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Durrani shook his head and scowled. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s pretty obvious that you have a habit of killing the people you work with.”
“That is an exaggeration.”
“Not really, so the fact that I took a few precautions is just common sense. It’s not particularly smart.”
If Durrani had thought it would solve his problems he would have killed Rickman and his crazy dog, but he needed the American to complete his plan. It was time to change gears and find common ground. “Joe, you must understand . . . you are different. We have discussed this. You understand the stupidity of your country’s folly in Afghanistan. You knew it almost from the beginning, but you did your job. You saw the people you despised become rich beyond their wildest dreams, all with American cash provided by you.” Durrani pointed at him. “You fought valiantly and then you saw the light. America should not be in Afghanistan, and they most certainly shouldn’t be giving money and weapons to the very people who are already turning against them. You saw the injustice and you took the money, but you needed an ally to help you disappear. I am that ally. Your dream could not have come true if it wasn’t for me.”
“General, I am not disagreeing with you,” Rickman said, wondering why Durrani had to take everything so personally. “I am simply saying the timing isn’t right. I’m happy to hear that we have a special relationship. And the best way to keep it that way is to make sure neither of us tries to bully the other into doing something that we do not want to do. Surely you must see that.”
Durrani was not used to sharing power. He didn’t like the lack of control, but until he could find a way to dismantle Rickman’s network of lawyers, he would have to play this game. “I see your point,” he said, even though he didn’t. “But surely you can see where I am coming from. I have put a great deal into this, yet so far I have seen no return for my effort, and if we are to carry out the next phase of our plan and embroil the CIA in scandal, we need to begin passing your information on to Senator Ferris.”
This was the one part of the plan that Rickman had never fully embraced. Senator Ferris was a windbag, and although Rickman felt strongly that America should not be involved in Afghanistan, the idea of Senator Ferris getting credit for America changing its policy turned his stomach. Now was not the time to discuss the senator, though. “General, I don’t believe for a second that you have seen no return on your investment. I’ve heard the enthusiasm in your voice. You are very proud, and you should be. You have conducted one of the greatest intelligence operations of the modern era, and I have no doubt that when the proper amount of time has passed you will let the world know, and you will bask in the accolades of your countrymen. But until then, you may enjoy the knowledge, the extreme satisfaction, that you have outsmarted perhaps the greatest intelligence agency in the world.”
CHAPTER 53
ZURICH, SWITZERLAND
RAPP’S anxiety increased as the heavy sedan climbed its way up the mountain road. Europe had become a major pain in the ass. Gone were the days when you could slip in and out of a country or a town without being noticed. Now there were cameras everywhere, even in the little hamlets that dotted the Swiss countryside. Customs and law enforcement databases were linked, and everybody was either online or texting or talking on an always available cell phone. Getting into a country like Switzerland wasn’t necessarily the problem. Even killing someone like Obrecht was manageable. The problem was what happened in the aftermath. You left a digital footprint as you traveled, and investigators had gotten really good at assembling the puzzle and coming up with a suspect.
The fear of getting caught after the fact was very real, as the Israelis had learned firsthand when they’d sent a team of agents into Dubai to kill Mahmoud al-Mabhouh, a senior Hamas official. Customs computers and cameras, as well as hotel security cameras, had captured the entire team assembling for the operation and then leaving. The lesson was simple: Sneaking into a country to snoop and steal was still fairly easy, but once you started killing people you had better find a way to erase your digital footprint or you were going to have your photo plastered all over the BBC and every other twenty-four-hour news channel.
As a result, operations were increasingly complex. Instead of flying directly into Zurich and having to clear customs, the group landed at Ramstein Air Base, where the appropriate stamps were placed on their passports to make it look as if they had arrived in Frankfurt, Germany, two days earlier. Local assets then moved the group to a nearby private airstrip where they boarded a second jet for the short flight to Zurich. With EU customs already cleared, the group of eight deplaned at the private jet terminal and loaded their gear into two waiting BMW 7 Series sedans. Among them they had six assault rifles, twelve pistols, a pound of plastic explosives, and a wide variety of technical gear. None of it would have made it through normal customs.
The only security camera they spotted was at the gate, and the heavily tinted windows of their BMWs rendered it useless. It was Saturday afternoon, and the advance team had informed them after landing at Ramstein that Obrecht had left his townhouse in Zurich and had traveled to his estate near Lake Constance. They emailed aerial video of the place that had been taken by a small drone. Rapp, Hurley, and Coleman took a moment to review the footage, and none of them liked what they saw. Hurley was surprised by the size of the estate, while Coleman was worried about the number of men who appeared to be guarding the place.
For close to seventy years elements within the CIA had maintained a very good relationship with a Swiss bank owned by the Ohlmeyer family. After watching the surveillance video, Rapp said to Hurley, “I think you need to reach out to the Ohlmeyers and find out what they know about this guy. There’s no way he’s a simple private banker. If he owns a place like this he must own the whole bank, and if he owns the whole bank, what in the hell is he doing managing someone like Gould?”
The interrogation with Gould had been brief, due to the fact that they had to catch a plane, but they got what they needed in terms of Obrecht. Or at least that’s what Rapp had thought at the time.
“I told you we should have brought him along,” Hurley said, referring to Gould. “The little shit lied to us.”
Gould had told them that Obrecht had been more than his private banker. He was also his handler, setting up contracts and negotiating prices with his prospective employers. “So he knows who hired you to kill me?” Rapp had asked back in the interrogation cell. Gould would not commit to that point, as Obrecht rarely met face-to-face with prospective employers, but he did handle the transfer of funds, which could likely lead to the person who had put the price on Rapp’s head.
Rapp looked at the video of the massive estate. It had to be worth at least $25 million. He got the pissed-off feeling that Gould had played them. “There’s no way this guy is just your average banker.”
“Could be family money,” Coleman suggested.
That was when Rapp put Marcus Dumond on the problem of finding out who owned the estate. Dumond, their resident computer expert, was not having a good day. He’d spent the majority of the flight trying and failing to hack into Obrecht’s bank’s computer system. Rapp had rarely seen Dumond so frustrated.
Rapp had come to the conclusion that Gould had likely lied to them. As to Hurley’s point, that they should have brought Gould along, Rapp couldn’t bear to spend another second with the man. He made him sick, and if Kennedy was serious about keeping him alive, she needed to keep them apart, because Rapp wanted to kill him.
Even though the prospects didn’t look good, they continued on the second leg of th
e journey. They might not be able to get their hands on Obrecht while he sat behind the walls of his estate, but he couldn’t stay there forever. On Sunday night, more than likely, he would have to make the return trip to Zurich. The winding mountain roads would provide the perfect opportunity for an ambush.
Rapp sat behind the wheel and Hurley was in the front passenger seat. Dumond and Hayek were in back, Dumond still trying to hack into the bank while Hayek tried to get a lead on Obrecht’s mobile phone with a digitized scanner. Gould had given them a number, but so far they weren’t getting a thing, which meant that either the phone was turned off or Gould had lied again.
They met the advance team on the outskirts of a small town called Engwilen. It was a male-female team, which Rapp was happy to see, as it was easier for them to blend in and look like a couple. They had made one pass by the main gate to confirm what the drone had already shown. Four men in dark blue SWAT uniforms were at the main gate, and at least one dog and his handler could be seen halfway up the driveway. Rapp watched the video they had taken and said, “It looks like a frickin’ G Eight summit.”
Rapp and Hurley stood around the trunk of the first BMW with Coleman and the couple and asked questions for another ten minutes. The entire thing looked hopeless. The couple said they were fairly certain the place had an advanced security system around the perimeter of the property and that they assumed the house would have one as well. Beyond that, they’d used the drone to count a total of eight bodyguards. How many more were in the house was anybody’s guess.
They all agreed that the smartest course was to wait for Obrecht to leave the estate and take him on the way back to Zurich. In the meantime Hayek would coordinate with Langley to see if they could get signal interception on the house, and Dumond would continue to try to hack into the bank’s secure server.
Coleman took his men into the town to scout things out and see if there was an inn without security cameras where they might be able to spend the night. Rapp and Hurley stood at the rear of the car, neither speaking for a long while. They were both in dark suits with lightweight overcoats. The temperature was in the midfifties, but the afternoon sun was making things warm.
Hurley lit a cigarette and exhaled. He tilted his face skyward and took in the warmth of the sun. “Do you know what’s strange?”
