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“I said the Agency probably has all this intel because he’s King Faisal’s nephew. His dead sister’s son, it looks like.”
Fuck!
In his rearview mirror, he could see Bruno McGraw taking up a position thirty feet behind the Mercedes. Maslick was having trouble focusing on the image, though. It was being pushed from his mind by the thought that he was about to kill two innocent embassy workers and grab the nephew of the king of one of America’s primary allies in the Middle East. This had just gone from dealing with some bitching from the Moroccans to a major international incident with two counts of murder thrown in for good measure. Then, of course, there would be the official protests to the UN. The American politicians making grandstanding speeches about the out-of-control CIA. The calls for Irene Kennedy’s resignation. And him standing right in the middle of all of it.
“Mas,” Bruno McGraw said over his earpiece. “What are we doing? You’re coming up to the end of the road.”
Maslick reached for the phone on his dashboard, but there was no time to get authorization. His foot hovered over the brake for a moment then shoved down on the accelerator instead.
“Abort. I repeat, abort. Wick, go get the money from that apartment. Bruno, peel off east. We’ll rendezvous at the airstrip in two.”
CHAPTER 7
Outside of Washington, D.C.
U.S.A.
THE CIA’s Gulfstream G550 was on its final approach, heading into the setting sun as it descended toward the treetops. Rapp was stretched out on the sofa with his phone pressed to his ear.
“When you say ‘ready,’ Mitch, what exactly do you mean?”
“I mean that my car is parked next to the fucking airstrip like you promised.”
This landing site was Rapp’s go-to when flying into the D.C. area. Quiet and out of the way, but still less than an hour from his house.
“Yeah . . . about that,” Craig Bailer responded nervously. “Gunter isn’t done with the subwoofer.”
“Who’s Gunter?”
“The Swiss dude making your sub. Look, Mitch. The guy’s an artist and you can’t rush artists. Trust me, man. It’s gonna to be worth the wait. Not only are you finally going to have a kick-ass stereo, but I’ve also knocked forty kilos off the Kevlar without any effect on integrity. Plus, you’re going to have built-in encrypted phone and Internet.”
“How’s that going to help me on my forty-mile walk home?”
“I told Claudia it wouldn’t be done. Are you two—”
Rapp disconnected the call.
His efforts to get his life together had been just successful enough to remind him that having a life was a monumental pain in the ass. After his wife had been killed he’d jettisoned almost everything—family, friends, possessions. And while the existence that remained had been admittedly empty, it had also been wonderfully simple. A sparse one-bedroom apartment, a flawless backup team, and work. The lack of extraneous moving parts kept everything rolling along with a satisfying precision.
Rapp sat up and looked out the window. The deserted airfield was a powerful reminder of the fact that the simplicity he’d become so comfortably numb to was gone. Cheerfully and thoroughly shredded by Claudia Gould.
Her husband had been one of the top private contractors in the world until Stan Hurley ripped his throat out. Rapp had set Claudia and her daughter up with clean identities and a new life in South Africa, but it hadn’t lasted. The Russians tracked them down and forced him to pull them out. In return for helping finish the construction of his new house, he’d let the two of them move in. It was a temporary accommodation that was turning out to be not so temporary.
So now he and Claudia had settled into an uncomfortably platonic cohabitation that was starting to feel like a low-grade Cold War. He was always able to find an excuse not to send them back to Cape Town, but couldn’t seem to dig up the courage to commit. Even after so many years, the death of his wife was a raw, bleeding wound. The years had proved that there wasn’t much that could kill him. Living through another loss like that, though, might.
Which brought him back to the empty airfield. Was Claudia making some kind of statement by not being there? Was she telling him that he needed to either make a move or walk away? It would be a fair point, though out of character. Her style was to have it out face-to-face. And why not? She was a deadly opponent in those kinds of confrontations.
The wheels touched down and Rapp went forward, grabbing his duffle and opening the door. He jumped out and immediately turned away from the cockpit. The pilots hadn’t seen his face and he preferred to keep it that way.
The Gulfstream immediately took to the air again, leaving him standing among the lengthening shadows. His cell was in his pocket but he didn’t want to use it. Had he completely missed the fact that his relationship with Claudia had deteriorated to the point that she’d leave him there? Or was she just forcing him to sit and think about his situation for a while? Either way, she was justified. He was blowing it.
; A vehicle appeared in the distance, but it wasn’t Claudia’s Audi Q5. Rapp’s hand moved closer to the Glock beneath his jacket but then fell to his side when he recognized the SUV belonging to Scott Coleman. It rolled to a stop and Rapp tossed his duffel inside before slipping into the passenger seat.
“How’d it go?” Coleman asked.
“Everyone got out.”
