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But was that concern justified? It was something Losa had carefully considered when betraying the American. Historically, Mitch Rapp wasn’t a man prone to expending energy on petty revenge. It was a philosophy Losa himself shared. Killing needed to serve a tangible purpose. Neutralizing threats, setting examples, eliminating competitors. But emotional satisfaction? That was for psychopaths and amateurs—two things Mitch Rapp was not.
“What now?” Julian asked, further unnerved by Losa’s silence. “He must suspect that we were the ones who gave the Syrians information about that phone. What will he do? We can’t even make contact because that was the only number we had for him.”
Losa put down his drink and sank a bit deeper into his chair. “My assumption is that he considers his debt paid. Now he’ll contact Kennedy or perhaps Claudia Gould to help him escape Syria. If he hasn’t alrea—”
“And then?”
“And then we find ourselves in the same situation that we were in before. We’ve gained nothing.”
“Except making an enemy of a man who tends not to tolerate them.”
Losa shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“I disagree, Damian. I think this is just another example of this situation slipping from our control.”
“Not just this situation, my friend. Our adage has always been grow or die. But what happens when you succeed? Eventually, you create an empire that becomes too far-reaching to rule. If history’s taught us anything, it’s that.”
“You’re not making me feel better.”
Losa laughed. “No, I suppose not. Let’s spread some money around Syria and the countries bordering it. See if we can reacquire our new friend.”
“And if we do?”
“I don’t know,” Losa admitted. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, we should continue with our plan to move. Were you able to determine whether the Prague property is available?”
“Yes, but it’s only partially furnished.”
“Then it’ll be just like when we started, Julian. Remember the warehouse in Medellín?”
“Not fondly.”
“No, but we’ve never used that flat and our involvement in its ownership would be virtually impossible for even Irene Kennedy to uncover. Until we can be sure of Mr. Rapp’s intentions, I can’t think of a better place.”
“But will it be enough?”
Losa shrugged. “We’ll soon find out.”
CHAPTER 26
NEARQUNEITRA
GOLANHEIGHTS
SYRIA
THEdilapidated motorbike wasn’t the fastest or most comfortable mode of transportation, but it was the best Rapp had been able to do with what was left of his cash. Fortunately, he’d convinced the seller to throw in a leather jacket that was his only protection against the cold. It was nearly three in the morning and temperatures had dropped into the fifties.
The road was empty at that time of morning, as was the moonlit landscape that surrounded it. A few scattered buildings were visible on either side, but none gave any indication of being occupied. Most likely they’d been abandoned when their owners realized they were living on a battlefront that could erupt at any moment.
A glimpse of artificial light ahead prompted him to push the motorbike a little harder. A few minutes later, the massive wire fence splitting the Golan Heights became visible along with a number of Syrian military vehicles. The crossing normally closed at six p.m., but couldbe opened for emergencies. Those were normally medical in nature but, in this case, it was something a bit unusual.
There was little question that the Syrian government was pulling out all the stops to find him and would have their border patrol on high alert. On the other hand, money tended to talk in this part of the world.
According to Irene Kennedy, the soldiers coming into view near the gate were fully on board, and he had no reason to doubt her. There were very few people in the world he trusted, but she was one of them. With nothing certain in the business he’d chosen, she was about as close as you could get.
Rapp slowed to a crawl as a border guard stepped into the road and held up a hand. The spotlights were blinding, but all indications so far were positive. Only three Syrians were visible, and the huge wire gate had been partially opened. Just beyond, Rapp could see a UN peacekeeper waiting patiently next to a white SUV.
He cut off the motor and stepped from the bike before reaching slowly into the leather bag he was carrying. No one seemed particularly concerned. The guard towers hovering over him appeared to be unmanned and the soldiers on either side of the road were displaying willful disinterest. The one in front of him must have drawn the short straw and seemed anxious to complete his task and collect his US dollars.
