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H e had made almost no effort to talk her into taking the job, knowing any such attempt had the potential to drive her further away. That night he simply stopped talking and let her begin to sort it out in her mind. They’d made love, forgetting about Mitch Rapp and killing for a while. When they were done, there was no mention of the German or Rapp or anything else, for that matter. They’d simply fallen asleep in each other’s arms. The next morning they sat through a pot of coffee and some fresh fruit without a mention of it. They read the paper, smoked a cigarette, and literally didn’t say a word. He recognized it for what it was. Claudia was not playing a game with him. She was not waiting for him to make the first move. She was simply thinking it through in a very thorough manner.
That was Claudia Morrell. She was the general, the field marshal, the tactician. Louie was good at the hunt and the kill. He was gifted beyond measure with the instinct to know when to press forward and when to retreat. He had a sense of the overall picture, but his attitude was inevitably one of invincibility. Claudia’s strength was in the details. She was better at analyzing the risk whereas Louie thought anything could be overcome with the right amount of skill and determination. She knew when to walk away, while he was sometimes driven by the challenge. A dark, mad part of him had actually hoped the German would ask him to kill the American president. He had no feelings about the president one way or another, it was simply a challenge, a test of his skill, something that would be discussed for hundreds of years and maybe longer. To kill the most protected man in the world and get away with it, that would be the ultimate test. He’d dreamt of it. He was an old man giving a deathbed confession. Giving details that only he would know. Maybe even telling them where he’d hid the rifle. That was the only way to kill a man so heavily protected, that or a bomb, but bombs were clumsy and ended up killing too many innocent people. They were the easy way out, not the way of a talented assassin.
Rapp, however, was an entirely different matter. Despite Claudia’s worries, Louie knew he had a huge advantage, and there was nothing cocky about recognizing this. Surprise was on his side. He knew if the roles were reversed he probably wouldn’t stand a chance against a man of Rapp’s talents and significant resources. Any disadvantage he was dealt by having to operate in Rapp’s backyard was negated by the fact that he had gone to high school in Washington while his father had been ambassador. Louie’s Americanized English was flawless. Despite Claudia’s reservations, he was very optimistic about pulling off this job and simply fading away into early retirement. Well, he was a little less optimistic about the fading away part, but he hadn’t shared that with Claudia.
After she’d finished two cups of coffee she closed the paper and said, “Do you want to know what I think?”
“I’ve been waiting all morning.”
“The German is working for the Saudis. That’s where his contacts are. I don’t like the Saudis, but I like the idea of settling down.” She paused and fixed him with a very serious look. “But I’m not so sure you do.”
“That’s not true.”
“What are you going to do? Lie in the sun every day and drink beer…” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Claudia, we are going to be extremely wealthy. I will do whatever I want.”
She studied him with open skepticism. “I want you to really think about this. I want children, and I want to put all of this behind us. Killing people was not what I wanted to do with my life.”
She extended her arms and motioned toward the dirty walls of the run-down apartment. “No more assignments, no more moving from place to place. I want to stop.”
“So do I.” Louie knew the important thing was to keep agreeing. Like an alcoholic, he had the desire to stop. The benefit was undeniable, but he just didn’t know if he would be able to resist the call of the hunt.
His answer, and her need to believe in the possibility of a different life, was enough for her. “Here is what we are going to do. I don’t trust the German. He would throw us overboard in a second, and as far as the money goes he is a shyster. We know he’s acting on behalf of the Saudis, and it’s my guess that he is not working for the government but rather some individual or group. Either way,” she shrugged, “they have deep pockets.”
“I would agree.”
“Good. I am going to call Herr Abel and tell him our fee is ten million.”
Louie didn’t like changing the deal. “But I already told him seven.”
“I know you did, but Saudis are not rational when it comes to money. They are impulsive. If they are willing to pa
y seven they are willing to pay ten…trust me.”
“Why not ask for fifteen, then?”
“That’s too big of a jump.” She reached out and patted his hand. “You’re good, darling, but not that good. If we demand fifteen million, Abel will go find someone else.”
“All right. Ten million is the number. What if they say no?”
“They won’t.”
She was right. Louie sat there at the kitchen table and watched Claudia turn on her phone and call Abel. It didn’t go well at first. Louie could hear the German’s voice bellowing from the tiny speaker of the mobile phone. They had a deal. Seven million was the agreed-upon sum. He said he would find someone else. Claudia wished him luck, pressed the end button, and turned her phone off. Fifteen minutes later she turned her phone back on and there were three messages from the German. She played them back and listened to Abel negotiate with himself. The first message he agreed to go to eight, during the second call he went to nine, and finally on the third call he agreed to ten million but not a dollar more. Claudia called him back and told him she would e-mail him the wiring instructions. As soon as the five-million-dollar deposit was in their hands they would start.
By midafternoon of that same day they received verification that one million dollars had been deposited in each of the five separate banks that Claudia had requested. The German appeared eager for them to get the job done, and they were more than happy to oblige. Staying in Paris, with the German there, was not a good idea. Abel was too sloppy to be trusted, and if an intelligence agency was tracking him, they were only one step away from Louie and Claudia, so the first order of business was to sanitize, dismantle, and ditch both Claudia’s phone and his since they had made enough calls to each other that it would be easy to link the two. After the phones were disposed of, they collected their meager belongings and left the rented apartment, never to return. Claudia called the landlady from a pay phone and told her there was a family emergency and they would not be returning. With any luck the woman would have the place rented within the week.
They then took the metro, zigzagging across the city until they arrived in the Montmartre neighborhood where they had met the German only a day earlier. Six blocks north of the famous Roman Byzantine Basilica of Sacré-Coeur they separated. Claudia stopped at a small café for an espresso while Louie started his sweep. After ten minutes of walking the narrow streets and making a single phone call, he deemed it safe to enter the apartment. The two-bedroom apartment was located on the top floor of a five-story Belle Epoque era building. Louie had purchased the apartment through an offshore corporation three years earlier. He skipped the elevator and used the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Once in the apartment he turned off the alarm and went straight to the kitchen. He placed a gloved hand on each side of the refrigerator and slid it away from the wall. White subway tile covered the wall down to the height of the countertop. Beneath that was plaster. Making a fist with his right hand, Louie hit the wall in just the right spot and the plaster section popped out about an inch on the left side. Louie grabbed the corner and swung open the hinged door. Inside were three eighteen-inch-deep shelves. A single black duffel bag sat on each wooden plank. Louie grabbed the top bag, closed the door, and pushed the refrigerator back up against the wall. Emblazoned on the side of the duffel bag was the name of Peugeot, the French car manufacturer.
Gould had a mind that was uniquely suited to breaking rules and not getting caught. He’d first noticed it during childhood. He had a friend who seemed to have a nose for trouble, both at home and at school. No matter how many times the boy was told not to do something, he did it. No matter how harsh the punishment, he persisted. The boy was oblivious to his surroundings, unlike Gould, who seemed to always know what was going on around him. Even at an early age he instinctively knew the key was to understand the rules first, and then find a way to avoid detection while breaking them.
There were a variety of ways to circumvent the ban against bringing weapons across international borders. Prior to the terrorist attacks against America in September 2001 everything was much easier. A man of Gould’s profession could even be brazen enough to carry the tools of the trade concealed beneath his own clothes or in a suitcase, but those days were long gone. That left two options. The first was to acquire the weapons once you arrived in the country where you would be operating. Again this had grown more difficult since 9/11, but it was still doable, especially in the old Eastern Bloc countries of Europe. He’d also done it once in America, but for this job, Gould wanted to be absolutely certain he minimized his exposure as much as possible. He had yet to decide how he would kill Rapp, but he would more than likely end up using either a silenced rifle or pistol. For that he wanted to use weapons that he himself had already field tested and zeroed in.
Each of the three bags concealed in the wall behind the refrigerator contained a TTR-700 tactical sniping rifle that was designed with a collapsible butt stock, bipod and quick release scope, silencer, and barrel. Each bag also contained a Glock 17 pistol with silencer, and a complete set of ID including passport, credit cards, driver’s license, and cash. Due to the new wave of screening machines that sniffed for explosives, the bags did not contain ammunition.
Gould left the apartment with one of the bags and called Claudia, telling her he was clearing the area. They would meet at a predetermined location in two hours. He hailed a taxi, and directed the driver to the Gare du Nord train station. From there he took the metro clear across town. He was being more careful than normal, but it would be criminal to have come so far and get caught right on the verge of the biggest job of his career. His next stop was at a packaging store where he purchased a three-by-three-foot cardboard box. He put a layer of Styrofoam packaging peanuts on the bottom, placed the black duffel bag in the box, and then filled the rest with the white peanuts. After taping the box shut, he walked two blocks to a FedEx office and filled out an international air bill. He showed the woman behind the counter a fake ID that matched the name on the air bill and explained that he was mailing sales samples to Canada for a convention he would be attending. It was a common practice, and the woman didn’t even bat an eye.
