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“There’s a lot of strange shit, Stan. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Hurley opened one eye and squinted at Rapp. “I feel good.”
“That’s nice.”
“I mean I’m at peace with the whole thing.”
They didn’t talk for over a minute and then Hurley asked, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yeah,” Rapp replied. “But they’ll have cameras at the gate.”
Hurley shrugged. “Who gives a shit . . . I’ll be dead in six months.”
“Why do you keep talking like that?”
“Because it’s true,” Hurley said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Rapp thought about it for a moment and then said, “It might be, but—”
“Don’t waste your breath,” Hurley said, cutting him off. “You and I don’t bullshit each other . . . let’s not start now.”
Hurley was right. They’d always been honest with each other, at least after the first year or two. Now wasn’t the time to start denying the truth. Besides, it was his death. He could choose to deal with it in whatever way worked for him.
“All right, let’s go.” Rapp pushed off the car. “You have your Interpol creds?”
“Never leave home without them.”
“Good. I’ll text Scott and let him know.”
They climbed into the car and Rapp fired up the engine. He slipped the car into gear and pulled out on the smooth country road.
“Where are we going?” Hayek asked from the backseat.
“Stan wants to knock on Obrecht’s door.”
“You’re joking, right?”
Hurley shook his head. “I don’t joke about stuff like this, princess.”
“But . . . I thought we were going to wait for him to drive back to Zurich tomorrow.”
“We could,” Rapp said.
“But it might get messy,” Hurley added. “I’m going to knock on the front door instead. You might be surprised how often it works.”
“And if it doesn’t,” Rapp said, “it still might.”
“How?” Hayek didn’t understand anything they were saying.
“Spook him,” Hurley said. “Right now he’s comfortable, thinking everything is fine. We rattle his cage and he might turn that phone on that you’re trying to get a line on. He might fly the coop; he might do anything that would be better for us than spending the night in some boring town and then finding out tomorrow that he doesn’t travel by motorcade back to the city but takes a helicopter instead.”
Hayek didn’t have a lot of time to consider the new plan, as only a few minutes later they pulled off the road across the street from the main gate to Obrecht’s estate. Hurley handed Rapp a set of credentials and checked to make sure his fake Interpol identification was in order.
Rapp looked out the windshield at the four bodyguards. “What do you think . . . rent-a-cops or the real deal?”
Hurley watched the men for a moment and said, “They look like the real deal to me.”
“Me too.”
