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She handed Rapp a key card. “This will open every door in the building.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve done this before, you know.”
He did know, and so far she performed flawlessly. But that and his feelings for her didn’t obscure the fact that it took only one mistake. How many of his friends and enemies were dead because of a jammed gun, faulty radio, or wrong turn?
“What about Zaman’s security?”
“Just the one driver, and he’s on the other side of town buying gifts for Zaman’s family. I have a man tailing him, so we’re getting real-time updates on his location. If he starts coming in our direction, I’ll let you know. Now, let’s test your phone link.”
She dialed and he picked up on the Bluetooth headset in his ear. It was one of the benefits of the modern world. Tactical communication devices had become common in the civilian population.
“Can you hear me?” she asked.
“Yeah, you’re good. How’s the signal inside?”
“Four bars in the area you’re entering and the service stairs. Five everywhere else.”
“Then we’re ready.” He reached for the door, but she grabbed his arm.
“Mitch, I think this is a mistake.”
She was probably right, but they didn’t have a lot of options. Nassar already knew enough to have paid Azarov a visit, and that made it almost certain that he had enough intel to know that bin Musaid wasn’t dead when Rapp carried him out of Terry’s. The Saudi intelligence director would err on the side of caution and assume the prince had given him up. That meant he was either going to get rid of Zaman or put him under lockdown in Saudi Arabia. Their window of opportunity was closing fast.
“It’ll be fine. Just keep your eye on Zaman’s driver.
* * *
Rapp pressed the key card against the reader and, as promised, the lock slid back. He pulled the rain-soaked fedora a little farther down his forehead and went inside.
The passage was as described, but the level of activity wasn’t. Instead of being empty, with an overweight rent-a-cop sequestered in a monitor-lined room, there were two men on their knees, trying to get the security office door unlocked. They were speaking Dutch, but it was clear that they were concerned that they couldn’t raise the man inside. If this had been a CIA op, he’d have aborted, but he wasn’t working under Agency protocols anymore. He was a criminal. And a desperate one at that.
“Entering the stairwell,” he said quietly. “I just passed two men trying to get access to the security office.”
“Trying to get access?” Claudia responded immediately. “The door was closed and locked? Get out of there, Mitch. Now, while there’s still time.”
“Negative. I’m proceeding up.”
The possibility that the malfunctioning door was a coincidence was a thousand to one, but you never knew when you were going to get lucky. All he needed was a few minutes alone with Zaman. He might be a fanatical ally of Aali Nassar, but at his core he was a rich piece of shit who had probably never spent a night on unmonogrammed sheets. It was unlikely that it would take more than a few slaps to give him diarrhea of the mouth.
Rapp arrived at the door leading to the top floor hallway and paused for a moment. “Exiting the stairwell.”
Claudia acknowledged but didn’t say anything further. He knew she was scared, but she was dealing with it. Another check in her plus column.
There was a single man coming down the hallway toward him. Middle Eastern, dark suit, athletic build. The bad signs just kept piling up.
He didn’t seem to want to make eye contact, so Rapp went with it, reaching up to shake some water off his hat in a way that obscured his face further. There was a window at the end of the hall and Rapp followed the man’s reflection in it. He disappeared around the corner without ever showing any interest.
The presidential suite was on the left and entry went smoothly with Claudia’s key card. When the door was only half-open, Rapp spotted Zaman’s body lashed to a chair. He considered chasing the man he’d just passed, but he was probably already in the elevator. There might still be time to catch him with a sprint down the stairs, but then what? A shootout in the lobby with no backup or political cover?
Rapp opened his mouth to tell Claudia to follow the man but then closed it again. If Nassar was behind this, there was no telling what kind of resources he had and how much he knew. She wasn’t Scott. She could get hurt.
“Are you in?” came Claudia’s voice over his earpiece.
Rapp stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Zaman’s dead.”
“You’re getting out, then, right? Tell me you’re on your way back to the stairs.”
