Consent to Kill (26 page)

“She has no mortgage; she pays her credit card bills and her car lease in full every month.”

“What kind of car?”

Claudia finally realized what he was getting at. “Oh … you are good.”

“Thank you, darling.” Louie grabbed her hand. “Let’s go watch her do the news.”

L
ANGLEY
, V
IRGINIA

H
e didn’t know how she’d found out, but she had, and she was as mad as he’d ever seen her. For the second time in a week Rapp felt like he’d been called to the principal’s office. He stood on one side of his boss’s desk, and she stood on the other. She wanted explanations, and he, for the moment, wasn’t willing to give any. She was getting louder with each unanswered question, and he was getting more belligerent with each query. They were stuck at an impasse.

“I want to know how you found out,” stated Rapp in a no-nonsense tone for at least the third time.

“How I found out is none of your concern.”

“Tell me how you got your information, and I’ll be happy to answer your questions.” He widened his stance and held his ground.

“Listen,” she pointed her finger at him. Her face was flushed with anger. “Contrary to what you think, you actually have a boss. I am that boss, and you have stepped over the line this time.”

“Well, if you had gotten the IRS off of Coleman’s back, like you said you were going to, I wouldn’t have had to go to Ross’s office and intercede.”

Kennedy’s fists balled up in anger. “And if you didn’t have the patience of a hamster, you would have waited one more day and I would have taken care of it.”

None of this made sense to Rapp. Kennedy had always been the most unflappable, professional person he’d ever dealt with, and now twice within the span of a week she was acting completely out of character. “Is everything all right?” Rapp regarded her for a moment. “Everything okay with Tommy … is your ex bugging you?”

Kennedy buried her face in both hands and shook her head. When she looked up she said, “You just don’t get it, do you? You walk around in your own little Mitch Rapp world. All you care about is what you want. You have no regard whatsoever for those around you.” She tapped her own forehead with her forefinger. “No clue of the chaos you leave in your wake. Chaos that I have to deal with. And you have no idea how bad it looks to have you go over my head like this.”

“Oh … well, I’m sorry to have been such a burden. I hope no one around here got any paper cuts while I was out getting shot and stabbed.” Rapp turned his head to the side and pointed at the thin scar that ran down the left side of his face.

“Don’t,” she yelled at him. “Don’t play the martyr with me. I have always respected your sacrifice. That is not what this is about. It’s about you being so bullheaded, and sure of yourself, that you just go and do whatever the hell you want whenever you want.”

“I’ve managed to do just fine on my own.”

“Yes, you have. But let me warn you, Mitchell, your luck is running out. You’re starting to piss people off. The fervor that we need to wage this war on terror is already waning. It won’t be long, another two to eight years, and the liberals on the Hill will be back in charge, and mark my words, they are going to launch a witch hunt like we haven’t seen since the Church hearings. They are going to tear this place apart. That’s what National Intelligence is all about. That was the deal they struck. They’re going to use it to run roughshod over the Agency. To make sure cowboys like you are properly supervised and kept on a short leash.”

“Well, then you’ll be surprised to know that it was Senator Hartsburg who advised me to go pay Director Ross a little visit.”

Kennedy regarded him warily.

“That’s right,” Rapp continued, “so while you’re sitting here dithering about what’s happening on the Hill, I’ve got one of the most liberal senators in this whole town telling me the best way to handle Ross is to go light him up face to face.”

“You talked to Senator Hartsburg about this?”

“Yep.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Call him.”

Kennedy glanced at her phone, hesitated a second, and then asked, “Why in the world would you go to Hartsburg on something like this?”

“The man’s seen the light. He’s on our side. Ross was the junior senator from New Jersey. Hartsburg pushed him on the president, so I figured now that he and I are such close friends, I’d ask him to give Ross a nice yank on his leash and get him to back off Coleman.”

“And?”

“He told me I should go pay him a visit and make him pee down his pants leg.”

Kennedy frowned. “You’re not serious.”

“Damn straight. Those were his exact words. He told me to do exactly what I did. Said Ross was well aware of the fact that the president was in my corner, and he’d back off the second I confronted him with it.”

“And how did Ross react?”

She was fishing for information. Which meant that whoever told her that he’d met with Ross did not give her the specifics of the meeting. Up until this point Rapp had been pretty sure it had been Ross himself who had called Kennedy. Rapp assumed he reamed Kennedy a good one. And if that was the case, Rapp was raring to go pay Ross a second visit. “He didn’t tell you himself?”

Kennedy shook her head.

“Who told you?”

“I’d prefer not to say.”

This was the problem with two career spies. Neither wanted to give an inch.

“If you want me to tell you how the meeting went, you’re going to have to tell me who told you.” Rapp crossed his arms and waited. He was prepared at this point to walk out of her office rather than give her any more information.

Kennedy thought about it long and hard and then finally said, “Jonathan Gordon called me this morning.”

“Gordon?” Rapp said in a slightly surprised tone. He’d guessed wrong on him. “What did he tell you?”

“Only that he was sorry that the whole thing had to happen. When I asked him ‘what thing’ he realized I had no idea what you had been up to. I think that was actually the reason why he called. He wanted to figure out if I had sent you over or if you were acting on your own.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I had no idea that you’d had a meeting with them. He said he really wouldn’t have called it a meeting. I asked him to elaborate, and he said it would be better if I got the story from you.”

“Nothing else?” asked Rapp. “No mention of the Coleman thing?”

“Only that he’d told Director Ross he thought it was a bad idea to go poking around in the private business of private citizens.”

Rapp was pleased. Maybe this Gordon would be a good influence on Ross.

“So tell me the story.”

“Well,” Rapp paused a moment to remember exactly how it had unfolded. “When I walked in it was Ross and Gordon and two other people. I started off real polite, and then things turned ugly pretty quick.”

Kennedy closed her eyes and asked, “What happened?”

“I looked down on the conference table and saw a surveillance photo of Coleman’s warehouse and I lost it. I realized they were talking about Coleman. I told the two people I didn’t know to leave, and then I reamed Ross pretty good.”

Kennedy still hadn’t opened her eyes. “And how did he take that?”

“Not well.”

“He got angry?”

“Yeah.”

“Which means you got even more angry.”

“Pretty much.” Rapp cocked his head and chewed on his lower lip.

“Please tell me you didn’t hit him or threaten him with bodily harm?”

“Ummm … I didn’t really hit him. I kind of cuffed him across the head with Coleman’s surveillance file. It was either his surveillance file or his tax returns … I don’t remember which.”

“Oh, Mitchell.” She opened her eyes. “What in the hell are we going to do with you? The man is the director of National Intelligence. He is my boss. Doesn’t any of this mean anything to you?”

“To be honest, Irene, no. It’s all a distraction. His job is a distraction. His new agency is just another couple hundred suits doing exactly what is already being done by at least three other agencies. Scott Coleman is a good man who has put his ass on the line more times than you or I could count, and I’m not going to stand by while Ross fucks with him, just so he can send us a message that there’s a new sheriff in town.”

“I’m not going to disagree with you, but there were better ways to handle it.”

“How?” asked Rapp indignantly. “How could it have been handled any better? The problem is solved, Ross has been sent a message, and Coleman and I can get back to targeting extremists.”

“And if Ross didn’t get the message? What if all you’ve done is make him angry?”

“I could care less if the guy likes me or not.”

“You’re too reckless, Mitchell.” Kennedy shook her head. “Jonathan Ross is a man you might want on your side someday.”

“I don’t need men like Ross on my side. I just need them to get out of my way.”

W
ASHINGTON
, DC

T
he day did not go exactly as planned. Right after Anna Rielly finished her first live shot, Claudia was hit with another wave of nausea. Louie barely got her across the street before her breakfast came back up, literally at the feet of the great Jean-Baptiste-Donatien de Vimeur Rochambeau. Gould’s father would have been very disappointed that she had not made it to the statue of Andrew Jackson. Louie cared only that they got away from the myriad of surveillance cameras around the White House. When Claudia was done heaving, Louie helped her back to the hotel. She almost made it without having to stop but she was overcome again just a half a block from the hotel. Louie stood guard while she placed one hand on a light post and the other on a newspaper box. He rubbed her back and smiled sheepishly at concerned passersby. One older woman actually stopped. Louie explained that Claudia was pregnant, and she’d just been hit with a wave of nausea. The woman understood completely and went on to tell Louie how she’d had it something awful with all four of her kids. Every morning without exception she’d get hit with two or three waves of it. She would have had a fifth, but she couldn’t bear the thought of going through the morning sickness again. She told Louie he needed to keep her in bed. Make sure she got plenty of rest. There was nothing the little darling could do but ride it out.

Louie thanked the older woman for her sage advice and helped Claudia up to the room. This time they took the elevator. She sat on the edge of the bed while he took off her shoes. She didn’t bother with the rest of her clothes, electing instead to crawl under the covers and clutch the blanket around her neck. She began shivering and her normally beautiful skin had taken on a pasty pallor. Louie stood there helplessly, wondering what he should do. He did not want to seem insensitive, but there was a lot of work to be done and he honestly didn’t know if she needed him to stay by her side. Almost as if she could read his mind Claudia told him to leave. She would be fine on her own. All she wanted was sleep.

Gould changed out of his walking clothes and put on a white shirt, tie, and dark gray suit. After unlocking his suitcase he carefully pried his fingers between the liner and the hard outer shell. Slowly, the layers began to separate. Gould retrieved a new set of credentials and put them in his breast pocket. A small clock radio sat on the desk. He flipped it upside down and removed the false bottom. Two items roughly the size of a pack of playing cards fell out, as well as a tiny circular object the size of two stacked nickels. All three items were black. He stuffed them in his pockets and checked on Claudia one more time before leaving. She was fast asleep. He took the stairs down to the lobby and donned his sunglasses as he stepped out into the bright sunlight. Gould walked west along the north edge of Farragut Square. At Connecticut he took a right and two blocks later he found what he was looking for. He perused the display window from the street and looked to see if any surveillance cameras were visible inside. There was one behind the clerk. Gould hesitated briefly. It was unlikely that he would find a store like this without cameras.

He cinched up his tie, adjusted his sunglasses, and entered.

The kid behind the counter looked up at him and smiled. “What’s up?”

“I need to get a phone for my teenage daughter.”

“All right. Do you have a preference … Motorola … Nokia …”

Gould shook his head.

“Does she need a camera?” the young man asked.

“I suppose.”

“How many minutes a month are you willing to get her?”

Gould thought about it. He’d probably put five or ten minutes on the thing at the most, and then he’d chuck it. “It’s mostly for emergencies, so probably one of the smaller plans.”

“Are you already a customer?”

“No.”

“Do you want to be? We’ve got some great friends and family plans.”

Gould shook his head. “I’m under a government contract.”

“Okay.” The young man reached under the glass and grabbed one of the phones. “I’d put you into this one right here. It’s got a two-mega pixel camera, she can download ringtones and …”

The clerk went on and on about the phone’s features, but Gould had already stopped listening. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a credit card. “How much?”

“It’s twenty-four ninety-five a month plus tax and fees, and if you sign a one-year contract, the phone is free.”

“Can you bill it automatically to my credit card?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll take it.”

Gould left the store with the phone in his pocket and a block later he chucked the bag and packaging in a garbage can. He turned down 18th Street and started working his way back to the White House. He had a good idea where to start his search. He’d studied a map and earlier in the morning, before Claudia got sick, he’d checked out the immediate area around the White House. The street that ran along the west side of the White House was West Executive Drive. It was blocked off at both ends by a heavy gate and manned by the Secret Service. There were a limited number of spaces, probably reserved for people who worked directly for the president. Gould checked the area anyway and did not see any BMWs. This did not deter him. Convenience and logic were on his side. Rapp’s wife got to work early, which meant she would have her pick of garages and at the same time, she would not want to walk far.

The first ramp on his list was just off the corner of 17th and H. An attendant dressed in black pants and a red windbreaker stood at the top of the underground entrance next to a sign that announced how much it cost per hour and for the day. Gould walked right up to the guy and fished out his new credentials. He held them in his left hand to the side of his face like he did it countless times every week.

“I’m Agent Johnson with the IRS.” Gould snapped shut the case and continued, “You guys park any blue BMWs this morning?”

The attendant shrugged and looked down the concrete ramp to one of his coworkers. The two spoke briefly in a language Gould did not understand. The other man hustled up the ramp.

“You are looking for a blue BMW?”

Gould guessed the man was probably Somalian. “Yeah. Series Five. Do you know which make that is?”

The man nodded. “I parked a silver one thirty minutes ago, but no blue ones.” The man studied him warily. “What is this about?”

“I’m investigating a tax cheat who works in the area. We’re looking to seize her vehicle.” Gould had taken the story right from the IRS’s Web site.

“Is there a reward?” the first man asked.

“Hundred bucks.”

“How do we get ahold of you?”

“I’ll be back by before lunch. Anyone else parking cars with you guys this morning?”

“No.”

“Any chance you missed a blue BMW?”

Both men shook their heads confidently.

“All right. Thanks for your time. I’ll see you later.”

The next garage went pretty much the same except there were three attendants. One of them couldn’t remember if he’d parked a blue or black BMW, but that it had been about an hour ago. Man or woman, Gould asked him. The attendant said it was a man. Gould thanked them for their time and told them he might be back later. The third garage was the one that he thought she’d probably used and he was right. This time he didn’t ask about a specific car. He just flashed his credentials and told them he needed to look for a vehicle that might be involved in an investigation. They asked if they could help, and he politely told them no. Gould descended into the concrete cavern and found a blue BMW Series Five on the first level. He looked around, a bit surprised to see that there were no surveillance cameras until he realized customers weren’t allowed down here. The attendants met people on the sidewalk and parked their cars for them. Gould knew luck was shining on him when he spied the keys in the ignition of the car.

He went and stood by another car in case one of the attendants showed up, and pulled out the new cell phone. From memory he punched in a number. Two rings later a woman answered.

“Comm Center.”

“This is Detective Johnson from Five D,” Gould said in a tired voice. “I need a 1028 on District plate echo, echo, foxtrot, one, eight, three.”

Police departments were the same the world over. The woman sitting at the Communications Center for the Metropolitan Police Department was supposed to ask for his badge number, but she didn’t because she was overworked and underpaid and the guy on the phone sounded like all of the other cops who called her hundreds of times each day to access the Washington Area Law Enforcement System. The database they all referred to as WALS.

“The vehicle is registered to an Anna Rielly.”

“BMW Series Five?”

“Yep.”

“Do you have a 1029 filed on the car?”

“Nope.”

“Okay … thanks.” Gould closed the phone and put it back in his pocket.

He walked slowly back to the ramp and checked on the attendants. Both men were standing at the top talking. As Gould hustled back to the car he put on a pair of latex gloves. He opened the driver’s door and fished the smallest device from his pocket. There was a thin plastic film on the back of the miniature listening device. Gould peeled it off exposing a tacky adhesive surface. He stuck the device under the dashboard and hit the trunk release button. Gould slid a blanket and a shopping bag to the side and pulled the small lever that opened the compartment where the spare tire was kept. He checked to make sure both of the larger devices were working and then placed them in the well of the compartment. He closed the door carefully and put the shopping bag and blanket back where he’d found them, before closing the trunk. The gloves came off with a snap, and Gould dumped them in the garbage can right before he started up the ramp. He thanked the attendants for their time and started back to the hotel with a smile on his face. So far things were going exactly as planned.