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“An astute analysis. Losa chooses his associates well.”
Rapp didn’t respond. This situation had just gone well beyond Damian Losa and the debt he owed the man. For years, the West had struggled to adapt to Semenov’s evolving strategies, and now he was about to open a new front that no one had even considered.
There was a time when Rapp wouldn’t have taken a threat like this particularly seriously. But that had been a rare example of naïveté on his part. His love of country had blinded him to its weaknesses. He’d believe that the US model would eventually spread across the planet and last indefinitely. Why wouldn’t the rest of the world want to emulate what had made America the most successful country of the modern era? And even if that didn’t happen, certainly the Americanpeople wouldn’t want to emulate what had made Russia a useless shithole.
Now he wasn’t so sure. Semenov was a visionary who understood humanity’s weaknesses and had a gift for exploiting them. If he could create sufficient chaos, could he divide the West? Could he break up the European Union and replace America’s democracy with an authoritarian who promised stability and order?
Two decades ago, the entire idea would have been a joke. But he wasn’t laughing anymore.
As confinement cells went, the one Rapp found himself locked in wasn’t the worst of his career. Or even the worst of the last twenty-four hours. The space was basically a ten-foot concrete cube. There was a cot, a toilet, and a sink arranged against three walls, while the fourth was dominated by a steel door. A vomit stain on the floor was still fresh enough to give the hot, heavy air an acrid edge.
He glanced at a clipboard resting on the mattress next to him and the pages it contained. Rapp flipped through them again out of boredom, scanning the questions about Damian Losa’s organization, but contributing nothing more than a few drops of sweat.
He was starting to regret not having killed Semenov during their meeting. There had been a number of fancy pens lined up on his blotter and less than ten feet between them. A quick sprint, a jab at the jugular, and that would have been the end of the threat he posed.
But also the end of Mitch Rapp. The mercs had still been in the outer office, armed and vigilant. Even if he’d been able to dispatch them with the same improvised weapon, what then? Find his way to the parking area and drive away? He had no knowledge of the interior layout of the facility, no sense of the level of security, and no idea if there were any drivable vehicles in the garage. Or even if it really was a garage.
And then there was the open desert beyond. He had only a vague idea where he was, zero familiarity with the road system, and would be hunted. Probably by chopper.
He stood and began pacing through the confined space, counting eighty-three crossings before Aleksandr Semenov’s voice crackled to life over a hidden speaker.
“Have you started on my questions yet?”
“If I do, will you let me go?”
“No. But I’ll move you to a more comfortable cell and give you some freedom to move around the compound. It will take time for us to check the accuracy of what you’ve given us.”
“And after that?”
“A quick, painless death. Better than the fate you’d suffer at Damian Losa’s hands, no?”
Normally, Rapp would have strung the man along, but in this case, he didn’t know enough about organized crime in general or Losa’s outfit in particular to even create plausible lies.
“I don’t know anything you’d be interested in. I imagine that’s why Mr. Losa chose me for this assignment.”
“I’d have to be very stupid to believe that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
Rapp returned to the cot and let out a long, quiet breath. He’d been interrogated many times in the past and had developed an extraordinarily high tolerance to sleep deprivation and pain. He’d become almost accustomed to electrical shocks, simulated drownings, and even the occasional torch. An endless cycle of addiction and withdrawal, though, wasn’t something he’d ever faced. And he wanted to keep it that way.
“So, I suppose I’ll get an opportunity to sample your product after all.”
The tinny sound of Semenov’s laughter echoed around the cell. “That was nothing more than an idle threat, Matthieu. I have my areas of expertise, but extracting accurate information isn’t one of them. No, you’ll be sent to Moscow, where men with years of experience and training will take over. Now, are you certain that you wouldn’t preferto fill out my questionnaire and avoid spending the rest of your short life suffering like no man or animal should?”
Rapp suddenly felt a glimmer of hope. If they moved him, he might have an opportunity to escape. Certainly, his chances were better outside the fence line than they were inside.
“I’ve said what I have to say. There’s nothing more.”
CHAPTER 29
THEsliding hatch at the bottom of the door opened and a tray containing breakfast appeared. Eggs Benedict topped with fresh chives, fried potatoes, and a steaming cup of coffee. The scent of it overpowered the lingering vomit smell, but Rapp remained on the cot. With the number of pharmaceuticals produced in this facility, he wasn’t anxious to eat or drink anything. Eventually, he wouldn’t have any choice, but his hope was that he’d be long gone before it got to that. Better hungry and thirsty than tripping.
As expected, he’d slept like a rock. He always did when there were no decisions to be made or strategies in need of examination. At this point, his best course of action was to be rested enough to take advantage of whatever opportunity presented itself.
Hopefully that would be escape and not death, but those were the only two futures he could see. Ending up at a heavily secured FSB interrogation site flat out wasn’t an option. The first thing they would do is strip him and reveal a road map of scars that would be hard to explain away. When they realized they didn’t have a simple Canadian attorney, they’d set to discovering his real identity. And when theyinevitably did, they’d spend the next decade exacting revenge on him for his many transgressions against Mother Russia.
