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Rapp pulled a small pair of field binoculars out of his jacket and started checking the windows. All of the lights were off on the second floor. On the first floor was a woman in the kitchen who appeared to be washing some dishes. Rapp wondered about the woman briefly and then decided she must be domestic help. There was a car in the driveway. Rapp focused the lenses on it and saw a driver sitting behind the wheel of a government sedan. Something looked vaguely familiar about the man, but the top half of his face was obscured by the visor. Taking Shirley, he went back into the tall grass and worked his way down toward the river. Midway down the property line, he found something interesting. Set up to look like landscaping lights next to a flower bed were two laser tripwires. Rapp grabbed his night-vision pocket scope and held it to his eye. The red beams invisible to the naked eye popped to life on the small scope. Rapp followed them around the perimeter. They wouldn’t be a problem.
He and Shirley continued around the back of the property line until they had a view of the other wing of the house. Rapp had a pretty good idea that this was where Stansfield would be. He wanted to talk to the man. He wanted to find out the truth. And for Thomas Stansfield’s sake, Rapp hoped he had some answers. After that, he would go to Kennedy’s to see if her story could withstand some intense scrutiny. He’d labored over the decision for several days, but he had decided it was the quickest and most effective way to get to the bottom of what had happened in Germany.
When Rapp reached the far end of the lot, he brought the binoculars up and found Stansfield sitting in his study. He looked frail, a good ten pounds lighter. He was talking to someone, but Rapp couldn’t see who, so he moved to a different spot. When he focused in on the woman sitting across from Stansfield, his throat became dry. Rapp brought the binoculars down and stood motionless. His paranoia had just gone into overdrive.
As he worked his way back to the neighbor’s storage shed, he began to cling to the hope that neither of them had anything to do with it, but a sickening feeling in his gut told him otherwise. As Rapp prepared to make his move, a pair of headlights flashed across the front lawn. A car was coming down the driveway. Rapp put his plan on hold for a second and kneeled down next to Shirley. She hadn’t made a peep so far, and he hoped her good behavior would continue. The car was actually a four-door SUV. Rapp watched with increasing interest as the driver got out. As the man walked across the driveway toward the front door, he knew instantly who it was. The sight of him sent Rapp’s pulse racing and his mind scrambling to come up with a reason for this person from his past to be here on this night. The man was like him. He was a killer, but one whom, until now, he thought he could trust.
Fear suddenly gripped Rapp. It was not a fear of the man but fear of something that he may have done. He looked at his watch. It was almost seven-thirty. Before he went forward with his plan, he needed to make a call. All of his discipline told him he shouldn’t do it, but he had to. He had to know. Rapp retreated into the woods with Shirley and turned on his digital phone.
Just outside the main entrance to the West Wing, an almost nightly occurrence was taking place. Reporters from all the major networks and cable news stations were positioned in front of their cameras, loaded up with makeup and hair spray. They were waiting to tell the people in the mountains and on the West Coast what they had already said to the people in the eastern and central time zones an hour earlier.
Anna Rielly was in her usual spot or, as her smart-ass cameraman Pete liked to remind her, “NBC’s spot.” Pete kept things interesting; he was a little immature, but in a good way. Rarely serious, Pete loved to give people a hard time. Normally, Rielly was more than willing to play along, but today she hadn’t been. The last several nights of sleep hadn’t gone so well. She was worried sick about Mitch. He wasn’t okay, she was convinced of that. If he were okay, he’d pick up the phone and call her. She had spent every spare minute of the day looking at the newswire, paying particular attention to the Middle East. That was where Mitch was trained to operate. Since the Israeli prime minister was in town for meetings with President Hayes, she had a tailor-made excuse for her interest in the region.
During lunch she broke down, and she’d been cursing herself ever since. She couldn’t believe she had cried in front of two other reporters and a producer from CBS. Over a mediocre Caesar salad, Pete started razzing her about Mitch. He began with his u
sual, “Where’s Don Juan? I haven’t seen him in a while.” This led to more questions by the others, which gave Pete more material and an audience to entertain. Rielly tried to smile and roll with the punches, but it proved too difficult. The vision of Mitch lying dead in some faraway city was too much, and the tears came. They were there before she knew it. Embarrassed, she got up and abruptly left the restaurant. Pete showed up a short while later in Rielly’s closet-sized office in the basement of the West Wing and apologized. Rielly tried her best to act as if it was no big deal, but it didn’t work. Pete could see something serious was bothering her, but after already stepping all over it, he dared not delve into the matter.
Pete’s camera was set up on a tripod, and he was standing behind it with his hands in his pockets. Underneath his headset was an Atlanta Braves baseball hat. Pete was chewing gum and in general looked very bored. He was still uncomfortable over having made Rielly cry at lunch. The control room in New York called out the time to Brokaw’s intro, and Pete held up his left hand with two fingers extended. “Two minutes to Marble Mouth.”
Rielly smiled under the bright lights and nodded. She took this as a good sign. “Marble Mouth” was Pete’s nickname for the network’s top anchor. Rielly knew Pete felt bad and was about to tell him once again not to worry about it when she felt her cell phone vibrate. She checked the caller ID, but the number came up as unavailable. Her thumb sat poised over the talk button. Normally, this close to the broadcast she’d let it roll into her voice mail, but she decided to answer it with the hope that it was her significant other.
She pressed the button and held the phone to her ear. “Anna Rielly here.”
Rapp’s heart melted at the sound of her voice. “Honey, it’s me. Are you all right?”
Rielly was speechless for a second, and then she managed to say, “Mitchell.”
“Honey, it’s me, but I can’t talk long. Are you okay?”
Rielly turned her back to the camera. “No, I’m not okay. I’ve been worried sick for the last four days.”
“I’m sorry about that, but it couldn’t be helped. You’re fine, though…right? I mean, other than being worried.”
“I think I’m the one who should be concerned about you.”
“I’m fine.” Rapp sounded rushed. “Are you staying with our friends?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“I can’t answer that. Have you noticed anyone following you?”
“No. When can I see you?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a few days, maybe a week.”
Rielly didn’t like his answer. “Mitchell, I don’t care what kind of errands you’re running for you know who, I want you home immediately.”
“I can’t. Not for a few days.”
“You said you were going to quit, and right now seems like a very good time to me.”
“I am going to quit, but I have to tie up a few loose ends first.”
“Mitch, honey, please. I can’t take this anymore. Just please come home.”
“Honey, I’m safe…I’m here in town, and when I finish what I’m doing, I’m going to quit and we are going to spend the rest of our lives together. But you have to trust me on this. I have to take care of a few things before I can do that.” Rapp paused. “I love you, Anna. Will you please just trust me?”
“Yes, but…”
