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Azarov shrugged and slid into the vehicle’s luxurious interior.

“First,” Nassar said, “how are you? Praise Allah that you survived your ordeal in Monaco. Still, it must have been a very difficult experience for you.”

His tone suggested that he wasn’t entirely convinced by the explanations of Azarov’s success against a group of heavily armed terrorists.

“Thank you for your concern. But I’ll be fine.”

“Good . . .That’s good.” Nassar paused for a moment “Your performance was quite impressive. I imagine that the Russians will be quite disappointed that you went into consulting and not the military.”

A leading comment that couldn’t be ignored.

“Because I do much of my work in unstable countries, my company has spent a great deal of money teaching me to defend myself. And I was an athlete in my youth. A heart condition kept me from turning professional, but I still train recreationally. It proved quite helpful.”

“And the weapon you used? My analysts were intrigued.”

“It was made for me by a gunsmith recommended by my shooting instructor.”

“Do you have it with you? I’d love to see it.”

Azarov shook his head. “I have a special permit to carry it in Monaco. Getting a similar permit in England is next to impossible. However, I can give you the name of the woman who made it if you’d like. Her work is second to none.”

Nassar fell silent and Azarov met the man’s intense stare with a softer one of his own. The intelligence director was trying to let the silence become uncomfortable enough for Azarov to offer more, but he wasn’t going to play that game. The less he said, the better.

Finally, Nassar pulled out a tablet and held it up. The photo was of Donatella standing at the bar, speaking with Prince bin Musaid.

“Do you recognize either of these people?”

“I remember the woman. It would be difficult not to. Did she survive?”

“Yes.”

“And the man?”

“Prince Talal bin Musaid. I’m afraid he did not.”

“I don’t recognize the name. Please give my condolences to his family.”

Nassar flipped to another photo and Azarov allowed a hint of fear to register. It depicted Rapp dragging bin Musaid toward the door. The photo was blurred from movement, and Rapp was doing everything possible to keep his face out of the camera.

“I have trouble sleeping,” Azarov said. “When I wake up, it’s this man and not the terrorists I see. He aimed right at me and fired. I thought I was dead, but he missed.” Azarov looked away for a moment as though he was struggling to get his throat to produce sound. “Do you . . . do you know who he is?”

“We have suspicions. If I were to bring you a better photo, do think you could identify him?”

“Yes. I believe so.”

Nassar tapped the glass next to him. “It appears to have stopped raining. I appreciate your time, Mr. Azarov. And your heroism.”

* * *

Nassar watched the Russian go, studying his athletic gait as he hurried along the sidewalk.

It seemed extraordinary that he could have done what he had in Monaco, but everything he said checked out. He was indeed the semiretired CEO of a highly respected energy consulting firm and a personal friend of Saudi Arabia’s oil minister. He had spent a significant amount of time at combat shooting school, and his athletic prowess as a youth was well-documented. Add a little luck and it wasn’t impossible. It was, however, improbable.

He looked down at the tablet just as the photo of Mitch Rapp went black. They now had incontrovertible evidence that bin Musaid was alive when he left the bar. And that forced Nassar to assume that Rapp knew of his involvement. What would the CIA man do? Was he indeed rogue or did he have the clandestine support of the Agency? Would he dare attempt to assassinate the director of Saudi Arabian intelligence?

It was possible but unlikely that even Rapp would be that rash. It seemed more likely that he’d first look for proof. And with bin Musaid dead, that meant moving against Nassar’s closest associates.

He reached for a button between the seats and lowered the glass separating him from his driver. “Are our people in place in Brussels?”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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