuit of Honor

CHAPTER 24

WHILE Kennedy said good-bye to Dickerson, Rapp grabbed his BlackBerry, walked to the far end of the office, and began listening to the nine messages that had been left during the meeting. Rapp saw no sense in thanking Dickerson for a meeting at which, at least from his perspective, nothing had been gained. As usual, Rapp and his people were going to shoulder the risk, while the political elites inoculated themselves against any fallout. Rapp took a bit of joy in the fact that Dickerson left looking none too pleased. Rapp figured he made the man nervous.

Dickerson was a professional handicapper and Rapp was a wild card-the aberration that his formula couldn’t account for. Dickerson was used to assessing his chances for success in a game where people played by a certain set of unwritten rules. The players all moved along a path where their incentives were money, power, and notoriety. Rapp had more than enough money, and as far as power was concerned, it could be easily argued that he represented the very essence of physical supremacy, at least in the individual sense. Put him up against pretty much any guy in town, and you’d be a fool not to put your money on Rapp.

The thing that had really thrown Dickerson, though, was Rapp’s outright refusal to become a national hero. Dickerson’s substantial fees were generated by ambitious men and women who couldn’t compute turning down such an offer. Many of them wouldn’t bat an eye at manufacturing tales of bravado, if they knew they could get away with it, and more than a few had done just that over the years. Passing on an opportunity to bask in the lights, cameras, and microphones of the national media was unthinkable. It would be like a sex addict saying no to a weekend in bed with a Playboy centerfold.

There was another reason, Rapp knew, that Dickerson didn’t look too happy. He had recognized Rapp for what he was-a Molotov cocktail that could ignite a conflagration that would bring down a presidency and put a party on a course for a few decades of permanent minority status. It was why Dickerson had argued against the president’s attending the meeting in the first place. Even so, Dickerson was acutely aware of both the risks and rewards that were circling the president. An attack had gone down on his watch, and he hadn’t raised a finger in protest of the very people Dickerson represented. Apparently being nice to the terrorists wasn’t working out so well.

“And you wonder why I don’t like coming in here,” Rapp said as Kennedy closed the office door on her guest.

Kennedy began walking across the office toward her desk. “Should I be offended?”

“Has nothing to do with you, boss. You know that. It’s just that I’ve got a few things that need my attention, and I just wasted the better part of the morning sitting here listening to I’m not sure what.”

“Gabe is a good person to have on your side.”

Rapp shrugged. “Maybe if you want to get booked on Oprah, but from where I’m standing, he doesn’t appear to offer a lot.”

“You could have been a little more subtle. Maybe a simple thanks but no thanks.”

“A guy like that would see that as a yellow light. He’d hit the gas. The only way to stop him is to make your intentions crystal clear. Maybe even make him think you might come unhinged.”

“Well, you accomplished that.” Kennedy looked at the blinking message light on her phone and decided it could wait. She needed to go over a few things with Rapp first and she could tell by his fidgeting that he didn’t plan on staying long. Lifting her gaze she focused on Rapp’s face and asked, “Where were you last night?”

Rapp didn’t waver. He looked her straight in the eye and said, “I was down at Stan’s place. We had a few things to go over.”

Kennedy nodded. “And you didn’t bring your cell phone?”

“I had it with me.”

“But you turned it off and took out the battery.”

Rapp shrugged as if to say, what do you expect. “Call me paranoid.”

“No doubt . . . and if I need to get hold of you?” Kennedy asked.

“You’d leave me a message, and I’d call you back, or try Stan’s number next time.”

“He’s no better than you are. He never answers his phone. I’m not even sure he has a phone, now that I think of it.”

“I call him all the time.”

Kennedy eyed him. “I’m never going to get anywhere with you on this, am I?”

Rapp shook his head. “Listen, before we get too far off track, did you know that this meeting was going to be about a big PR offensive?”

“Of course not,” Kennedy answered. “I know better than to waste your time.”

“So, if he’s as smart a guy as you say he is, how could he possibly think I’d go along with something like this?”

Kennedy picked up a small tube of hand lotion. “I think he was a bit desperate.” She squirted a dollop the size of a quarter into her palm and began rubbing her hands together. “The president has good instincts. He can see where this is all headed. We haven’t even finished burying all the dead from last week and in certain circles he’s being labeled as weak on terror. You have to remember, he ran on a rule-oflaw platform, and now we’ve been hit.”

“And so the brave thing to do is launch a PR offensive.”

“Theirs is a different world, Mitch.” Kennedy shrugged. “The president told me himself that he is really frustrated with the FBI.”

“Why?”

“Because they have come up with nothing. They know very little about the men who carried out the attack. And the three men who are still at large. They’ve vanished.”

“Well, don’t get mad at the FBI. They’re operating within the very constraints the president campaigned on.”

“And that,” Kennedy said, “I suspect is why he wanted to sit down with you and Mike.”

“But Dickerson waved him off,” Rapp said.

“Correct, and to be honest, I’m not sure it wasn’t wise counsel.”

“God forbid the president get a little dose of reality. Maybe sign an executive order that allows us to really go after these guys.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Mitchell.”

“If I could wish for anything it would be some damn support from the White House and the Hill.”

“As foreign as it seems, that’s what Gabe was trying to offer you, but for reasons that I completely understand you would prefer to not have your image splashed across the world media outlets.” Kennedy hit the space bar on her computer to take it out of sleep mode. “The PR offensive isn’t a bad idea. You’re just the wrong guy for it. You know as well as anyone that it would be nice to get some of our esteemed senators and representatives to back us a bit more. It has been a long time since . . .”

Rapp stopped listening. His mind was wondering off down a path that involved a bird in his hand and two in the bush, or was it a stone and two birds? Whichever it was he saw an opportunity.

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Kennedy asked.

Rapp shook the dazed look from his eyes and said, “Sorry, I was just thinking of something else.”

“Were you guys drinking last night?” Kennedy thought of Hurley and his colorful history and said, “That was a stupid question. You were at Stan Hurley’s lake house . . . of course you were drinking. Where is Mike, by the way?”

Rapp thought about his roadside confrontation with Nash and wondered how he would explain to his boss that one of her most valued operatives was experiencing a mental collapse.

“Don’t tell me he was too hung over to see the president.”

It sounded like as good a story as any, so Rapp gave it the nondenial denial and shrugged his shoulders.

Kennedy shook her head in disappointment. “Do I even want to know what goes on down there?”

Rapp thought of Adams and said, “Probably not.”

“How bad can it be?”

Rapp was tempted to tell her it involved hookers and a bunch of drugs, but he didn’t want to push her over the edge. “Some cards, some drinking, some harmless talk. That’s all it ever is.”

Kennedy gave him her schoolmarm frown.

“Hey . . . this isn’t exactly the easiest job in the world,” Rapp said defensively. “There’s nothing wrong with blowing off a little steam.”

“I agree. Just make sure that’s all it is.” She maneuvered her mouse and opened up her email. “Speaking of PR . . . the last thing we need right now is some TV news crew to catch you guys doing God only knows what you do down there.”

Rapp found the idea preposterous. Hurley had more damn security than some federal buildings. If any reporters were dumb enough to ignore all the signs and wander onto the property they would end up running for their lives from Hurley’s pack of dogs. “The last person you need to worry about is Stan Hurley. He’s smarter than all of us and he’s been doing this for a hell of a lot longer.” Rapp thought of the inevitable confrontation between Hurley and Nash. If Nash didn’t snap back 100 percent, and do it quickly, Hurley would want him gone. Not killed necessarily, but he would want him transferred out of the clandestine service and probably out of the CIA entirely. Rapp looked a few days into the future and saw a way that he might be able to defuse the conflict. “Speaking of PR . . . maybe Gabe’s idea wasn’t so bad after all.”

Kennedy looked surprised. “Really?”

“Not for me,” Rapp added quickly. “I’m thinking of Mike.”

Kennedy thought about it for a second. “Why Mike?”

“He’s perfect. Former Marine officer, gorgeous wife, four cute kids. Dickerson could do wonders with something like that.”

Kennedy’s hazel eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Fifteen minutes ago you thought it was the craziest thing you’d ever heard, and now all of the sudden you’re offering up Mike.”

“You’re always telling me I need to be more open-minded . . . that’s all this is.”

Kennedy studied him for a long moment. She wasn’t buying it. “You’re up to something. I know it.”