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HIS checklist complete, Rapp moved through the neighborhood with the collar of his jeans jacket pulled up high around his ears and his chin tucked down. The early evening air was damp and cool. A plain blue baseball cap covered his thick black hair and he was wearing a pair of black eyeglasses with clear lenses. With his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes swept both sides of the street. He’d done some loose reconnaissance an hour earlier and had spotted two vans within a block of the apartment. He was fairly confident which one contained Victor and the other men. Rapp’s only real worry at this point was whether his new drug-dealing friend would show up for their meeting. If he didn’t, Rapp would either have to go knock on the door of the van or figure something else out. So far nothing obvious had presented itself, but he had time. His conversation with Kennedy had gone about as well as he could have hoped. She would take his concerns straight to Stansfield, and the old Cold Warrior would never disregard something this serious. If the Orion Team had been penetrated, Stansfield would have a major dilemma on his hands, and he would move at top speed to find out the identity of the traitor.
Rapp showed up at the café and took a quick look at the crowd. Night was on the city, and the dinner crowd was brisk. The temperature hovered near sixty degrees and there were only a few people sitting outside at the small green bistro tables. Rapp glanced inside. There was no sign of Luke, so he grabbed one of the small tables outside that gave him a good view of the intersection and placed his back to the building. He checked his watch. He was five minutes early. He wondered briefly if drug dealers were punctual and decided more than likely not. He picked up a paper, and when the waitress approached he ordered a glass of red wine. Rapp rested his left hand in his lap and made a fist. A muted stab of pain went from his fingertips all the way up his arm, into his shoulder, and then flared up his neck. Part of his training had covered the nasty hazards of his business, and how to stay alive should he fall on the receiving end of a gunshot or a variety of other attacks meant to kill him. The electric shock that ran up his left arm told him he had some nerve damage. It would more than likely heal, but only if he babied it. The pain pills were a mixed blessing. They allowed him to go about his business without having to deal with the distraction of pain, but they also gave him a false sense of confidence that could cause more damage. His best guess was that his arm was no better than 50 percent. He could use it if he had to do something like making a simple magazine change, but if he had to punch or grab with any sort of force or leverage the damage would be intense. The wound would reopen and the bleeding would begin anew.
That’s why he’d decided to sew the new holster into the left side of the quilted jeans jacket. This way he could reach across his body with his right arm for an easy draw. Now more than ever, he understood why they’d trained him to shoot with both hands. He was a lefty with a natural eye, but it had taken a good deal of work to get his right hand up to snuff. At twenty-five feet he could place all one hundred rounds in the black shooting left-handed, and he could place all but a handful in the black when shooting with his right hand.
Rapp glanced down and unbuttoned one of the brass buttons on the jacket so he could have easier access to the pistol, just in case his new drug-dealing friend did something stupid. He had been trained to think ahead, to always cover the gamut of possibilities. He took a sip of wine and placed a pack of Gauloises cigarettes on the table. It was a nasty habit, and one that Rapp had reluctantly begun, but his job required long periods of sitting and watching while trying to act as if he wasn’t watching. He had become the worthless man who hung out at cafés for long hours, drinking, smoking, working on crossword puzzles, and reading important books that barely held his attention. If you wanted to fit in, if you wanted to pass the time without looking like a private eye, a policeman, or an intelligence officer, it was better to adopt the appearance of yet another Bohemian artist who was trying to avoid work.
As the appointed hour came and went Rapp nursed his wine and lit a cigarette. He decided he would wait until thirty minutes past the hour, maybe ten minutes past that at the most, and then he would abandon his plan, meet up with Greta, and try to come up with something else. Five minutes later Luke approached from the west, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Rapp was pleased to reconfirm that they were roughly the same size and build. Luke hadn’t shaved in a few days and his face was covered with thick black stubble. They moved differently, of course, but on second thought Rapp realized that would help. Victor and his crew would assume Rapp had adopted some kind of disguise and had changed his gait. Only Rapp, Ridley, Kennedy, and Hurley had access to the apartment. When Luke showed up they would jump to the most logical conclusion and Rapp would watch how they reacted.
He watched Luke stop at the nearest intersection. Even though the light had turned green he did not move. Rapp was wondering what he was up to when he saw Luke turn and greet another man. He was a big fellow, almost six and half feet tall, with a big, knobby, bald head and arms that hung halfway to his knees. Rapp had learned to spot that on the lacrosse pitch. Rapp himself had long arms, but only a few inches longer than most. It was enough to give him a nice advantage in things like fights and stick handling. This mountain of a man, however, looked more like an ape, and his hunched shoulders made his arms appear even longer than they were.
Rapp had specifically told Luke to come alone, and he could tell by the smile on his face that he had knowingly decided not to honor Rapp’s request.
With his cigarette dangling from his lips, Luke sauntered up to the table and sat on Rapp’s right. The goon loitered for a moment and then grabbed a small chair and spun it around backward and sat with his arms folded over the back of his chair. He stared at Rapp as if he was contemplating eating him for dinner.
“Good evening,” Luke said, “I’d like you to meet my friend Alfred.”
The big man stuck out a scarred and puffy right paw. Rapp reluctantly offered his own hand. Alfred clamped down and began to crush Rapp’s hand. Rapp squeezed just hard enough to prevent the man from breaking any bones. When he was done with his juvenile game Rapp turned his attention back to Luke. “I told you to come alone.”
Luke shrugged. “I don’t like traveling alone at night. Paris can be a very dangerous city.” With a thin smile he added, “I find that Alfred has a way of deterring people who would like to harm me.”
Rapp took a closer look at Alfred. His nose was broken in at least two p
laces and there was a fair amount of scar tissue built up under each eye, as well as some cuts above each eyebrow and along his cleft chin. Rapp had to consider the bullet hole in his left shoulder. He was sure he could take him, but if things didn’t go smoothly and quickly he would also probably open the wound and begin bleeding again. If it came to violence Rapp would need to be certain he landed a decisive blow right at the start. He decided to force the issue. He picked up his cigarettes and shoved them in his pocket. “It’s too bad we won’t be able to work with each other.”
“And why is that?”
“I already told you.”
Luke scoffed as if it had been a minor request. “My friend Alfred is very trustworthy. You need not worry about him.”
“Your friend Alfred will stick out like a sore thumb . . . did you bother to think about that? He might as well have ‘I’m a violent criminal’ tattooed on his forehead. If anyone sees him in the building they will know he doesn’t belong, and they will call the police. You, on the other hand, look enough like me that no one will bother you with a second look.”
Luke signaled for the waitress and said, “It doesn’t matter. I will be bringing Alfred along for protection.” Turning his attention to the waitress, Luke ordered a glass of wine for himself and a beer for Alfred.
When the waitress was gone, Rapp said, “This isn’t going to work. I’ll have to find someone else.” Rapp set down his wine and started to stand.
“Alfred,” was all Luke had to say.
Rapp felt the pull in his shoulder as the big man grabbed him by the forearm and yanked him back into his chair. Rapp masked the pain coursing through his shoulder and looked at Luke with a cool expression.
“No need to rush off,” Luke said. “Nothing has changed. I simply wanted someone I trusted to join me for this strange job that you have brought to me.”
Rapp looked down at his arm, which Alfred still held tightly. He had already taken inventory of his surroundings. In a voice that shouldn’t have left any doubt about his seriousness, Rapp said, “Luke, you have misjudged me. I am not someone you want to screw with. Tell your man to let go of my arm right now, or we are going to have a big problem.”
Luke gave an amused giggle and the big man leaned forward, his pronounced underbite making him look like he had an IQ of sixty. “I’ll let go of your arm when I’m fucking ready.”
Rapp gave a quick nod, turned his attention back to Luke, and said, “I’m going to count to ten, and when I’m done your goon will have either let go of my arm, or I’m going to cause him a great deal of pain.”
Alfred laughed loudly, and Luke said, “There is no reason to make threats.”
“One . . . two . . .”
Luke was smiling. “You Americans are so dramatic. Stop your counting and hear me out.”
“Three . . . four . . .” Rapp’s eyes were locked on Luke, but he could hear the big man to his left laughing. Rapp decided to stop counting, and his right arm shot across his body. His fingers were folded under, his second row of knuckles forming a jagged edge of hard bones. Rapp’s eyes zeroed in like bomber sights on Alfred’s pronounced Adam’s apple and guided the strike with precision, the rigid knuckles of his right hand connecting with the soft thyroid cartilage and the larynx behind it. There was a crunching noise followed by a heavy exhalation of air as it left Alfred’s mouth.
The big man immediately released Rapp’s arm. His hands shot to his own throat, his eyes bulging in shock. Alfred stood and began stumbling backward, knocking over a table.
