AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I assume you’ve seen the movie Patton,” said Hartsburg.
“Of course.”
“Remember the scene where they’re celebrating and the Russian general gives a toast and Patton refuses to drink.”
“Yeah.”
“And then the Russian calls him a bastard and Patton laughs and says, ‘All right, from one bastard to another…I’ll drink to that.’ ”
Rapp took a swig of the dark brown Guinness. “It’s one of the best scenes in the whole movie.”
“Well,” Hartsburg held up his glass, “you’re one of the biggest bastards in a town filled with bastards. So…from one bastard to another.”
The two men clanged glasses and drank. “Just so we’re clear,” said Rapp, “I’m Patton and you’re the commie.”
Hartsburg laughed. “That is my point exactly. You are Patton. You are this politically incorrect warrior who is good at only one thing and that is fighting terrorism. You’ve saved the president’s life on one occasion, and you had a very big hand in making sure this city wasn’t nuked. I have never agreed with your tactics, but that close call last Memorial Day woke a lot of us up. These are drastic times and they call for drastic measures. We need to isolate these radicals, and we need to turn their own people against them. It needs to be done covertly and it needs to be off the books. You,” the senator pointed to Rapp, “are the perfect man for the job.”
“
You still haven’t solved my problem.”
“Maybe we need to bring Ross in on this?”
Rapp shook his head. “No way. Too many people are already involved.”
“Then that leaves only one option.”
“What’s that?”
“You act like Patton.”
Rapp frowned.
“Let me explain what makes Mark Ross tick, and then let me tell you how to handle him.”
23
MONTREAL, CANADA
G ould took the overnight flight from Paris to Montreal and arrived early morning. He was traveling with a French passport under the name of Marcel Moliere. His stated purpose was business—pharmaceutical sales, to be more precise. He hailed a taxi at the airport and headed for the Hyatt downtown. A haven for international businessmen who visited the largest French-speaking city outside of France, the Hyatt suited his needs perfectly. It was upscale, with over 300 rooms and a very well staffed business center. Claudia was several thousand miles away en route to the island of Nevis to make sure their fee was secure from the army of snoops and hackers now employed by the U.S. government.
Louie Gould had many secrets, and one of them was that he had worked briefly for France’s Direction Génerale de la Securité Exterieure or DGSE. The DGSE was France’s main intelligence arm for industrial and economic espionage and for penetrating terrorist organizations. Gould had done his time in the Legion and had been looking for new challenges. As an officer, and a citizen of France, he was a priority recruit for DGSE. What sealed the deal was the fact that his diplomat father detested the spy agency and everything it stood for.
During Gould’s one year with the spy agency, he worked almost exclusively on industrial espionage and had absolutely nothing to do with terrorism. It was during his year with the DGSE that he realized two important things—freelancers got paid far better than government employees, and they had to put up with a fraction of the bullshit. And Gould was sick of putting up with bullshit. As romantic as the French Foreign Legion may have been portrayed in the old movies it was anything but. The pay was atrocious, the facilities were run-down, and the duty was often grueling. What made it all bearable was the esprit de corps, the brotherhood, and the pride that went along with training at such a high level. After one complete tour, however, Gould was done. He wanted something that he had grown accustomed to in his youth, and that was money. Too prideful to ever go back to his father, he saw the DGSE as a way to make double what he was making in the Legion and still stay in the action. He knew from the day he took the job, though, that it was merely a stepping stone.
Gould knew fellow Legionnaires who were making big bucks working corporate security. While the money sounded great, he knew the job would bore him to death. He needed something that would both pay well and test his skill. He found it one day when they discovered that one of their DGSE informants was playing both sides of the fence. Due to this informant’s duplicity a fellow DGSE agent had been picked up by the Syrian secret police and had gone missing. There was little doubt within DGSE headquarters that the agent was sitting in a Syrian jail getting beaten with rubber hoses. Gould wanted to kill the informer himself, but his superior, who also happened to be a former paratrooper, told him that was not how they handled things.
What he saw next opened his eyes to a whole new world. His boss called a contract agent and in less than two minutes arranged to have the informant disposed of. Gould’s job was to deliver the cash to the contract agent. On his way to the dead drop he pulled over and counted the money. The attaché was filled with twenty thousand francs, more than half of what he earned in a single year. All for killing some worthless, self-serving asshole.
Looking back on it now, the decision had been relatively easy. He drove straight past the dead drop and called his boss’s office. It was past eight in the evening and Gould knew he would not be there. He left him a message, telling him he was changing careers, and that he’d fax him his resignation. His first stop was a bar where the informant liked to hang out. Gould walked in, the bar was crowded, but he found the man with little difficulty. They had met face-to-face a dozen times, usually in this smoky dive. Gould made eye contact and nodded for the man to follow him.
They met near the back door and Gould said, “They are onto you. I need to get you out of here now.” Gould stepped into the narrow, dark alley and the idiot followed him without hesitation. After walking only a few steps, Gould put an arm out like he was going to usher the man along and then in a flash he grabbed the man by the back of the neck with his right and brought his left hand up with blinding speed. The four-inch blade of his knife plunged into the man’s chest and the two men stood clutching each other, eye to eye, for what seemed like a minute. Gould felt no shame, even as the man began to release his grip and slide to the dirty ground. He wanted him to die, he wanted him to feel the pain and see the look of hatred in his killer’s eyes.
Gould looked back on it now and shook his head in embarrassment. What he had done that night was very stupid—very impulsive. Things could have gone awry at any moment. There could have been surveillance, someone could have recognized him, or worst of all, the man could have shot him in the back as they entered the alley. It seemed like it was all ages ago, and in terms of his skill level, it was. Back then he wouldn’t have had a prayer against a man like Mitch Rapp, but now their skills were more even, and with surprise on Gould’s side, the deck was stacked in his favor.
THE CAB PULLED underneath the car park in front of the Hyatt in downtown Montreal and Gould got out. It was 9:36 in the morning. He subtly began to inventory the surrounding area while the driver handed the bellman his suitcase. Gould paid the driver, tipped the bellman, and then casually followed him into the lobby. The attractive woman behind the reception desk informed him that she would have a room ready for him in thirty minutes. She directed him to the restaurant. Gould picked a table with a nice view of the lobby and asked the waitress if she could get him a copy of the Washington Post. They did not carry the Post, but they did have the New York Times. He told her that would be fine.
She returned a few minutes later with a pot of coffee and the paper. Gould ordered an omelet with a side of fruit and started in on the paper. From time to time he looked up to see who was coming through the door. He also noted the other patrons in the restaurant and those in the lobby. No one stood out. They all fit the profile of countless business travelers going through their morning rituals the world over. Eat, read, and get ready for whatever the day might bring.
