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Mukhtar pushed Farahani off him toward the now fully opened doors. Ashani stood and took a tentative step forward. His brain was still telling him that something was wrong. He kept going back to that horrible screeching noise. Like a fog rolling in off the ocean, a cloud of dust floated up from below obscuring everything beyond the door. Alarm bells began sounding in Ashani’s brain as he realized what was going on. He had heard that screeching noise once many years before, when he’d participated in a clandestine raid against an Iraqi oil platform. It was the sound of steel twisting and snapping.
Farahani ran out of the elevator and dropped like a rock. His scream floated up from below. Mukhtar was right on his heels. For Ashani what happened next was more a reaction than a decision. His arm shot out and grabbed Mukhtar by the back of his shirt. The master terrorist hung on the edge for a second, one foot safely in the elevator, the other floating above what could have be
en certain death. Slowly, Ashani pulled Mukhtar back into the elevator. Almost immediately, he knew he had missed a great opportunity. And if Ashani had even a glimpse of the problems that Mukhtar would create for him in the ensuing weeks, he would have shoved him to his death right then and there.
9
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
Rapp stared out the window of the Gulfstream 5 as the landing gear thudded into the locked position. Rivera reached out and grabbed his hand, which he took as a good sign, considering the fact that she had been mute for most of the morning. Rapp had never excelled in the relationship department. He was sure if he sat down with a shrink he or she would be able to surmise his problems in a few minutes. Maybe less. His father had died of a heart attack when he was young, his high school sweetheart had perished in the Pan Am Lockerbie tragedy, and his wife had been murdered just two short years ago. Add to that his inherent lack of trust in people, and you were left with a person who was better suited for bachelorhood. Being the realist that he was, Rapp should have found solace in the knowledge that he was better off alone. He didn’t, though. There was a gaping hole where he expected his life to be at this point. He was growing tired of the solitude. Not the job so much. He was still extremely passionate about that. It was more what it did to his personal life.
Rivera offered hope, though. Yes, her Latina temper could bare its fangs over the most inconsequential things, but the woman had a sense of proportion when it mattered and even more importantly a sense of duty and sacrifice. That was something Anna had never understood. His wife claimed to know why he did what he did, but she was never entirely on board. How could she have been? She was a reporter, and he was a clandestine operative for the CIA. She fundamentally believed that media had a right to know everything the government was doing. He fundamentally believed there were certain things a civilized society was better off not knowing. If they had taken one of those premarriage tests they would have failed miserably. Even so it wouldn’t have deterred them. They were madly in love, and not a day passed where he didn’t long to hold her in his arms once more.
“What are you thinking about?”
Rivera’s words yanked Rapp back to the here and now like a slap to the face. He slowly turned and looked into the caramel eyes of the woman he had slept with less than a day ago. As bad as he was with relationships, he wasn’t so stupid as to tell her he was thinking about his deceased wife.
“I’m just wondering why they need me in Atlanta.”
Rapp was referring to his boss, CIA Director Irene Kennedy. She had called and had their plane diverted while it was over the Gulf of Mexico.
“She didn’t tell you why?”
“Only that the president needed to talk to me.”
Rivera got nervous. “You don’t think?”
“No.” Rapp shook his head. He knew what she was hinting at. The president knew nothing of Garret’s role in the death of his wife.
Rivera looked past Rapp out the window for a moment and then slowly let her gaze fall on him. She squeezed his hand and said, “I want you to know that I think I know why you did what you did last night, and I’m not mad.”
Rapp was surprised. “Really?”
Rapp had arrived back at the beach a little before 4:00 in the morning to find Rivera waiting for him. She was sitting at the tree line holding the secure radio looking worried. He walked out of the surf and across the soft sand not knowing what to expect but was fairly certain she was not going to be happy with him. For a brief moment, he even considered lying to her. Since the plan was to kill Garret on the second night, he thought about telling her he was doing some reconnaissance, but the lie wouldn’t hold up for long. The wife was sure to report him missing as soon as she awoke. They needed to leave the country before the police started poking around.
Rapp walked up to her and extended his hand. She grabbed it, and he pulled her to her feet.
She looked him in the eye for a long moment and then asked, “You killed him, didn’t you?”
Rapp hesitated and then said, “Yes.”
After studying him with her discerning eyes, Rivera nodded and in a very casual tone said, “We’d better pack up and get out of here.”
Rapp was expecting more of a confrontation. He followed her up to the house, pretty sure the interrogation would ensue later. While Rivera got started sanitizing the place, Rapp called the pilots and told them to get the plane ready. It took them less than an hour to put everything in order. As the Eastern sky was beginning to brighten, he threw their bags into the back of their rented Toyota FJ Cruiser and locked up the house.
They’d flown into Golfito on a rented corporate jet flown by former military pilots who were paid well to keep their mouths shut. Entering the country had given Rapp little concern. He and Rivera had landed at the small Golfito airport where the customs and immigration controls were almost nonexistent. An advance team had already made arrangements for a vehicle and the house. The only downside was all the nosy realtors who trolled the airport looking for potential buyers. The real estate boom had finally reached the remote southern part of Costa Rica. There were a lot of Americans who were living in the area trying to make their fortune. It was not unusual for private jets to land at the small airport, but it was not so common as to not be noticed. There was a chance that some aggressive reporter might try to run down the lead, but it wouldn’t get them very far. Rapp and Rivera were traveling with Mexican passports.
They were wheels up and heading north shortly before 7:00 a.m. A few hours later they touched down in Cancun and pulled into a private hangar where they changed planes as well as identities. This time they were Bob and Susan Luther, a married couple from Nashville. The next leg of their journey was to take them to Houston, but shortly after takeoff they received the call from Langley. Not wanting to go into detail over an unsecured line, Rapp’s boss explained to him that the president wanted his counsel on an urgent matter. She was with him in Atlanta, and they would be traveling back to Washington shortly after lunch.
Rivera had been quiet for most of the flight. She kept her head buried in a book and for the most part ignored Rapp. The fact that she was now telling him she understood why he had taken care of Garret himself was a good sign.
“You are very good at what you do,” Rivera said. “It scares me sometimes, but that’s not the point. There was a lot riding on this, and it had to go down perfectly. As much as I wanted to choke the life out of that piece of trash, it was foolish of me to think that I should be the one to do it.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you understand.”
“Now it’s your turn.”
“My turn?”
