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“And I’m sure I won’t be the last.”
“No, you won’t.”
“What have you found out?” asked the president.
Stansfield had thought this next part through and was determined to get his way. He had the gift of all great tacticians. He could focus on the smallest detail and never lose sight of the overall picture. Over the last few days, he had seen a pattern developing. Like reconnaissance photos before a battle, he was beginning to see what the enemies’ objectives were.
“Sir, I have decided that for your own good, I am going to keep you in the dark about what I know so far and what I think is going to happen over the next week or so.”
President Hayes looked miffed. “I’m not so sure I like that idea.”
“I knew you wouldn’t, sir, but it’s for your own good. If things go wrong, I want you to have complete deniability.”
“I’m afraid that will be impossible.”
“No it won’t, sir. You will be able to blame the whole thing on me. I will have the documents prepared, and I will leave them in Irene’s care.”
President Hayes was more than surprised. After staring at Stansfield for a while, he asked, “Why would you do that?”
“I am about to die, sir. It was I who counseled you to use the third option, and it is I who will take the blame if things don’t work out.”
“I’m not so sure about this, Thomas.”
“I am, sir. I think things are going to get very ugly.”
“How ugly?”
Stansfield thought about his answer for a second. “Mitch has made some progress in finding who it was that set him up in Germany.”
“And?”
“And I’ve given him orders to follow that trail as high as it goes.”
The president cleared his throat. “What are his orders once he finds them?”
“Deniability, Mr. President. You don’t want me to answer that.”
Hayes leaned forward and in a whisper said, “Thomas, if this thing ends up at the feet of Charles Midleton, you can’t just simply have Rapp kill him.”
“Sir, it is my sincere hope that this trail does not go that far.”
NINE BLOCKS AWAY from the White House, a taxi pulled into the drive of the Four Seasons Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue and 28th Street. A doorman dressed in black from head to toe opened the back door of the cab and extended a gloved white hand for the passenger. A woman with shimmering auburn hair emerged from the cab, and heads turned. It was difficult for Donatella Rahn to hide her beauty. She was wearing a simple black Armani pants suit. Nothing fancy, nothing too sexy; it was perfect for thirteen and a half hours of transatlantic travel. Donatella had left Milan shortly after noon. The eight-hour flight to New York’s JFK landed at 2:34 in the afternoon, local time. It took about an hour to clear customs and then another hour to get into the city. Donatella stopped in Manhattan just long enough to say hello to a few of her fashion contacts and grab some things, and then it was off to Grand Central Station. It was 8:30 in the evening by the time her train pulled into Union Station just two long blocks north of the United States Capitol.
Donatella was tired, but she could handle it. She’d been through a hell of a lot in her life. She didn’t let simple things like fatigue get to her. She walked casually across the expansive lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel and ignored the looks she was receiving from men and women alike. She had stopped noticing them years ago. She approached the front desk, where an Asian woman was standing ready to punch the new arrival’s information into the hotel’s computer.
“Hello.” Donatella spoke perfect English.
“Good evening, ma’am. Are you checking in?”
“Yes. The name is Mary Jones.” Donatella extracted a credit card from her purse and slid it across the counter. She also had a California driver’s license with the same name. She had picked them up in Manhattan at a safe deposit box she kept.
“You’ll be with us for four nights, Ms. Jones.”
“That’s right.” Donatella signed the charge slip with her own pen and took the room key. The woman pointed to the elevators and informed the guest that a bellhop would be up with her luggage in a moment. Donatella thanked the woman and took the elevator to the fifth floor. Once in her room, she grabbed a sunglasses case from her purse and opened it. Inside was a small countermeasure device designed to detect RF transmitters, tape recorders, and AC line carrier transmitters. Donatella swept the entire room. She didn’t bother checking the phone, though. She would not be using it.
When the bellhop arrived, she gave him a five-dollar bill and then locked and chained the door. The clock next to the king-size bed told her it was 9:41, which meant it was almost three in the morning in Milan. Sleep would have to wait. Donatella took off her Armani suit and hung it in the closet. From her suitcase, she grabbed a pair of jeans, brown boots, and a large wool sweater. She dressed quickly and put a faded red Eddie Bauer baseball hat on her head, pulling her ponytail out the back. From her purse, she grabbed a pair of small binoculars, her StarTAC Trimode phone, and her Heckler & Koch HK4 pistol. The compact gun carried eight .32-caliber rounds and was easily concealable under her bulky sweater.
Donatella left the hotel, heading west on M Street for several blocks and then taking a right onto 30th Street. The evening air was chilly but pleasant. It felt great after spending most of the day on a plane and a train. On the flight over from Milan, she had carefully studied the dossier of her target. The choice of the Four Seasons Hotel was an easy one. It was centrally located between the man’s home and office. Donatella took her time walking up the steep hill. She was canvassing the neighborhood as she had been taught by the Mossad.
