Consent to Kill (57 page)

I
t was the two exits off the autobahn and the doubling back that told them it was Abel behind the wheel. Milt had tapped into the Mercedes mainframe, and they were following the car’s progress on a color screen that showed the exact road the car was on. It showed gas stations, churches, restaurants, rivers, lakes, parks, everything. As soon as the car doubled back for the second time, Rapp knew it was their man. Two of the Agency’s people from the embassy in Bern had been camped in front of Abel’s Zurich apartment for the better part of a day. They were pulled off their assignment and put into pursuit of a car they never caught up to.

Finding a helicopter proved more difficult than they would have thought, but that also didn’t matter. An hour into tracking him, the car headed due east, straight for the Austrian border and according to the map a town called Bludenz. Milt worked the computers and found out they had a regional airport. By plane, the flight was less than thirty minutes. Rapp, Coleman and his men, and the big Saudi all took off for the airport. While in flight, Milt arranged two rental cars: a Volvo sedan and van. The vehicles were waiting for them when they landed. The only difficult part was transferring the Saudi. Rapp decided to leave him in the plane under the watchful eye of Stroble, rather than risk one of the locals seeing a bound and gagged man being stuffed into a rental car.

It took eight minutes to get from the airport into town. Milt had given them constant updates on the car’s progress. It had arrived in Bludenz just before they’d landed and it had stopped for exactly seventeen minutes. It then headed north, up what Milt assumed was a residential road. He had been right. They took the Volvo slowly up the switchbacks, beyond where Milt said the vehicle had stopped. Rapp and Wicker got out and silently worked their way back down the hillside. They found the big, expensive Mercedes parked right in front of what they assumed was Abel’s house. Rapp radioed Coleman to come back down and block the driveway while he picked his way from tree to tree. Wicker found a good spot and covered Rapp with a silenced special-purpose sniping rifle. Rapp maneuvered to a spot where the woods were closest to the house and then made his way onto the side of the porch and crawled to a spot near the front door. Before he could even check the lock, the door opened, swinging toward him, and then Abel appeared.

T
HE LIGHT WAS
fading. The sky had gone from blue, to orange, to gray. Rapp stoked the logs in the large stone fireplace with a black iron poker, and then left the tip of it sitting in the midst of the blazing red coals. He took two sturdy chairs from the dining room and placed them in front of the fireplace. Coleman sat Abel in one and the big Saudi in the other. Their lower legs and ankles were duct taped to the chairs, as were their waists and chests. Both men were blindfolded and gagged. Neither knew he was in the other’s presence. Rapp and Coleman had already searched the house and found nothing of interest other than the black bags, which were loaded into the trunk of Abel’s Mercedes.

When Rapp was ready he asked Coleman to remove their shoes and socks and then told Wicker, Hackett, and Stroble to wait outside. When Coleman was done with the shoes and socks he gave him the option to leave. Coleman declined.

Rapp stood in front of the two men with his back to the fire. He reached out and grabbed the silver tape that covered Abel’s eyes and yanked it off his face. Two thirds of both eyebrows stayed attached to the tape. Abel tried to scream, but his cry was muffled by the tape covering his mouth. Rapp yanked the tape off his mouth, and Abel began gasping for air. Rapp yanked the tape off the Saudi’s eyes, and the man barely flinched. The Saudi had yet to utter a word other than when he was screaming in Abel’s office and that had been because he knew his only chance was to have one of the neighboring office workers call the police. Since then he’d remained silent. Rapp could see it in his eyes. This one was a true follower. It would take months to break him, and even then the Saudi might prefer to die. That was why Rapp kept the tape over his mouth.

Rapp held up a phone and said, “On the other end of this line is a man who has thoroughly read your KGB file. He has access to every database you could imagine. We know all about your time with the Stasi. We know how you started out as gay bait for Westerners traveling to East Germany, and we know about the blackmail operations you ran. You are only going to get one chance at this.” Rapp held up the forefinger of his left hand and repeated himself, “One chance.”

Rapp turned around and grabbed the hot poker from the fire. The tip was bright red. Rapp held it in front of Abel’s horrified face and said, “We’ve talked to your buddy here.” Rapp moved the poker over to the Saudi. “I think he lied to us. He blamed everything on you.”

The Saudi looked at the tip with a frown.

The poker swung back in front of Abel’s face. It was still glowing hot. Abel turned his head away. Rapp pulled the poker back and said very calmly, “Look at me. If I catch you lying to me … even once, this is what I’m going to do to you.”

Rapp took the poker, held it vertically in his left hand, and jammed it straight down through the top of the Saudi’s right foot. The Saudi’s entire body looked as if it would break through the duct tape for a second. Coleman stepped up from behind and grabbed the man so he wouldn’t tip over in his chair. Rapp yanked the poker free and held it in front of Abel. A hunk of charred skin hung from the end, and the room filled with the awful smell of burnt flesh.

“One chance,” Rapp said. “That’s all I’m going to give you.”

That was all it took. Earlier, Abel had thought his biggest mistake had been threatening the assassin. Then he thought it was leaving the money in the accounts. Now he was convinced the biggest mistake he ever made was entering into a business relationship with Prince Muhammad bin Rashid. Abel sang and kept on singing for twenty solid minutes. He told how Rashid had sent for him. How Rashid had arranged the meeting with Saeed. How later he learned that this whole thing had been Rashid’s idea. Abel didn’t know that for a fact, but he suspected it. Rashid was a sick sociopath. He lived to manipulate people, and it was important to give Rapp someone bigger to go after. Some fresh meat. He’d already killed Saeed, and if this was the end of the road for Rapp, Abel was a dead man. If he could offer him someone like Rashid, someone who was really guilty, he might survive. He told Rapp that Rashid was in Granada, Spain, at his villa for the rededication of some ridiculous mosque on Friday. Abel had been to Rashid’s villa before. He explained how the Saudi prince viewed himself as the new caliph for the reclaimed Muslim lands of southern Spain.

He spat on Tayyib and told Rapp everything he knew about the Saudi intelligence officer. He’d never liked the man. At one point the big Saudi tried to knock his own chair over and go after Abel. Rapp grabbed the red hot poker and held it up to the Saudi’s groin. Tayyib instantly turned into a statue.

Rapp put the poker back in the fire and asked Abel, “Tell me about the assassins you hired.”

Abel hesitated.

Rapp reached for the poker.

Abel answered, “A man and a woman. I met them in Paris. I had never worked with them before.”

“How did you find out about them?”

Abel hesitated before answering. “Rashid had heard of them.”

Rapp saw the lie. He could tell by the way the man had looked quickly down and to his right before answering. It was the first time he’d done it. Rapp grabbed the poker, held it out in front of Abel, and then jammed it through the top of his right foot.

Abel howled in pain and began screaming.

Rapp told Coleman to get some ice from the kitchen and then said to Abel, “I told you not to lie to me. Now, how did you come to hire the assassins?”

Abel had tears streaming down his anguished face. Coleman returned with the ice wrapped in a kitchen towel. Rapp tapped the other foot with the hot poker and said, “Last chance.”

“Petrov … Dimitri Petrov.”

Rapp had also read the file. “Your old boss from the KGB.”

Abel nodded.

Rapp set the bag on top of his foot. “Now tell me everything you know about the assassins.”

“I never saw the man. I only spoke with him. He spoke perfect French and English. His Russian was also very good, but not as good.”

Rapp remembered the man’s perfect Americanized English from when he’d run into him near his house. “What do you remember about the woman?”

“Very beautiful. Black hair, high cheekbones, very nice skin.”

“Eyes?”

“I never saw them. She never took her glasses off.”

“Nationality?”

“French. I am almost certain.”

That jibed with what Rapp had guessed. “Do you think they were a couple? Beyond the business end of things?”

“Definitely.”

Rapp stopped asking questions for a moment.

Abel grew nervous. He knew once Rapp had gotten what he wanted from him, it would likely be the end. “I would like to say that I was nothing more than a courier. I was never told who Saeed and Rashid wanted killed. I simply handed over an envelope to the assassins.”

Rapp placed a hand on the fireplace mantel and looked at Coleman. “Why don’t you drag our other friend outside and leave us alone for a minute?”

Coleman grabbed the Saudi’s chair, tilted him back and dragged him across the hardwood floor and out the front door.

The door closed with a thud and Abel said, “I am very sorry about your wife. They went too far.”

Rapp felt like shoving the hot poker through Abel’s heart for even mentioning his wife. “Nothing more than a courier, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“A courier who got paid eleven million dollars.” Rapp’s eyes were locked on Abel’s. Once again he looked down and to the right and then he looked back at Rapp with pleading eyes.

“Please, you must believe me. All I did was deliver an envelope. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Rapp pushed himself away from the fireplace and walked into the dining room. Coleman had found the bottle of Louis XIII cognac. Like the modern-day pirate that he was, the former SEAL wanted to keep it. Rapp told him maybe. Now he had a better idea for it. He walked back in front of the fireplace, the ornate bottle in hand. Rapp took off the cap and thought about taking a swig. He thought about his wife and the life they had had together. He thought about the child they would never have. Then he thought about how their entire future had been ruined by this greedy prick sitting before him.

Abel was really nervous. When men like Rapp got quiet, nothing good ever came of it. He had to keep him talking. “We are both professionals, you and I. I know the rules. Professionals never harm each other’s families.”

“You were a Stasi pig who used to kidnap people and hold them for ransom. You were never a professional.” Rapp brought the bottle to his lips and took a big gulp. It went back smooth and then bit his throat with a mellow burning sensation.

“How old is this place?” Rapp looked up at the timber rafters.

“It was built in nineteen fifty-two,” Abel answered, a confused expression on his face.

Rapp nodded. “I bet the wood is pretty dry at this altitude.” Rapp turned the bottle on its side and some of the cognac spilled onto the wide plank hardwood floor and then onto the carpet. Rapp splashed out a little more.

“What are you doing?” Abel yelled.

“Arranging your funeral pyre.” Rapp splashed a little more liquid on the carpet by Abel and then some close to the fireplace.

“No!” Abel screamed. “I know more!”

“I’m sure you do. More lies.” The cognac splashed into the flames and caught fire. It shot out from the stone hearth and spread to the rug. Rapp bent over and grabbed the side of the copper kettle that was filled with kindling. He dumped it onto the floor and it caught fire almost immediately.

Abel was screaming. Pleading for his life. “You can’t do this!”

“Oh yes, I can,” Rapp said as he started toward the door. He opened the heavy wood door and never bothered to look back. Didn’t even bother to close the door. He figured the air would be good for the fire.

Rapp took one more swig of the cognac and then handed it to Coleman. “I’ll drive.”

The other guys got into the rented Volvo van, and Rapp got behind the wheel of Abel’s Mercedes. Coleman climbed in the passenger seat.

The former SEAL took a sip of the $2,000-a-bottle cognac and sighed. “Where to now?”

Rapp put the car into reverse and said, “Granada, Spain.”