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“And where was he—” Kennedy stopped short, knowing the answer before Rapp finished.
Rapp nodded. “He arrived at Union Station early Tuesday morning just before two.”
The director of the CIA studied her top operative, wondering what to make of this unusual development. “Why would he come here?”
“That’s a good question, and I’m not so sure I can answer it.”
“I assume from what I heard you say to Jack, that you warned him of a potential threat to the president?”
“Yep. I just wanted to make sure the president wasn’t making any scheduled public appearances today.”
“So you think he’s come here to kill again?”
It was obvious by the expression on his face that Rapp wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know, Irene. It could be something as simple as a preplanned escape route. Rather than try to leave the country and get caught, come to where you’re least expected to go.”
She could tell Rapp didn’t buy his own line of thinking. “What do you really think? What does your gut tell you?”
Rapp struggled with it for a moment and then replied, “I think he’s come here to do another job.”
“Or,” Kennedy added, “he lives here.”
This was an entirely new line of thinking. There were plenty of former Special Forces guys living in the surrounding area, at least a few of whom were guns for hire. But there was something about him that was distinctly un-American. A certain look similar to his own. Most people would never notice it, but it was what gave Rapp the ability to blend in when he was operating in the Middle East and Southwest Asia. He thought about the guy being an American and said, “That’s a possibility, but if the guy lived here, he would be more familiar with our capabilities, in which case I can’t see why he’d risk being seen on camera.”
“It’s obvious.”
“He doesn’t know we’re on to him,” answered Rapp.
“Exactly.”
“Or,” said Rapp, “we’re giving him more credit than he deserves.”
“Either way have Olivia run a check through the DOD files.”
“I’ll do it, but what about bringing Mossad in on this?” asked Rapp.
Kennedy shook her head. “The president won’t allow it, plus he still thinks the Israelis are behind this.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Kennedy with a raised brow. “What if this entire thing is a complex sting launched by Mossad to implicate Prince Omar?” Kennedy could tell by Rapp’s sour expression that he didn’t buy it. “Just think about it for a minute. If John Doe is really Israeli and they sent him to con Prince Omar into playing the crown prince of Saudi Arabia, the one role he wanted more than anything in his life …”
“What’s their endgame?” asked an unconvinced Rapp.
“Embarrass the Saudis and draw attention to their support of Palestinian extremists.”
“I don’t know, Irene,” he said, frowning, “it sounds like a reach.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t, but it’s one of several reasons why we can’t go to Freidman and ask him who this
guy is. I do, however, think it’s time to bring the FBI in on this.”
Rapp cringed. “I don’t know about that.”
“If this John Doe is in Washington we have no choice.”
He instinctively recoiled against the idea, and it was not a reflection on the Bureau’s competency as much as it was on the rule book that they’d bring along. If the FBI nabbed this guy they would have to play it straight up. Reluctantly, Rapp consented.
The two of them left the Roosevelt Room and walked across the hall to the Oval Office. At present there were too many people in the room to tell the president of the recent development. While Kennedy waited to have a private word with Hayes, Rapp called the CTC to tell Turbes to bring the FBI in on the investigation. Before his call could be completed there was a rumbling noise from outside the building. Rapp instantly tensed, knowing before anyone else in the presidential office that the noise was an explosion.
