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“Has she found out who hired him?”
“Not yet, but we found an interesting link. Two years ago, the DEA arrested a Saudi immigrant who was importing heroin through his contacts in Afghanistan. It turns out the guy used to work for Saudi Intelligence. While he was in jail, his lawyers started working on a plea bargain. The lawyer said that his client could provide proof that his former employer provided training to several of the nine-eleven terrorists and helped plan the attack.”
Rapp frowned. “What does this have to do with some Latino thug?”
“Castillo, that’s his name by the way. Anibal Castillo. He says back then he was approached by the same man that hired him to kill you two days ago. He paid Castillo a hundred grand to have MS-13 kill this former Saudi intel officer while he was in the federal pen. I made a few calls and it all lines up. This former Saudi was ready to start singing and the day he was supposed to sign the plea bargain he was killed in his cell.”
“Who hired him?”
“We don’t know yet, but we have Castillo looking through our database of Saudi intel officers.”
The plane lurched to a stop, and Rapp said, “Listen, I have to run. Call me as soon as you find out.”
“Are you going to tell me what you’re up to?”
“You don’t want to know.” Rapp peered out the small window.
“Yes, I do, Mitchell. I just lied to my boss and the president to protect you.”
“I thought the president was on board.”
“All right…Ross, then.”
“Yeah, well…tell Ross if he gives you any more crap I’m going to add him to my list.”
Kennedy was tempted to take him up on the offer. “I have one last thing for you.” There was a pause and then Kennedy asked, “Have you ever heard of an Erich Abel?”
Rapp thought about it for a second. “No. Why?”
“East German–born. Worked for the Stasi during the eighties and early nineties.”
“Does he go by any other names?”
“Not that I know of, but I’m looking into it.”
“Why the sudden interest in this guy?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll let you know when I find out.”
“All right. I’ve gotta run.” Rapp punched the end button and tossed the phone on the leather seat as he stood.
Coleman was already down the steps and supervising the refueling. Rapp made his way down the small steps carefully. His legs were sore from the long flight. He walked stiffly across the tarmac.
Jamal Urda was waiting for Rapp. Urda was the CIA’s station chief in Kabul. He had worked with Rapp the previous spring on a nasty bit of business, and although things had started off a bit rocky between the two men, Urda had a lot of respect for Rapp. Urda extended his hand. “Mitch, I’m sorry about your wife.”
“Thanks.” Rapp shook his hand. “I appreciate it.”
The two men stood in the chill air for a moment while Urda tried to figure out how he should transition from the personal to the professional. He was relieved when Rapp spoke first.
“What’s the situation?”
“My deputy just called from the embassy.”
“Yeah?”
“He says we received a flash communication from Langley, saying if anyone comes in contact with you they’re supposed to report it right away.”
Rapp nodded.
