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“Because if I let him in here I’m pretty sure he’ll kill you.”
Gould let out a deep sigh and let his sad eyes drop to the tabletop. “I want to try to help him. I know I owe him.”
“Then why don’t you stop lying?”
“I am not lying.” Gould looked exasperated. “Why won’t anyone believe me?”
“You can’t be serious?” Kennedy asked, more amused than upset. “I ask you a simple question . . . do you know who I am, and you can’t even answer that?”
“I did. I told you I didn’t know who you were.”
“And you are lying. As I said, Mr. Gould, I know everything there is to know about you. Where you grew up, the units you served in when you were with the French Foreign Legion, and a good number of the people you have killed over the last fifteen-odd years.”
Gould shrugged. “I’m not impressed.”
Kennedy flashed one of those confident smiles that only a person who is holding all the cards can carry off. “I’m not trying to impress you, Mr. Gould. I’m simply trying to speed along this process and get you to drop your charade.”
Showing a hint of anger, Gould leaned forward and said, “If it wasn’t for me, Rapp and the rest of your men would be dead. Is there anyone around here who knows how to show some gratitude?”
“And if you don’t know who I am, how is it that you know they are my men?”
Gould shook off her question. “It was a lucky guess.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Kennedy said with absolute confidence. “We both know that you know who I am. What I’m trying to figure out is why you think denying that you know me will somehow help your cause.”
“This is a waste of time. Get Rapp in here. Until you do that, I’m not saying a word. I have done nothing wrong. I’ve helped you guys,” Gould said while poking himself in the chest.
“Maybe we could get your wife on the phone and you could try to explain to her what you were doing in Kabul?”
“Nice try.”
“Claudia and I spoke yesterday.”
“You’re full of shit. You think because you have a name you can scare me into thinking you’ve got something on me.”
Kennedy paused. She wasn’t sure if she admired the way he was sticking to his story or thought him a fool. She would have her answer in the next few minutes.
CHAPTER 27
RAPP awoke from another slumber to find a new woman sitting at his bedside. There was a similar feeling of recognition, as if they had a common past, a collection of faint memories that he couldn’t access but nonetheless were there, just beyond his grasp. There was also something different. With Kennedy the sentiment had been one of safety and familiarity, almost as if they were relatives. With this woman there was an emotion that told him their history was very different from that of being siblings.
Rapp tried to come up with her name. She was in her early to mid thirties, with raven-black hair pulled back in a low, loose ponytail. She had beautiful, dark almond-shaped eyes set atop high cheekbones and a strong jawline. She was all the more stunning because she wasn’t wearing any makeup. If Rapp was in love with her or lusted for her it was easy to see why.
His memory had been coming back in chunks, and even though he could not place this woman, he was confident that she meant something more to him than just a casual friend. He feigned familiarity, smiled, and asked, “How are you?”
Sydney Hayek returned the smile and said, “I’m fine. You’re the one we’re all worried about.”
Rapp played it off like it was no big deal. “I’m a little sore, that’s all.”
“I heard you have some memory issues.”
Rapp didn’t notice an accent. Her diction was flat, like all the TV anchors. She was probably from the Midwest but she looked as if she’d been born in Amman or Beirut. Michigan popped into his head, giving him the first clue to her identity. “That’s what they tell me.”
“Well?” she asked in a nonprodding manner.
“Well, what?”
“How’s your memory?”
