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The nurse put her hands on her little hips and looked at Anna.
“I’m the White House correspondent for NBC. Anna Rielly.”
“That’s right. My husband loves you.”
“Doesn’t everyone’s,” said Rapp dryly.
Anna delivered a backhand to his chest. “Pay no attention to him. He’s a little crabby.”
“Is he worried?” the nurse asked without looking at Rapp.
“I think so.”
“I’m hungry,” moaned Rapp.
“Well, then, we’d better get things moving. Anna, I’m going to take him into prep, and then he’ll head straight into surgery. You can wait in the lobby and when we’re done, I’ll come get you and bring you to recovery.”
They both stood. Anna grabbed his face and kissed him on the lips. “I love you, honey. Good luck.”
“I love you too.” Rapp turned and limped toward the door.
Anna followed him into the hall and watched the tiny nurse lead him away. She glimpsed his backside through the flapping gown and couldn’t resist giving him a whistle. “Nice butt.”
Rapp lowered his head and shook it at the same time. Anna stifled a laugh and cursed herself for not bringing the camera.
37
ANNE ARUNDEL COUNTY, MARYLAND
G ould had found the pickup truck the day before at a small used car lot on the outskirts of Annapolis. It was the type of place that preferred to deal in cash. The truck was black with a gray cloth interior. The asking price was $4,999.99. It had high miles, which he expected, and a few dents here and there, but otherwise it was in decent shape. He got the guy to come down to $4,500 on the price and paid him in hundreds. The only glitch came when the guy asked to see a proof of insurance. “Maryland state law,” he told Gould. It was the one thing he hadn’t thought of. Fortunately, the guy did not want to lose the sale, so he wrote down Progressive and told Gould to fax him the information when he had a chance.
Gould left the car lot and found a big auto center a few miles down the road. He dropped another twelve hundred bucks on new tires, belts, filters, an oil change, and a new battery. The car salesman had told him everything was in great shape, but Gould knew better than to trust him. With so much on the line it wasn’t worth leaving the dependability of the vehicle to chance. The next stop was Home Depot, where he picked up an extension ladder, a chain and lock, a set of tools, an extension cord, two high-pressure hoses, five different types of tape, a roll of clear plastic, a utility knife, six five-gallon gas cans, two forty-gallon propane tanks, and a few other odds and ends. The final stop for the night was Radio Shack where he purchased a remote switch. Gould went back to the hotel, locked everything up in the truck, and chained the ladder to the truck bed.
He then went about briefing Claudia on the plan. Any anger he felt toward her over what had happened earlier that day was now mitigated by the news that Mitch Rapp would be going under the knife in the morning. Since Gould had first learned about the knee problem that morning things had only gotten better. Rapp’s wife unwittingly gave Gould a constant stream of updates as she called friends and family and told them in detail that Rapp was going in for arthroscopic knee surgery in the morning. She had given away the entire timetable. When they were supposed to be at the hospital, and what time she expected to get back to the house. Gould had at minimum a seven-hour window to get things ready.
In almost all matters tactical, Claudia deferred to Louie. In this instance she made only one request—that he avoid killing the woman. She was not part of the contract. Gould had expected this, and it was one of the reasons that he had withheld from Claudia the fact that Rapp’s wife was pregnant. He would make an effort to keep the woman out of it, but he would not let it compromise the mission. Rather than argue with her, though, he promised her that Rapp’s wife would be fine.
Gould took the opportunity to lay down the law to Claudia. He didn’t want her leaving the hotel until her new morning ritual was over. He couldn’t have her out in public drawing attention to herself by throwing up every thirty minutes. Claudia agreed. She would stay back at the hotel and monitor the position of Anna’s car and any new audio they might pick up. With the plan solidified they packed everything up. Gould would be leaving the hotel in the pickup truck before sunrise and Claudia would check out around noon as long as Anna’s car stayed put at the hospital.
At 6:00 a.m. Gould left the hotel, and stopped at a gas station midway between the hotel and Rapp’s house. He was wearing a pair of Carhartt blue jeans, brown work boots, a blue and gray flannel shirt, and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. He hadn’t shaved in three days, and was already well on his way to having a full beard. Gould topped off the truck’s tank and then filled all six gas cans. He grabbed a newspaper, paid for everything in cash, and left. At a separate gas station a few blocks away, he pulled in and had them fill the forty-pound propane tanks.
He’d picked out his spot the night before and pulled into the strip mall parking lot at exactly 6:22 in the morning. He checked the tracking device and noted that Rielly’s car had not moved. He looked east and then west down the highway and wondered for the twentieth time what the odds were that they would take Rapp’s car instead of hers. There wasn’t much he could do at this point other than wait and see. Gould turned off the truck, went into the Starbucks and grabbed a black coffee. He came back out a few minutes later and settled in for what he hoped would be a short wait. He started reading the paper and tried to take his mind off what lay ahead. At 6:31 the device beeped, telling him that her car was moving. Gould breathed a sigh of relief. This was going to be much easier if they knew exactly where Rapp and his wife were.
Six minutes later, the blue BMW Series Five came flying past Gould. Rapp was in the passenger seat and his wife was driving. Gould watched with professional detachment. Rather than leave right away, he stayed put. Getting to the house too early might raise some suspicion, so he drank his coffee, read the paper, and kept on eye on the tracking device. At five minutes before seven Rielly’s car stopped near George Washington University Hospital. Gould waited another fifteen minutes and then finished the last of the coffee. He backed out of the spot and headed for Rapp’s house. A mile down the road he dialed Claudia’s mobile phone. She answered on the fourth ring.
“Allô.”
Gould nearly bit his own tongue in an effort to stop himself from screaming at her for answering in French.
“How are you feeling?” he asked in a tense voice.
“Not good,” she answered.
“Go back to sleep. I just wanted to tell you that everything looks good. I’m headed over. I’ll call at ten to give you an update.”
“Okay.”
Gould ended the call and gripped the wheel tightly with both hands. Claudia was not herself. The sooner he got this over with the better. Gould considered how much of it was due to her being pregnant and how much of it was due to burnout. He’d noticed the first sign four months ago. She’d gotten drunk after an operation they’d run in Ukraine and asked him if he thought she would go to hell. A self-professed atheist, he told her there was no such thing as hell. She shook her head and told him he was wrong, and then she began to sob uncontrollably.
