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“I’ll take care of it,” replied Cameron with confidence.
“Villaume and his people?”
“Yeah?”
The senator looked Cameron in the eyes. “They know too much.”
Cameron nodded. “Okay, but that’s going to take some money.”
“Let me know how much, and I’ll get it to you.”
“What about Kennedy?”
The senator looked over at the TV for a moment. Chris Matthews was flirting with some attractive reporter. Looking back to Cameron, he said, “I’m going to have to think about that for a little bit. I’ll let you know as soon as you take care of these other things.”
Peter Cameron nodded and took a drink of his vodka. He strained to hide his smile of excitement. He would get his wish. He would lay a trap for Mitch Rapp, and then he would kill him.
ANNA RIELLY WASN’T doing so well. As NBC’s White House correspondent, she couldn’t let her personal life get in the way of her duties. She had just finished giving her last live update during the nightly news for the people on the West Coast. Israel’s prime minister was meeting with the president in the morning to discuss yet another impasse in the implementation of the peace accords. Standing under the bright lights just outside the West Wing, she took off her earpiece and handed it and her microphone to the cameraman who was packing the rest of the gear away. They would be back in the morning to say virtually the same thing, first to the people in the East and Midwest, and then again to the mountains and the West Coast.
Her mind was barely up to the task, and her heart was elsewhere. Thank God Brokaw hadn’t thrown any impromptu questions at her. Anna thanked the cameraman and told him she’d see him in the morning. She couldn’t stop worrying about Mitch. They hadn’t heard a word from him since Saturday, and that had been nothing more than a cryptic message. On top of that, she also felt horrible for putting the O’Rourkes in such a bad spot. Liz was pregnant and deserved some peace. In a way, though, worrying about Liz’s pregnancy had helped her get control of herself after her Saturday evening meltdown. She had apologized to Michael the next morning, and he had apologized for his lack of sensitivity. Liz had given her husband the cold shoulder for much of the day, until Anna told her to knock it off. “None of this was Michael’s fault,” Anna had explained, “and he shouldn’t be the one taking the heat.” Anna had tried to leave and go to her apartment, not wanting the O’Rourkes to have to get any more involved in this than they already were. This was her problem, her’s and Mitch’s. Poor Mitch. She didn’t know whether she should be worried about him or mad. It was about ninety percent the prior and about ten percent the latter. She wanted him home safe, but there had been moments when through her tears she swore she was going to kill him for putting her through this.
Mitch was good at what he did. That much she knew. She had seen him in action during the White House hostage crisis. He was a one-man SWAT team, but in the end he was human. He bled like everyone else. Rielly’s father was a cop, and so were two of her brothers. They all worked for the Chicago PD. Rielly had seen invincible men go down. They were all stubborn just like Mitch. If she was lucky enough to see Mitch again, she would show him what stubborn was all about. He would retire whether he liked it or not, and they would walk down the aisle together. She had come too far and gone through too much to lose him.
Rielly was still seething as she yanked open the door and entered the main-floor foyer of the West Wing. The Secret Service officer sitting behind the desk smiled at her, but she ignored him. She’d been faking her mood for the last two hours as she talked to the producers in New York, and enough was enough. As she turned to her right, she heard her name called from behind.
Jack Warch, the special agent in charge of the president’s Secret Service detail, rounded the corner with a file in his hand. “How are you tonight, Anna?”
Rielly brushed a wayward strand of her auburn hair off her face and said, “Not so good, Jack. What are you still doing here?”
“The president is working late tonight.”
Rielly paused and looked down the hall past Warch, in the direction of the Oval Office. There was a good chance the man behind that door knew where Mitch was. Whether he would admit to that was a whole other matter. After the terrorist attack on the White House had ended, President Hayes had personally pleaded with Rielly to remain silent about the identity of Mitch Rapp. The president didn’t want the press, the politicians on the Hill, and the militia nuts to find out that a covert operative for the CIA had been the driving force behind the successful rescue of the hostages. In return for her cooperation, the president had agreed to grant her unusual access. As she and Mitch became close, he had made it very clear that she was never to use her access to the president to dig for information about what he did for the CIA. Considering what she’d gone through over the last two days, breaking that promise seemed minor.
“Who’s he with?”
Warch smiled. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
There was no smile on Anna’s face. “I need to see him.”
The Secret Service agent could tell she was serious and looked back down the hall for a second. Looking back to Rielly, he said, “Stay right here. I’ll see what I can do.”
Rielly waited in the foyer and took off her black raincoat. She thought about calling the O’Rourkes. Michael had dropped her off at the White House this morning, and she had promised Liz that she would call when she was done with the nightly news so Michael could come pick her up. She was about to pick up the handset on one of the house phones when Warch came back around the corner.
“Come with me, Anna.” The agent turned around and started back down the hallway, Rielly on his heels.
PRESIDENT HAYES WAS sitting behind his desk in the Oval Office when they entered the room. Jazz music was playing softly from a stereo that Rielly could not see. The president was sandwiched between two stacks of manila files, busily scanning documents and signing his name. As Warch and Rielly approached the desk, he grabbed a new file, read the note that was paper-clipped to the front, opened the file, and signed his name on four separate pages. The folder was closed and placed on top of the pile on his right. Hayes took off his reading glasses and stood, putting on his suit coat.
Walking around the desk, he said, “Good evening, Anna.” Hayes extended his hand. He really liked Rielly. Like all reporters, she could be tough on him, but she had kept her word when he’d asked for it, and that was not something to be taken lightly, considering her profession.
“Good evening, Mr. President.”
Hayes knew that Rielly had been seeing Rapp. How close they were he didn’t know and wasn’t about to ask. It had been a very long day, the first lady was out of the country, and he was bushed. He wanted to tune out, not to have to carefully measure every word that left his lips. The president looked at Warch and said, “Thank you, Jack.” When Warch had left the room, Hayes brought Rielly over to the couches and sat next to her. He silently hoped this would be about anything other than Mitch Rapp. “What’s on your mind, Anna?”
Rielly stared down at her fingers for a moment. “Sir.” She hesitated not knowing quite where to start. “This is all off the record. Very far off the record. It will never be on any record.”
Hayes grinned. “All right.”
“Where is Mitch, and what kind of trouble is he in?”
