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If Rapp hadn’t already spoken to Marcus Dumond, who had assured him that all recordings had been destroyed, he might have been slightly anxious, but even if Kline did have the tape he would never flip. Rapp glanced down at Kline’s notes and said, “Show it to me.”
“What?”
“The tape.”
“The FBI,” he said calmly, “is analyzing it for evidence.”
“Sure they are.” Rapp smiled and gave Kline a look as if they were both on the inside of a joke. “You don’t have shit, Kline.”
“I do, and you’re going down…and you’re going to bring the rest of that den of rats down with you.”
“You’re a big talker, Kline,” Rapp said in a confident voice. “I’ve seen your type come and go every few years. You’ve got your righteous gung-ho attitude. You talk tough about cleaning up crime and defending Lady Liberty, but we both know why you do it.”
Kline looked amused. “I can’t wait to hear this. A knuckle-dragger from the CIA is going to impart a pearl of wisdom.”
“It’s your ego. It’s not a sense of duty. You want to make a name for yourself. You want to climb the ladder of success. Maybe run for office someday or open your own law practice. You’re nothing but a big pussy in a suit. You wouldn’t last a day out there doing what we do.”
“I would never stoop so low as to do your work.”
“You mean killing terrorists and saving lives. Of course you wouldn’t, because you’re a selfish little prick.”
“You know what I think?” said Kline hotly. “I think you’re a sick man. I think you get off on beating defenseless men.” Kline circled around and whispered in Rapp’s ear, “I think it’s a real thrill for you.” He placed his hand on the back of Rapp’s neck and began to squeeze.
“I’m only going to say this once,” Rapp said in a firm voice. “Take your hand off me, right now.”
“What?” Kline laughed loudly. “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”
In an almost disembodied voice, Rapp said, “You have no idea who you are dealing with.”
“I’m dealing with a guy who gets his jollies slapping around men who are handcuffed.” Kline playfully smacked Rapp across the back of the head with an open hand.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Rapp asked, his anger building.
Kline slapped him harder and then grabbed a handful of Rapp’s thick black hair and yanked his head back. “Why should I play by the rules when you don’t? Huh, Mr. Tough Guy?”
“Because I got out of my handcuffs, you idiot.”
Kline’s eyes froze for a moment and then moved from Rapp’s face down to his lap, where he saw the handcuffs and chains lying in his lap.
Before Kline could move, Rapp’s right hand shot up and grabbed him by the tie. Spinning out of the chair, Rapp stood and drove the Department of Justice employee back into the corner and delivered a quick knee strike to the groin. Then, grabbing Kline’s tie with both hands, Rapp began to cinch the knot tighter and tighter.
As Kline’s face began to turn purple, Rapp asked, “Who’s the tough guy now?”
CHAPTER 39
FLORIDA KEYS
HAKIM turned on the surface radar, noted the location of several vessels sitting just on the other side of U.S. territorial water, and then turned the radar off. Everything seemed normal, at least compared to the other three test runs he’d taken with the boat. He’d decided months ago that they would make their run on a Monday. For the Coast Guard down in the Keys, every weekend was a pain. Thousands of boaters took to the waterways, and while the vast majority were respectful and law-abiding, there was still a significant number who drank too much, acted like idiots, and caused a lot of trouble. So the Coast Guard was always a little slow to start after a busy weekend.
Now came the part that his friend would never understand. Karim was far too rigid. In many ways it was what made him such a great leader, but his lack of trust and inflexibility had also made things almost impossible. At some point they needed to move outside their group. Without help from within America, Hakim knew it would be impossible for them to succeed, so he had acted unilaterally.
Pretending as if he’d dropped something, Hakim bent over and withdrew his mobile phone from his cargo pocket. He quickly punched in the number and held the phone to his ear. He counted the rings, each one making him more nervous. On the sixth, the person on the other end answered.
“Hello.”
“Mike,” said Hakim, “it’s Joe. How are you doing?”
“Good.”
