The Survivor

CHAPTER 32

We’re clear,” Wicker said, motioning the team forward and starting to run again.

Mitch Rapp released the tree he was using for balance and lurched forward, falling in behind Scott Coleman. His knee felt like it was full of glass and most of his right side had gone numb. Despite that and a number of offers of help, he’d carried Hurley’s body the entire way by himself. He had been in command when his friend was killed. It was his responsibility to get him out.

They finally stopped where the stream took a hard bend, creating a deep pool that shimmered almost black in the late afternoon sun. Joe Maslick dropped to his stomach next to it, reaching down into the water.

“Got them.”

He pulled out two large dry bags while the rest of the men peeled off their packs. Rapp nearly fell trying to get Hurley off his shoulder and dropped the man’s body unceremoniously into a pile of rocks.

“Scott,” Maslick said, throwing a duct tape — wrapped package to Coleman. He reached back into the bag and retrieved another, almost identical package. “This is you, Bruno.”

Rapp stripped and dove into the water as Maslick pulled out the bundle meant for Stan. A body bag.

The sudden cold and darkness was strangely comforting, and he stayed under for longer than he should have, reveling in the stillness. When he and Anna lived near the Chesapeake, he swam almost every day. It was one of the many little pleasures from his past that had fallen away.

When he surfaced, his men were cutting open their packages. Business suits, uniforms, and jogging clothes appeared along with wallets full of carefully forged documents. All the things necessary to separate and disappear.

Coleman tore the tape off the package meant for Rapp and tossed him a bar of abrasive soap. He caught it and used it to wash away the dried blood that covered most of his body. Wicker was the first dressed, and he collected everyone’s discarded clothing, stuffing it into the dry bags. When he was finished, he headed for the road without a word.

Decked out in running clothes, he would do another ten miles on the shoulder before he got to the car waiting for him. It was a lightly traveled thoroughfare and having all of them drive out at one time could raise suspicion. Staggering the time and method of escape was more critical than getting out fast.

Rapp dunked under again, struggling to get his matted hair clean as Bruno McGraw slipped away in a tailored business suit. When Rapp resurfaced, Coleman was wearing a FedEx uniform beneath an apron and elbow-length rubber gloves. The ease and speed with which he got Hurley into the body bag was a testament to how much practice they all had in such things.

Rapp climbed onto the bank and toweled off, dressing in the jeans, collared shirt, and leather jacket laid out for him on a rock. It felt uncomfortable not to have a weapon, but his Glock was tucked away in the dry bags with the rest of the team’s gear. In light of the recent fireworks, running into a roadblock was fairly likely and carrying a gun was too much of a risk.

“We’re ready,” Coleman said. Everything, including Hurley, had been consolidated into backpacks or bags and was piled up at the west end of the clearing.

Rapp glanced at his watch and picked up two of the packs. “Six minutes.”

They needed to ferry all of it to the edge of the road, where a van would pick it up.

“Mitch?” Coleman said, pointing to the side of his nose. “You missed a spot.”

Rapp wiped at his face and his fingers came back streaked with blood.

“Okay,” Coleman said. “You’re good.”

They managed to get everything moved in just over five minutes. Another thirty seconds passed before they heard an engine approaching from the south. The FedEx delivery truck slowed and pulled into a narrow indention in the trees just as the second hand on Rapp’s watch hit twelve. Next time he was in need of this kind of logistical support, Maria Glauser would be on his short list.

The driver opened the rear doors from inside, revealing boxes stacked floor to ceiling and a hatch open in the false floor. Rapp and Coleman grabbed the body bag first, sliding it inside the space that had been intended for a drugged Leo Obrecht. The driver helped them load the rest of the gear and then closed the well-disguised access door. After another thirty seconds of arranging boxes on top of it, Rapp retreated into the trees and watched the truck accelerate up the road with Coleman in the passenger seat. His blond hair and flawless German would minimize questions if they were stopped.

Rapp started walking south, paralleling the road. The slow pace felt odd, but he was wearing slick dress shoes and drenching himself in sweat wouldn’t do much to enhance his cover.

At fifteen minutes, he drifted closer to the road. Once again, Glauser was right on time. He stepped onto the shoulder, and she slowed just long enough for him to jump into the passenger seat.

He immediately leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to let his mind go blank. When he got back to Langley, it was going to be like a bomb going off. What he needed now was a few minutes to clear his head.

“Are you all right?”

Normally, he would have ignored the question, but Glauser’s voice was shaking badly enough that even a half-deaf cop would pick up on it.

“Relax, Maria. You did great. It’s almost over.”

“I was told I’d have to move some people and equipment,” she said, the words tumbling breathlessly from her mouth. “You don’t transport people in body bags. You transport bodies in them. And were those Gatling guns? They sounded like Gatling guns! I blew up a house. A house! Then I had people call the police and lie about it.”

Clearly the subject wasn’t going to die on its own. “We told you about the house, Maria.”

“You said it was a last resort.”

“It was. Now take me to the airport.”

“The airport? We’re supposed to rendezvous with your people at—”

“Plans have changed.”

“But Director Kennedy said—”

“Airport, Maria. And don’t talk anymore until we get there, okay?”