AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Gould didn’t speak for a second. He just gawked at her stupidity. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Then give the money back. I don’t care…just leave me alone. Can’t you see I’m not in the mood to argue with you right now?”
“You sure picked a hell of a time to get pregnant.”
She lifted the corner of the pillow and looked out at him with an angry eye. “Believe me, you had something to do with it.”
“Why now? We’ve been having sex for years and it’s never happened before.” He had wanted to ask this question, but until now had been too worried about how she might react. Now he simply didn’t care.
“It happens,” she replied with a tinge of anger in her voice.
“Bullshit,” he growled. “You stopped taking the Pill, didn’t you?”
“Va-t’en. Je ne me sens pas bien.”
“Speak English,” he snapped.
“Go away. I don’t feel well, you bully.”
Gould’s jaw clenched in anger. He hesitated for a second, fighting the urge to press his point. He decided he needed to get away from her before he said something they would both regret. He marched across the room and grabbed one of the backpacks. He threw the pack over one shoulder and left without saying another word.
HE STOPPED AT a nearby gas station and filled the tank. He also got some coffee and a donut that he regretted buying soon after he’d wolfed it down. Before pulling out of the lot Gould checked the GPS tracking device he’d placed on Anna Rielly’s car. The screen on the handheld device was only three inches by three inches and was not capable of the detail that Claudia’s laptop provided, but for now it would do just fine. A quick check revealed that she was on her way back into the city. More than likely she was on her way to work. Gould had placed three devices in her car. The first, the one he stuck under the dashboard, was a simple bug. Anything she said while in the car would be relayed to a digital recorder and scanning device in the trunk. That small black box also randomly scanned the most common frequencies used by cordless phones. It had an effective range of up to 100 feet. It also contained a small digital phone so it could be accessed remotely. The third device was the GPS transponder itself, which allowed him to track the location of the vehicle.
Gould plugged an earpiece into his Palm Pilot and dialed the number to connect with the scanning device in Rielly’s trunk. At the prompt he punched in the four-digit code and waited with the Palm Pilot’s thin black stylus poised above the screen. He followed several more commands and then waited while the data was transferred from the scanner to the handheld computer. The code on the bottom of the file told him that he had sixteen minutes and eighteen seconds worth of conversation. As soon as it was done he erased the recordings on the scanner and ended the connection. The scanner in Rielly’s trunk could hold up to five hours of digitized phone conversation, which for his purposes should be more than enough. Gould opened the audio file on his Palm Pilot and began replaying the time-stamped conversations. The first one was from the night before and was nothing more than Rielly listening to the radio on her way home from work. Gould fast forwarded through parts of it to make sure he didn’t miss anything. Eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds into it she made a call to a girlfriend named Liz. She asked how her godson was doing and began talking about babies. Gould skipped ahead. He would go back and listen to every word later, but for now he wanted to hear if he had Rapp talking on the home phone.
Gould put the car in drive and pulled out onto Annapolis Road. A few blocks later her car took the Blue Star Memorial Highway south. His plan was to spend the rest of the morning familiarizing himself with the countryside. When he lived in the States he’d spent a little time in both Annapolis and Baltimore and had gone on two cruises of the Chesapeake. One was for school and the other was a private outing, a day of sailing that Gould remembered fondly. A friend of his father’s had taken them. His sisters and mother were left at home. Gould remembered it well because they had entered a regatta and it had been thrilling. The weather was perfect; sunny, warm, and blustery.
He had spent zero time, however, in the area where Rapp lived just south of Annapolis. He wanted to make sure what the map showed actually existed, and was where it was supposed to be. In a country like America this was not usually a problem, but in some of the Third World hell-holes where Gould had served, good maps were rare. No matter what, though, a map was still just a map. A flat representation of a real place. It helped with
names and places, but still, to get a real sense of what was out there, you had to see it with your own eyes. Maps, unless they were extraordinarily good ones, did not show foot paths through the woods, they did not show clumps of bushes, and they did not tell you which way the wind blew. And then there was the change of seasons to consider. What might be a great place to lie in wait in the summer might be useless in the winter. All of these things needed to be experienced firsthand, but still one had to be very careful. Especially when dealing with a man like Rapp. Reconnaissance was only useful in a situation like this if your target remained oblivious to the fact that he was being watched. Reconnaissance was in many ways the most difficult aspect of Gould’s job. Training and planning were important, but they were things that he could control in an almost lablike setting. Reconnaissance meant that he had to expose himself.
Gould continued south for approximately five minutes and then turned east. Most of the cars were headed west at this point so traffic was light. He continued to play the recordings as he went, half listening, half thinking about how quickly the ebb and flow of the operation had turned. Everything had gone so smoothly until this morning. They’d had no trouble entering the country, all of the money was safely transferred into untraceable accounts, and they had followed Rielly home without incident. And then they had come face to face with Rapp and Claudia had opened her mouth. This was exactly what Gould was thinking when a snippet of the recorded conversation caught his attention. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He was still in a surly mood, upset with Claudia and believing firmly that she had gotten pregnant intentionally. He was lamenting how quickly things had turned when lady luck came roaring back into his life via a simple phone call. The conversation had taken place between Anna Rielly and a friend barely an hour ago. That phone call was followed quickly by a second one where Rapp’s wife was making an appointment for him to see a doctor. An orthopedic surgeon. The next conversation was the doctor calling for Rapp. He asked Rapp to explain the problem. The short version was that Rapp could barely bend his left knee. The doctor told him to try and stay off it and come in immediately. They would do an MRI and then decide if he needed surgery.
Gould pulled over to the side of the county road and checked his map. Now that he thought back on it Rapp had been walking with a slight limp when he’d seen him earlier in the morning. Surgery, he thought to himself. Could I be so lucky? If Rapp had to go under the knife, he’d be laid up for a while and Gould’s job would be made significantly easier. Gould yanked the car back into drive and waited for a small tanker truck to pass. Gould was already plotting, exploring any possible way he could make Rapp’s death look remotely like an accident. A car crash would be difficult with the type of vehicles they drove. As long as they were wearing their seat belts both the BMW and the Audi would protect them from any crash Gould could help orchestrate.
Several hundred yards ahead, Gould watched a truck turn off the road. At the moment he didn’t think much of it, but as he slowed for a stop sign he looked to his left and noticed the truck parked in the driveway of someone’s home. The driver was out of the cab and dragging a hose over to a silver tank next to the house. Gould read the stenciled lettering on the door. Chesapeake Bay Propane Co. Underneath was a phone number and address. Gould memorized both and continued on. He remembered some obscure fact that he’d picked up years ago. Where, he could not remember, but it had something to do with natural gas being odorless. He tried to picture Rapp’s house, but couldn’t be sure. It was a possibility, he supposed. How else would they heat their homes in this rural area? After he got to Rapp’s house he would look into it. The extra million would come in handy, and if it was done right, there would be no reason for the CIA to come looking for him. They would of course suspect foul play, but without hard evidence, there would always be doubt.
34
ANDREWS AIR FORCE BASE
T he Saudi delegation arrived on four massive 747 long-haul aircrafts. The planes were designed by Boeing to carry 400 plus passengers depending on how they were configured, but these were no ordinary planes. Each one was owned privately by a member of the Saudi royal family. Due to an almost endless source of petrodollars, and the Saudis’ need to constantly trump one another, each plane was lavishly decorated in the most opulent manner possible. Marble showers with gold fixtures, king-size beds, and Jacuzzis were standard on each plane, as were workout facilities, steam rooms, and gaming rooms. Plasma TV screens were in great abundance as well as DVDs, CDs, and pretty much anything that had an ounce of entertainment value. Each wide-body plane carried a world class chef, masseuse, manicurist, and barber. The jumbo jets were the equivalent of flying private yachts. Not counting the flight crew and staff, fewer than fifty passengers flew on each plane.
Maintaining this lavish lifestyle was anything but easy. Two separate 747s loaded with security people, protocol officers, junior diplomats, and servants had arrived earlier in the week. Entire five-star hotels had been booked, the top floor in some cases reserved for just one person. Extra cigarettes were ordered in quantities befitting an army going into battle. The hotels stocked up on the most expensive cognac, the finest cigars, and the rarest of wines. Escort services flew in call girls from Chicago, Miami, New York, and L.A. When the Saudis came to town they provided a boost to the local economy that was akin to hosting a major sporting event. Instead of doing it with tens of thousands of people, though, they simply did it with a thousand or less.
The protocol officers had argued over every detail of the state visit. It started with lodging. When the president offered Blair House to the king, it looked like things were off to a good start, but it all went downhill from there. The foreign minister, minister of commerce, and minister for Islamic affairs all wanted to stay at the Saudi ambassador’s estate outside the city. The estate was big, but not big enough to handle two, let alone three, of the ministers and their entourages. The foreign minister’s people argued that he had the most important job. The minister of commerce’s people argued that the ambassador was his full brother, and thus it was his right to use the estate, and the minister of Islamic affairs’ people refused to give a reason other than the fact that it was what Prince Muhammad bin Rashid wanted. In the end this was reason enough. Rashid had the ear of the clerics, and his contacts ran deep in the state security agencies. In many ways he was the most feared man in Saudi Arabia. Only King Abdullah and a handful of young princes dared stand up to him.
In hindsight, they realized that they were fools for not having suggested that Prince Muhammad and his entourage stay at the estate in the first place. Prince Muhammad was one of the only truly pious members of the royal family, and he refused to partake in alcohol or tobacco even when traveling abroad. With Muhammad and his people sequestered at the estate, the rest of the delegation could relax and have fun without fear of being reported back to the clerics at home. The Saudi royals had a “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” attitude. While in the Kingdom they at least kept up the appearance that they were following the Wahhabis’ strict interpretation of Islam, but as soon as they left the country they went wild.
The remaining Saudis were left to fight over the Ritz Carlton in Georgetown and the Ritz in Foggy Bottom a mere eight blocks away. In the end the foreign minister got the Ritz in Foggy Bottom since the hotel had more rooms and his entourage was larger. They were not done arguing, though. There were still important issues to settle, such as the order in which the planes would land. It was a given that the king would land last, but the other three slots were up for grabs. Again, Prince Muhammad’s people refused to negotiate. This infuriated the other two camps, but after much yelling and complaining they got nowhere. In the end the foreign minister secured the number-two spot, and the minister of commerce was forced to land first.
Security was a major issue, but the Americans were running the show where that was concerned. As the planes came in on final approach, the motorcades were readied and the military marching band stood poised to play. The king was going straight to the White House, Prince Muhammad and the foreign minister were going to the State Department, and the minister of commerce was going to the Kennedy Center where he would be hosted by the U.S. commerce secretary and important business leaders. The DC Metro Police were on hand to provide motorcycle escorts, and the Secret Service had pulled in agents from all over the East Coast to provide diplomatic protection. The king, as well as his three half brothers, had all brought their own armor-plated limousines, which had been flown over to America in advance of the visit.
Prince Muhammad had wondered more than once on the long journey just how close Abel’s assassin was to getting the job done. It would be very interesting to watch the story reported from the American perspective if it happened during his visit. It would also be priceless to see the reaction on the faces of their government officials. Especially the director of the CIA. Muhammad knew the woman favored Rapp and that his death would hurt her. This is what she deserves for meddling in the affairs of Saudi Arabia, he thought.
After the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon, Muhammad had learned that it had been that damnable woman who had advised the American president to press for his reassignment. Kennedy herself had visited with then Crown Prince Abdullah and provided evidence that Saudi Security Services were in some cases knowingly protecting al-Qaeda and its members. She stated that the president, along with the leaders in the House and Senate, did not feel Prince Muhammad bin Rashid was up to the job of running the Ministry of the Interior, which oversaw the security services. If he was not moved out of the position, and replaced with someone who was willing to go after al-Qaeda aggressively, Saudi-American relations would suffer greatly.
His half brother caved in to the demand, but in order to save face at home, and keep the tenuous balance between the bickering princes, he gave Muhammad the important position of minister of Islamic affairs, endowment, dawa, and guidance. In terms of sheer power, it paled in comparison to running the Ministry of the Interior, but in terms of influence, it was second to none. Oil was the blood of Saudi Arabia, but Islam was its heart. The royal family could not rule without the backing of the cle
