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“I wonder if he sees it that way.”
“It would have been better if you hadn’t shot him in the leg.”
“He had it coming.”
“I don’t disagree, but sometimes a little restraint goes a long way.”
“That was restraint. I wanted to aim at his forehead.”
Kennedy’s sigh sounded like digitized static over the connection. “I don’t see a better option. Let me talk to him and I’ll get back to you. I assume this number won’t work?”
“No. I’ll call you.”
“Do you still have that Canadian passport?”
“Yes.”
“Give me a few hours.”
Rapp disconnected the call and used a rock to destroy the phone.
He would have time for a proper shower and a little home-cooked food before setting out for the Israeli border. With a little luck, he’d be spending the night at the Royal Beach Hotel in Tel Aviv before catching the first plane back to the States. Or maybe he’d book a suite and fly Claudia and Anna over. The kid had never seen the Holy Land and he knew people who could open a lot of interesting doors. She’d crush the other second graders in her What-I-Did-on-Summer-Vacation report. And while Claudia would undoubtedly argue that it wasn’t a competition, flying over Masada in a fighter jet seemed like a guaranteed A.
CHAPTER 25
PARIS
FRANCE
DAMIANLosa gazed distractedly at the interior study’s heavy wood paneling. In the château’s heyday, he imagined that the room was used by servants for the hidden tasks that maintained their masters’ opulent lifestyle. Although it was less comfortable than the atrium he’d become accustomed to, it still had a certain archaic charm. Particularly with the modern air-conditioning set to maximum and the fireplace roaring.
He took a sip of water and then turned his attention to the flames. Normally, this late hour was his time to think. The silence and stillness always helped him consolidate what he knew and, more important, what he didn’t know. It gave him a moment to analyze his position on the chessboard and to consider threats, both new and old. Most of all, it was a time to put aside the details in favor of a longer view.
Tonight, that view remained hazy. All roads seemed to lead into darkness. Oblivion. The dim glimmers of opportunity that he was such a prodigy at discerning had disappeared.
The modern world was becoming less rational with every passing year. In a way, it was a bizarre side effect of humanity’s success. The advance of technology had transformed problems that seemed insurmountable only a few years ago into minor inconveniences. Food in the industrialized world was plentiful and of high quality, as were housing, medical care, energy, transportation, and virtually anything else a person could want. Even the poorest Frenchman enjoyed a quality of life that would have been unimaginable to the kings of the past.
The problem was thateverythingwasn’t something his species was meant to have. The human condition was about striving and identity—instincts that didn’t just disappear when identity became meaningless and there was nothing left to strive for.
What an irony that he had become the hero of humanity’s continuing story. While world leaders and the media stoked rage and division, he’d taken a more constructive path. He just wanted to help his fellow man mask that quiet desperation. To wash away the pain, loneliness, and uncertainty.
Of course, his motivations weren’t entirely benevolent. He’d involved himself in businesses like arms dealing in the past, but it had never been his focus. Drugs, sex, gambling, and the like were so much more profitable and productive. It was yet another irony that politics and religion were considered virtues, while the things he provided were labeled as vices. He didn’t start wars or fan the flames of hatred. He’d never involved himself in genocide, threatened nuclear Armageddon, or destroyed a rainforest. All he did was sell candy-coated nihilistic hedonism. A much-derided vocation that might just be humanity’s only hope.
There was a quiet knock at the door and Losa heard Julian’s footsteps approaching from behind. When he came into view, his head and shoulders were hanging in a way that was easily identifiable after all their years together. Not bad news. Disastrous news.
“Yes?”
“We had to pay a great deal, but I finally managed to get a photo of the man the Syrians captured in Aleppo.”
Losa held out a hand and his lieutenant gave him an iPad. The man depicted on it bore only a passing resemblance to Mitch Rapp.
“Omar Salim,” Julian said. “The phone Rapp called us on was found in his flat during the raid. It was in a bag he’d been carrying that day, but he swears he doesn’t know where it came from. The Syrian interrogators believe he’s telling the truth.”
Losa nodded slowly, continuing to examine the terrified eyes staring at him from the tablet.
“Apparently Mr. Rapp doesn’t consider us trustworthy.”
“For good reason,” Julian said, not bothering to hide his concern.
