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“Good. Don’t touch anything when you get inside. We have no idea what kind of surprises he might have.”
“All right. Anything else?”
“What are you doing about her phone?”
“We’re jamming it from the mobile unit in the trunk.”
“Good. Keep me informed if anything changes.”
“All right.” The man posing as a federal agent ended the call and put the phone away. After they took care of this reporter, and whoever her boyfriend was, he would have to convince the Professor to let him go after Gus Villaume again. Jeff Duser looked out at the blackness on the other side of the deck railing and thought about how profitable things had gotten since they started working for the Professor. He decided he would kill Villaume for free. It would be fun.
Peter Cameron was sitting on the long brown leather couch in Senator Clark’s study. He closed his flip phone and set it on the coffee table in front of him. With a huge grin spreading across his bearded face, he leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “They have Rielly, and she suspects nothing.”
Clark took a moment to look up and acknowledge Cameron. The senator was sitting at his desk, wearing his reading glasses and a pair of latex gloves. Resting on the surface before him was Anna Rielly’s journal. A few days ago, Clark had begun to wonder if divine intervention were responsible for allowing Rapp to escape his executioner in Germany. Now things were falling into place more perfectly than he ever could have dreamed. Far better even than his original plan.
“Are they at Rapp’s house?”
“Yes, and she’s going to let them in just like you thought.”
“Good.”
“Are you going to tell me the rest of your plan?”
Clark closed the journal and placed it back in the bag. He took off the gloves and set them on his desk. With drink in hand, he walked over and sat in the leather chair across from Cameron. “What does Mitch Rapp want more than anything in the world right now?”
“Anna Rielly.”
“Wrong. He doesn’t know we have her yet.”
Cameron thought about the question and shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Clark pointed at the Professor with his drink. “He wants you, Peter.”
Cameron licked his lips. “So what’s your plan?”
“It’s simple. You are both the bait and the trap. Rapp wants to meet you, right?”
“Yeah, but that’s because he wants to get to you.”
“That’s what he said, but believe me, he wants to kill you as bad as or worse than me.”
“That’s only because he doesn’t know who you are. If he knew it was you…Senator…the chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee…” Cameron rolled his eyes. “You’d be at the top of his list.”
“He’s never going to find out that I am behind all of this, is he, Peter?”
“No…no, sir, he isn’t.”
“And why not?”
Cameron wasn’t sure how to answer the question. “Ah…because I’d never tell him.”
“And because you’re going to kill him, Peter. You are going to use yourself as bait, and you are going to, as deftly as possible, get him to meet you at his house. If you can do that tonight, it would be perfect, but if come tomorrow morning he isn’t responding, I want you to use the girl. Tell him he has thirty minutes to meet you at his house, and if he doesn’t come alone, the girl dies.” Clark looked at Cameron sternly. “Under no circumstances are you to set foot in that house. I don’t want you anywhere near it. Let Duser and his men handle it. I want them to make it look like Rapp killed Rielly and then blew his own brains out. A murder-suicide.”
Clark raised his glass and took a drink. The plan was perfect. NBC’s White House correspondent found dead in the home of suspected CIA operative. The investigations would start in both the House and the Senate. Clark would take the high road and remain dignified during the televised hearings, and then, when the timing was absolutely perfect, he would produce Rielly’s doctored journal. The journal would be filled with facts that would bring President Hayes to his knees and disgrace the Democratic Party. By the time the next election rolled around, Senator Hank Clark would be the GOP’s lead horse. The plan was perfect.
THEY HAD GATHERED in Stansfield’s study. It was a quarter past ten in the evening. The director had just returned from the White House and looked tired. At Rapp’s urging, Stansfield had requested extra protection. No one in the CIA’s Office of Security had asked any questions. They didn’t even bat an eye at the request. They were used to such things. Within thirty minutes of Stansfield making the call, a mobile command post and a Chevy Suburban arrived at the director’s house. The mobile command post came with two men to monitor the CP’s communication and surveillance equipment and two more heavily armed men to provide security. The Suburban had brought two German shepherds. The dogs and their machine-gun-toting handlers now patrolled the perimeter.
Inside the study, seated around the fireplace, were Rapp, Coleman, Kennedy, and Stansfield. Rapp looked at Stansfield and said, “I think it’s someone at the State Department.”
