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Rapp cracked a small smile. He liked Richards. The guy was quirky in a normal way. They were in Hamburg to kill a man and Richards wanted to talk about the Beatles. "Never heard that," Rapp said.
"Pretty sure they did. They played some strip club for something like two months straight." Rapp didn't say anything. "I'd like to see it while we're here."
Rapp cocked his head and gave Richards a long look before couldn't help himself and started laughing.
"What?" Richards asked.
Rapp lowered his voice and said, "We're here to kill a man, and you want to go hang out at some strip club where the Beatles played thirty years ago?"
"What's wrong with that? That we do what we do for living doesn't mean we can't do what normal people do?"
Richards had a much easier time transitioning between their two worlds. "You have a point. I can't wait to see the look on Stan's face when you ask him."
"Ha ... you watch. If it involves booze and strippers, my bet is he's all in."
"You're probably right."
The flat was located in one of the hundred-year-old warehouses that had been converted into condominiums near the river. It was damp and cold. A lot like London. Hurley informed them that the majority of the units in the building were as yet unsold. The one they were using was owned by an American company that had purchased it as an executive apartment. Rapp didn't concern himself with certain details beyond the target, but Richards was more curious. He tried to find out which American company the unit belonged to and if it was a former spook who let them use it. Hurley said if there was something he needed to know he'd tell him. "Otherwise ... don't worry about it."
Rapp and Hurley hadn't exactly made peace. It was more of a truce. After the night he'd met George, or whatever his real name was, Rapp, Richards, and Hurley had gone back down to the lake house to begin prepping for the Hamburg operation. Hurley from time to time still looked at Rapp as if he were mentally retarded, but he had cut back on his yelling and cussing. Rapp took this as a sign of detente.
After five days Hurley asked Rapp to take a walk. "Have you gone over the last op in your head?"
"You mean Istanbul?"
"How many ops have you been on?" Hurley asked him with a wake-up expression on his face.
"Sorry," Rapp said. "Yeah ... I've thought about it."
"Anything you would have done different?"
Rapp stared at the ground while they walked. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"The fact that you acted on your own is behind us. I already told you that. Part of my job is make sure you get better. What I'm asking you is a tactical question. When you look back on what happened in the park that morning, once you decided to kill him, is there anything that you would have done different?"
"I don't know," Rapp answered honestly. "It all just kind of happened."
Hurley nodded, having been there before. "That's good and bad, kid. It might be that you're a natural at this. Ice in your veins, that kind of shit. Or ... you got lucky. Only time will tell, but there's one thing you did that jumps out as being pretty stupid."
"What's that?" Rapp asked. Hurley had his full attention.
"I read the police report."
Rapp didn't know why he was surprised, but he was.
"The shot to the heart ... it was point-blank. Literally. The report was conclusive. The muzzle of the weapon was in direct contact with Sharif's coat."
Rapp nodded. He was there. He remembered it well.
"Why would you do that?"
"Because I wanted to kill him."
Hurley stopped and faced him. "Kid, I've seen you shoot. You're not as good as me, but you're damn good and you keep getting better. You don't think you could have popped him from say ten feet?"
Rapp didn't answer.
"Why did you sit down next to him?"
