The Survivor

CHAPTER 35

The tiny rental car was struggling with the grade, forcing Rapp to keep one eye on the engine’s temperature gauge. When it finally touched red, he parked at the edge of the empty dirt road.

There was no wind at all when he stepped out, only the heat of the Greek sun on his back and the vague scent of chemical explosive still clinging to his hair.

The yellow grass that covered the hill glowed in the light, making the deep green of scattered olive trees seem almost black. Far below, he could see the city and the ocean beyond. Many people considered it paradise and on that particular day, it was hard to argue.

He continued on foot, retrieving a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. He raised a lighter to it but then noticed an unusual sound in the still air around him. His own breathing.

Rapp stopped, squinted up at the winding road and then down at the cigarette. The grade was no steeper than fifteen percent and his elevation above sea level was low enough that he could pick out individual sailboats below.

Two years ago, he’d led a thirty-mile trail-running race through the Colorado mountains, finally turning off a half mile before the finish line in order to avoid the cameras set up to capture the winner. He wouldn’t have to worry about anyone snapping his picture or asking for an interview now. Full gas, he’d be lucky to break the top five in a race like that.

Rapp looked out over the ocean, his thoughts turning again to Stan Hurley. In many ways, he’d been a great man. Brave, loyal, patriotic. One of the only people Rapp had ever met who he never even considered worrying about. There was nothing the world could throw at Stan that could knock him off target.

Having said that, it would be a mistake to romanticize him. He’d left three ex-wives, and only two of his five children would take his calls. He’d lived his life at the very edge of control with little concern for himself or those around him. He was probably the best friend Rapp ever had, but also self-destructive, violent, and, as Anna had pointed out on numerous occasions, a bad influence.

Rapp’s love-hate relationship with the old man had started out more hate-hate. He could still remember saying that he’d put a gun in his mouth if he ever found himself turning into Stan Hurley.

Yet there he was, living alone in a crap apartment near D.C., smoking and drinking too much in an effort to mask the rage lurking just below the surface. And breathing audibly walking up a hill that he should have been able to do at a full sprint.

The old man was dead. Anna was dead. Gould was dead. His past felt like it had been suddenly stripped away. The question was what he was going to do about it. Would he allow himself to become even more disconnected? To lose even more of who he was? Or would he hit the reset button? At forty-four, there could be a lot of years left.

Rapp wadded up the pack and threw it into the trees before starting up the road again. Strangely, his breathing didn’t sound quite as loud. Even with Hurley’s death, the inevitable blowback from the Obrecht op, and the impending release of the next Rickman file, he felt a little lighter. Might as well enjoy the illusion while it lasted.

When the farmhouse came into view he slowed, assuming that there was at least one set of crosshairs tracking his head. The building was constructed from stone and white stucco, with blue window frames and a cheerful red roof. It was isolated and easy to protect, but close enough to a tourist town that foreigners went unnoticed. The landscaping was mostly natural and littered with toys — everything from a pink Big Wheel to a dollhouse faded by the sun.

A man appeared on the north side of the house, walking purposefully but keeping a tree between him and his unannounced guest. His plaid shorts, T-shirt, and straw hat looked right at home in the resort area. The expected flip-flops were the only thing missing — replaced by a pair of shoes built for stability and speed. A long-sleeve shirt that hid the veins mapped across his biceps and forearms would have been preferable, but it was a minor oversight.

Hurley had found him in Afghanistan attached to the Green Berets. Rapp recalled that he was an unusually smart kid with a sense of determination that made up for unspectacular natural athletic ability. Bob something. No. Ben. Ben Carter.

“Hello?” the man called out.

His hand was nowhere near the gun he undoubtedly had holstered in the small of his back, but he looked scared. In fact, he looked terrified.

Confused, Rapp started reaching subtly for his own weapon but then stopped when he recognized the problem. Carter had become fond of the woman and child he’d been charged with protecting.

“That’s not why I’m here, Ben.”

The former soldier let out an audible breath. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rapp. No one called ahead to tell us you were coming.”

“Is she inside?”

“Yes, sir. With her daughter.”

Rapp went up the gravel walkway, stepping over a sandy boogie board and knocking on the door.

The woman who opened it was as beautiful as he remembered. At thirty-six, her round face was still smooth and dominated by bright, almond-shaped eyes. Her dark hair was a little longer now, and the smile was something he’d never seen. It quickly faded into the deep sadness he recalled from last time. When he’d had a gun pressed to the side of her head.

“Are you here to kill me?” Claudia Gould said in accented English.

His reputation was well deserved, but sometimes he wished it didn’t follow him so closely.

“No.”

“You’re here to tell me something about Louis.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes closed for a moment and he could see that she was concentrating on not crying. When they opened again, she stepped aside to let him enter.

“Can I get you something?” she said, speaking on autopilot.

“No, thank you.”

She was wearing a two-piece swimsuit with a sheer sarong tied around her hips. Rapp didn’t allow his eyes to linger.

“Tell me,” she said.

The last time he’d visited her home, he’d spared her husband’s life. It had been obvious even then that it was a serious tactical error, but he didn’t regret it. It happened at a time in his life when he’d needed to regain some of his humanity.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Rapp nodded.

Claudia switched to her native French. “Did you kill him?”

“No.”

Her eyes turned misty, but still there were no tears. Maybe she understood that she was better off. Or maybe she was just tired of crying over the man.

“After what happened to your wife,” she said. “After you spared us, I thought it was enough to make him see clearly. I was stupid to believe that he’d quit. I let myself be blinded.”

“It’s not your fault, Claudia. He had everything. It just wasn’t enough.”

“Was it…” Her voice faltered. “Was it quick?”

“He never knew what hit him,” Rapp lied. There was no reason to make her suffer any more than she already had.

“Bonjour!”

Rapp turned and managed a smile at the sight of a girl skidding to a stop on bare feet. She was seven now, with disheveled sun-bleached hair and a swimsuit similar to her mother’s. The sunscreen on her face hadn’t been completely rubbed in, leaving a white streak across her nose that smelled like coconuts.

“Bonjour,” Rapp said. Claudia had named the girl after his wife and he found it hard to say aloud. “You must be Anna.”

“That’s right. Who are you?”

“My name’s Mitch. I’m an old friend of your mother’s. You and I met once, too, but you were just a baby.”

“I don’t remember stuff from when I was a baby.”

“Me neither.”

“Are you coming with us to the beach? You’re not dressed.”

“I don’t think so. I just need to talk to your mom for a couple of minutes.”

“I’m going to see if Ben wants to make castles. He’s really good at it. He can even make the things that look like teeth on top of the walls.”

“Merlons.”

“What?”

“The teeth are called merlons and the gaps between them are called crenels.”

“Are you making that up? How do you know that?”

The sad truth was that it was because he was an encyclopedia with only one chapter: things that could be used for war.

“I saw a TV show on it once.”

“I’m going to ask if Ben knows that.”

Rapp watched her run out before turning back to Claudia.

“Beautiful girl.”

“I don’t deserve her.” She motioned around the house that Irene Kennedy was paying for. “Or this.”

“Everyone makes mistakes. What matters is that we try to make up for them.”

He dug an iPhone out of his pocket and handed it to her. The display had a screenshot of a mutual fund statement. “We consolidated all of Louis’s accounts into this one. It’s all clean and the taxes have been paid. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

Her eyes widened. “There’s almost thirty million dollars here.”

Rapp nodded. “The account is under the name Claudia Dufort. We’re working with the French government to get you a new passport, a legend, and everything else you’ll need to stay off Louis’s enemies’ radar. Irene got you permanent residence in South Africa, and she used some of your money to buy you a house in the wine country. I think Anna will like it. There’s a good school close by and plenty of space for a horse or two.”

The tears finally came. She threw her arms around him and began to sob. “I’m so sorry, Mitch. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”