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Cooke cleared his throat. “He said you tossed her in an institution the second she became a political liability. That if you truly loved her, as you tell everyone, you would have kept her at home.” Cooke did his best to look embarrassed and added, “I’m sorry, Franklin.”
Wilson’s stately demeanor crumbled. His complexion turned ruddy, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flared, and he looked at the wall to his right. In a wounded voice tinged with anger he proclaimed, “How dare he.”
Cooke was pleased with himself but did a good job concealing it. “This was a private conversation, Franklin, between the deputy director of Langley and the deputy director of Operations. If word were to get out that I shared this information with you, there would be some very upset people at Langley. Even so, I felt you needed to know. I myself was shocked that he would make such an insensitive comment. I had no idea he disliked you so much.”
“Trust me . . . the feeling is mutual, and I get your point. I won’t be saying anything to Stansfield that would put you in a compromising position. That’s not how we’re going to win this battle.”
“I’m sorry,” Cooke said again, shaking his head for dramatic effect, “but I felt that I had to bring this to you. If anyone had said anything like that about me and my wife I’d want to know.”
Wilson nodded but didn’t say anything, he just stared off into space looking wounded.
Cooke stood. “There’s a dark side to him, Franklin. He’s a very dangerous man.” When Wilson didn’t respond Cooke said, “I’ll keep you informed about what I find out in Paris.” Cooke still didn’t get a response, so he started for the door. Letting Wilson stew over his words could only serve his purpose.
As he reached the stairs, though, Wilson called out.
“Paul, don’t worry . . . I’m not going to shoot the messenger. I appreciate your honesty.”
Cooke nodded. “Don’t worry, Franklin. He’s going to get what he deserves and you and I are going to be the ones to finally take him down.”
Wilson seemed to not hear anything that Cooke had said. “This is the part of this town that I truly despise. Where is the honor in going after a man’s wife?”
“There is none.”
“No, there isn’t, but I’m not going to let this distract us from our objective. Thomas Stansfield is a dangerous man and he needs to be dealt with before he brings the Agency crashing down around you. I appreciate your friendship, Paul, but I need to know that you are committed to seeing this through.”
“I am, sir. Thomas Stansfield has poisoned the CIA and the only way to right the ship is to get rid of him. Once he’s out of the way I can go about instituting the changes that will ensure the Agency follows the policies of the executive branch and the laws of this country.”
CHAPTER 33
PARIS, FRANCE
RAPP smiled. Luke was playing his role to perfection. He had his hands stuffed in both pockets of his jacket and every five steps or so he scanned the block to see if there were any signs of danger. It was not the way Rapp would have acted, but then again he’d told Kennedy that he’d been shot. It wasn’t a stretch for the men in the van to think that he was a little more jumpy than normal.
Rapp had a pretty good idea what was going on inside the van, and he wouldn’t deny that he was taking a certain amount of delight knowing that they were probably falling all over each other trying to figure out what to do. As to who was in the van, he didn’t have a clue, and until right now he hadn’t really considered the question. There were only a handful of people who had watched him closely enough to be able to tell the difference between him and an impostor. Even so, the street was dark and Luke had the same general build. In these situations they would see what they wanted, and that was Rapp returning to the safe house for something that he needed.
Of all the possible assets, Rob Ridley was probably the one who had the most practical knowledge of how Rapp operated. Kennedy and Hurley knew his movements well enough, but neither of them would be pulling surveillance duty. Hurley was too impatient. He needed to be moving, or at least have the option to move, especially after his abduction in Beirut. The man would never admit it, but there were some psychological scars that he still hadn’t dealt with. The most likely option would be Ridley, who specialized in surveillance and advance work. He and his people had done the advance work on the Tarek hit and then vacated the city the day before Rapp had killed the oil minister. Rapp didn’t know where they were headed, but Hurley would have had a day and a half to turn them around and get them back into position. It was possible, but Rapp had a feeling it was someone else.
It would all come down to the call he’d made to Kennedy and whether she was able to convince Stansfield that he’d been set up. If she had failed, Rapp had little doubt who was in the van. Hurley would be calling the shots and he would have his pet dog, that asshole Victor, on duty. Rapp had spent very little time at the farm over the past year, and the year before that they had gone to great lengths to keep his identity a secret from the other visitors. Over that time he’d seen a little over a dozen faces. Men who had returned from operations overseas and guys who were trying to make the team. One of those faces was already gone, killed in Beirut. Rapp didn’t like to think about that day. It was too stark a reminder that his life could go the same way in the blink of an eye.
Kennedy had said she was coming to Paris. How that would play out was obvious. Hurley would be pissed, and he’d tell her to go back to Langley and sit behind her desk and do it in very insensitive, colorful language. The only way she could make any headway was with Stansfield calling the shots. That’s what it came down to. He was the only man who could rein in Hurley.
Rapp stood behind Greta’s shoulder and watched Luke inch closer to the front steps of the apartment. He took a step back and moved to the other side of the window. The van was easy to spot. It was a black Mercedes-Benz Sprinter van. Boxy and tall, it offered the men inside room to move around and they were fairly common in most big cities, as workers used them to navigate the narrow, congested streets. What made this one stand out was the roof rack. The rack had a ladder and several tubes that looked like they could contain anything from rolled-up wallpaper to flooring. In truth they were part of a customized surveillance system that concealed cameras, antennas, and directional microphones.
His money was on Victor, but beyond that he had no idea who would be on duty. More than likely they had pulled assets from stations across Europe, although most of those men would be attached to embassies with official covers, and exposing them to someone like Victor would be a big gamble. Rapp put himself in Hurley’s shoes and decided he’d never do it. Hurley would grab some of his ex–Special Forces assets, guys who didn’t have squeamish stomachs and knew how to keep their mouths shut.
“Greta,” Rapp asked as he kept his eyes on the van, “what do you see?”
“The man in the hat. Nothing else.”
Rapp stepped back two steps and crossed over to Greta’s side of the window. Luke was roughly thirty feet from the front door. Rapp scanned the area beyond to see if there was any movement. There was none, so he went back to the other side of the window to keep an eye on the van. He thought he saw the van rock slightly but it was hard to tell from this distance.
“He’s going up the steps,” Greta announced.
Rapp didn’t bother looking. He was too focused on the van.
“He’s inside.”
In that moment, it occurred to Rapp that they might be waiting in the apartment. His eyes darted from the van to the second floor across the street. He counted three windows in from the corner. The shades were drawn on both the third and fourth windows. There was no way of telling if anyone was in there. Rapp grew a little tense. If they grabbed him, and interrogated him, they might come to the conclusion that Rapp was nearby watching them. “Greta, remember what I said to you. If I tell you I want you to head to your car, I don’t want you to argue with me.”
