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Probably accurate. Obrecht was smart enough to see his position deteriorating and would have reacted by locking down his property.
“Tell me about him.”
“Leo? He’s an interesting guy,” Gould said, putting a foot casually up on the edge of the cot. “He’s the controlling shareholder in a little bank that’s been in his family for more than a hundred years. It was pretty profitable and had a fairly select clientele until Leo took over. Now it’s very profitable, and its clientele is downright exclusive.”
“Criminals.”
“Yeah. Drug lords, corrupt politicians, dictators, tax dodgers. You name it. People who get Leo’s blood pumping and who are willing to pay a premium for anonymity.”
Rapp had suspected as much. Sparkasse Schaffhausen was a black hole. The problem for Obrecht was that it was impossible to hide in darkness that deep. The darkness itself gave you away.
“That still doesn’t explain you,” Rapp said. “How does a shady banker go from dodging international financial regulations to being the handler for a hired assassin?”
Gould shrugged. “Leo’s a born crook. If he could make a thousand dollars legally or ten dollars illegally, he’d take the ten. Did your people figure out that he had his own father killed when it looked like he was going to sell the bank and cut him out?”
“And who took that contract?”
The easy smile returned. “I figure you know the answer to that question.”
Gould was right. Rapp knew the answer to that question and a lot more. So far all of the assassin’s responses checked out.
“Obrecht’s stopped leaving his property,” Rapp said. “He seems to be running the bank remotely.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. As much as he’s attracted to the excitement of the criminal lifestyle, it’s just a game to him. He’s a coward who likes to see other people go down but never takes too many risks himself. He probably knows you’re after him—the guy’s intel is flawless. If you manage to get hold of him, you should ask him where he gets it. I’ve never been able to figure it out.”
“And how would I do that?”
“Get ahold of him? How would I know?”
“Because you killed your last handler for skimming money from you.”
The disarming mask flickered.
“Come on, Louis, we’ve been watching you for years. We know every hit, every place you’ve ever lived, and every woman you’ve been with right down to that nanny your dad got for you. Trust me when I tell you that you don’t have time for games.”
“Look, Obrecht is different. He—”
Rapp pulled his Glock from the holster beneath his arm and aimed it between Gould’s eyes. “Then what do I need you for?”
What Gould was saying was a load of crap and they both knew it. The first thing he would have done when he got involved with Obrecht was figure out how to do away with him if it became necessary. Rapp had made similar plans for Hurley, Thomas Stansfield, and even Kennedy when he’d first started out—studying their house plans, security, travel routes, and personal habits. It would have been careless not to. And while Gould was a sociopath and general waste of skin, he wasn’t careless.
“I might have some ideas about how to access his compound.”
The Glock went back into its holster.
“What’s in it for me if I help?”
Rapp would have thought there was nothing that could make him laugh in Gould’s presence, but the sheer stupidity of the question proved him wrong.
“I’ve got a shady spot picked out for you in the woods out back. Nice soft dirt. What’s in it for you is a chance to avoid lying in it covered with the bag of lye I bought yesterday.”
“I want guarantees.”
“You picked the wrong business.”
“What about K
ennedy?”
