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“I agree that he has an ability to navigate waters that we don’t, but he can’t be trusted to do it on our behalf.”
“I’m not so sure,” Losa said. “I helped him when he desperately needed it and he’s the kind of man who’ll feel obligated to honor that debt.”
“Maybe,” Julian conceded. “But are you sure you know how?”
CHAPTER 6
WEST OFMANASSAS
VIRGINIA
USA
RAPPwaited for the gate to open and then accelerated his Dodge Charger onto a well-maintained road. His subdivision, situated in a rural area well outside of Washington, DC, had originally consisted of ten large homesites to be sold off at market price. As a gift, his obscenely rich brother had bought them all up, leaving Rapp with a hundred acres on top of a butte surrounded by farmland. It was a nice gesture, but ended up being too remote. The 9th Armored Division could roll through the perimeter fence and go unnoticed for a week.
Ever the idea man, Steven had quickly devised a solution. He sold off the luxury lots to a select group of Rapp’s friends for a dollar each. Now, a few years later, he was surrounded by most of Coleman’s team as well as a number of former Secret Service, FBI, and CIA employees. Some admittedly a little long in the tooth, but still not to be underestimated.
Even Maggie Nash remained, despite blaming Rapp for the deathof her husband. The security and built-in support system was too good for a widow with four children to abandon. Also, Rapp suspected that deep down she knew Mike bore some responsibility for his own fate.
A barn appeared on the left and he actively ignored the ever-expanding farm operation spearheaded by Scott Coleman and Anna, his seven-year-old partner in crime. While it was unquestionably a maintenance nightmare, he had to admit that he liked the self-sufficiency aspect—a benefit that had gone beyond the theoretical during a nationwide blackout a while back. He slowed to allow a goat to wander across the street and then continued up a low rise.
At the top, the wall surrounding his house came into view against a sky just beginning to darken. The reenforced copper gate began to swing back as he approached, causing a slight clenching of Rapp’s jaw. Claudia had activated it based on the security camera displays—something he’d told her a hundred times not to do. With the glare of the evening sun, it would be impossible for her to see through the windshield to confirm who was driving. In this case, though, it wasn’t particularly risky. The large courtyard he entered was scattered with cars, including Irene Kennedy’s Yukon, which would have arrived with two armed bodyguards.
No one was in evidence when he stepped out, and he took a moment to center himself. Claudia’s idea of having a few of the guys over for some steaks and an informal debriefing seemed to have expanded into a block party. Not exactly a crisis, but crowds tended to bother him even when they were made up of people he knew. Particularly when he was returning from the empty desert.
Rapp scanned the vehicles, mentally matching them with their owners, and then turned his attention to the massive single-level house. It had been designed by his late wife, but she’d allowed him a wish list that included thick concrete walls and a near absence of exterior windows. Their architect hadn’t been particularly happy with those caveats, but had done an admirable job of camouflaging the fact that the structure was fundamentally a bunker.
With Claudia and Anna apparently too busy with their guests to greet him, he hefted his duffel and headed for the front door.
Inside, much of the house consisted of floor-to-ceiling ballistic glass that looked into a landscaped interior courtyard. He crossed it, using a sliding door to access an expansive kitchen the architect had convinced him that he and his not particularly domestic wife needed. Thank God Rapp had been too indifferent to put up a fight because Claudia pretty much lived in it.
“You’re back!” she said, craning her neck and giving him a broad smile that didn’t require her to stop stirring a pot on the stove.
“Yeah. Sorry I’m late.”
She switched to her native French. “No problem. You’d have just been in the way.”
“Thanks,” he grumbled, though it was true. Beyond scraping the grill, party prep wasn’t his strong suit.
“I’m just teasing you. Everyone’s out back. Go say hello and I’ll be out in a minute.”
He didn’t see any reason to rush, instead grabbing a handful of peanuts and watching her cook. The cheerful demeanor and youthful appearance tended to belie her real story. Even for him, it was sometimes hard to believe that she’d once been the logistical genius behind one of the most successful private assassins in the world—a talent that she now used at Scott Coleman’s company.
He wasn’t crazy about her continuing to be involved in the business, but it would have been hypocritical for him to go to the mat on the subject. In truth, the fact that they both had so much baggage was part of the reason their relationship worked. They tended toward the same well-worn fatalism and neither had any right to judge. When they were together, their pasts felt like they canceled each other out and made the future a little clearer.
She glanced back at him again. “Why are you just standing there? The least you could do is go see if anyone needs a drink. And start heating the grill if Joe hasn’t already done it.”
“What happened to the debriefing?”
“Word got out that people were coming over. You know how it goes.”
“You know I like to review ops when they’re still fresh in everyone’s mind.”
“We can’t always get what we want. Besides, everything went fine.”
“Not everything. We should have—”
“Mitch! Quit stalling! Drinks! Grill! Go!”
