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“No…only of him.” The man’s voice had taken on a brooding tone.
“Will you take the job?”
The man appeared to be studying Abel through the two openings in his mask. After what seemed like an eternity he said, “That depends on how much you are willing to pay.”
Abel relaxed a bit. “The fee is substantial.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. How much?”
Abel had gone over this a hundred times already. The trick was to start off the negotiations at the low end, but not so low as to insult the other person. “One and a half million U.S. dollars.”
“Don’t insult me.”
Abel looked at his watch. “I do not consider a million and a half dollars an insult.”
“I have no doubt you could find someone who would take the job for a million and a half, and I also have no doubt that Monsieur Rapp would kill that man before he got anywhere near him.”
“There are plenty of good people out there who would jump at this chance.”
The man laughed at him. “You are going to send a good killer to dispatch a man with Mitch Rapp’s skills? Do you know anything about Rapp? Are you a fool?”
Abel felt uncomfortable. “This is a negotiation. A million and a half is a starting point. Tell me what you think the job is worth.”
“Who wants him dead?”
Abel shook his head vigorously. “You know I will not tell you that.”
“Fine,” said the masked man, fully expecting Abel to refuse. “I know how the business end of these things works. I am guessing that you are taking a fee off the top of anywhere between ten and thirty-three percent. Knowing you are a greedy man who likes the finer things in life I will grant you a third of the contract, but not a penny more. Have you already negotiated the contract?”
“No,” Abel lied.
“Have you been given a budget?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
The man thought about it for a while. He knew of Abel’s connections and could hazard a pretty good guess at who had hired him. He decided to shoot for the stars. “The price is ten million, and since I like round numbers you will cut your fee to a flat thirty percent.”
The number was at the high end, but within what he thought would be asked. “I will have to check and see if they are willing to pay that much.”
The man got off the couch and started for the small balcony. “E-mail my associate in the morning with your answer.” The man opened the French door.
They were on the eighth floor, and Abel was about to ask him how he was going to leave, but decided not to. The man made him curious, though. He was different. “Tell me…Why did you get into this line of work?”
He looked over his shoulder and said, “Because I am very good at it.”
With that, the man was gone. Abel stared blankly at the closed door for almost a full minute, resisting the urge to go look. During that time he was left in a strange state of limbo wondering if he’d just made the best or worst decision of his life. He decided he needed another drink. Abel refilled his snifter and let the smooth cognac envelop his tongue before swallowing it. The man was talented, he had to grant him that, and he was correct that Abel could not simply send one of his regular people to take care of this. In the end he would just have to take some comfort in the knowledge that he was about to make thirteen million dollars for what would likely be less than a week’s work. Abel smiled and held up his glass in a toast to the man who had just disappeared into the night.
“To the death of Mitch Rapp, and thirteen million dollars.” Abel threw back the rest of the cognac and went to bed.
16
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA
A big Ford
Excursion rolled into the parking lot and parked one spot over from Rapp’s car. Scott Coleman got out. He was wearing a blue polo shirt that was a little on the tight side, a pair of jeans, and black boots. The blond-haired former Navy SEAL looked more like a construction worker than the head of a private security firm that was now billing the federal government more than twenty million dollars a year. Rapp didn’t see a gun on him, but he had no doubt there was one within reach of the driver’s seat and probably an entire arsenal in the back cargo area.
“What’s with all the cloak-and-dagger shit?” Coleman asked. He sounded irritated. “I thought we had friends in high places these days.”
