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“Mitch?” Coleman said, pointing to the side of his nose. “You missed a spot.”
Rapp wiped at his face and his fingers came back streaked with blood.
“Okay,” Coleman said. “You’re good.”
They managed to get everything moved in just over five minutes. Another thirty seconds passed before they heard an engine approaching from the south. The FedEx delivery truck slowed and pulled into a narrow indention in the trees just as the second hand on Rapp’s watch hit twelve. Next time he was in need of this kind of logistical support, Maria Glauser would be on his short list.
The driver opened the rear doors from inside, revealing boxes stacked floor to ceiling and a hatch open in the false floor. Rapp and Coleman grabbed the body bag first, sliding it inside the space that had been intended for a drugged Leo Obrecht. The driver helped them load the rest of the gear and then closed the well-disguised access door. After another thirty seconds of arranging boxes on top of it, Rapp retreated into the trees and watched the truck accelerate up the road with Coleman in the passenger seat. His blond hair and flawless German would minimize questions if they were stopped.
Rapp started walking south, paralleling the road. The slow pace felt odd, but he was wearing slick dress shoes and drenching himself in sweat wouldn’t do much to enhance his cover.
At fifteen minutes, he drifted closer to the road. Once again, Glauser was right on time. He stepped onto the shoulder, and she slowed just long enough for him to jump into the passenger seat.
He immediately leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to let his mind go blank. When he got back to Langley, it was going to be like a bomb going off. What he needed now was a few minutes to clear his head.
“Are you all right?”
Normally, he would have ignored the question, but Glauser’s voice was shaking badly enough that even a half-deaf cop would pick up on it.
“Relax, Maria. You did great. It’s almost over.”
“I was told I’d have to move some people and equipment,” she said, the words tumbling breathlessly from her mouth. “You don’t transport people in body bags. You transport bodies in them. And were those Gatling guns? They sounded like Gatling guns! I blew up a house. A house! Then I had people call the police and lie about it.”
Clearly the subject wasn’t going to die on its own. “We told you about the house, Maria.”
“You said it was a last resort.”
“It was. Now take me to the airport.”
“The airport? We’re supposed to rendezvous with your people at—”
“Plans have changed.”
“But Director Kennedy said—”
“Airport, Maria. And don’t talk anymore until we get there, okay?”
CHAPTER 33
ISI HEADQUARTERS
ISLAMABAD
PAKISTAN
KABIR Gadai knocked quietly and then entered the ISI director’s office. He found Taj sitting at his desk staring at an empty wall. The younger man stopped immediately, leaving as much space between them as the office would allow. Taj’s anger had clearly defined levels, and his deathly stillness was a sign of the last: a rage so intense that it couldn’t be processed. Gadai had seen him like this only once before and it had ended with seven men from the S Wing being summarily executed along with their families.
Thank Allah he was there to report good news. He had to assume that Taj’s anger was the result of the Obrecht operation, which had been carried out during Gadai’s time in Rome. The question was whether the prudent course was to inquire about it or to ignore the subject entirely.
“Things went extremely well with Isabella Accorso,” Gadai said, keeping his tone submissive. “Just as you planned.”
Taj’s eyes remained fixed and his body motionless. It was impossible that he hadn’t heard. Gadai began to wonder if he had done something to displease the ISI director. He racked his brain but could come up with nothing. It mattered little, though. Only what Taj believed was of importance.
The silence stretched out long enough that Gadai could no longer endure it. No one knew for certain what had happened to Taj’s previous assistant. The man’s broken body was found by people scavenging a trash heap and his death had been quickly deemed an accident. Of what type no one had ever attempted to determine.
If that was to be his fate, it would be better to find out quickly—-to have an opportunity to defend himself before Taj’s anger grew further. And, if necessary, to beg for mercy for his sons.
“The Obrecht operation, sir? I trust it met with similar success?”
