Kill Shot (42 page)

Every eye in the observation room looked at Rapp. Mitch turned to Stansfield and said, “I think we both know who needs to be put out of his misery.”

“In due time.”

Lewis approached Rapp’s side. “I know this isn’t easy to hear, but you need to—”

“Shut up, Doc,” Rapp said, without taking his eyes off Victor. “No offense, but I don’t want to listen to any of your bullshit right now.”

Hurley stabbed out his cigarette. “You know what I think . . . I think you’re full of shit. I think you’re lying through your fucking teeth. I told you to pull the plug last night. Head back to the hotel and get some sack time, and you disregarded my order.”

“I didn’t disregard anything. We were getting ready to leave when he sent in his decoy. McGuirk and Borneman went to cover the front door and that was when Rapp jumped them.”

“And where was this decoy?”

“I don’t know. I never saw him again.”

“You’re full of shit.” Hurley leaned back and shook his head. “So full of shit.”

Victor smiled. “I know you’re just trying to do your job, but this is a waste of time. Let’s wrap this up and go kill the little shit. I know you hate him just as much as I do.”

“Just because I don’t like him doesn’t mean I want to kill him. There are a lot of people I don’t like.”

“Do a lot of those people gun down two of your operatives and compromise a safe house? Do they blow a mission in the middle of Paris and turn it into an international fucking embarrassment? Nine fucking bodies!” Victor banged his knuckles on the table and then pointed at Hurley and said, “And don’t forget the two DGSE guys he plugged.”

Hurley bobbed his head as if he was agreeing with him and then said, “About those two DGSE agents . . . I heard an interesting story. I have two witnesses who came on the scene shortly after you’d left Borneman’s body on the street in your rush to save your own ass.”

“I already told you Borneman fell out of the van. There was nothing I could do about it.”

Hurley ignored him. “These two witnesses positively ID’d Rapp.”

“There you have it. They put him at the scene.”

“Take a guess what he was doing when they came upon him?”

“I don’t know . . . running away?”

“No . . . that would be you. You were the one running away.”

Victor leaned over the table. “You would have done the exact same fucking thing.”

“You have no idea what I’d do, so shut your fucking mouth before I break your jaw. Now get back on point. What do you think Rapp was doing when these two guys walked up on him?”

Victor leaned back and folded his arms defiantly. “I don’t know.”

“He was giving first aid to one of the agents. One guy was hit in the face and the second was hit in the chest. These two witnesses I’ve worked with for almost two decades say Rapp was patching up the guy with the chest wound.”

Victor shrugged as if it meant nothing.

“Tell me why in hell Rapp would shoot a guy and then try to save him.”

“I don’t know. He’s a total nut job, and when we can catch him we can ask him all of these questions. But this,” Victor said, throwing his hands out, “is all a bunch of bullshit and you know it.”

One of the phones in the observation room rang and Ridley answered it. He listened for a half minute and then said, “Nice work. Stick with it. I’ll call you as soon as we’re mobile.” Ridley set the phone back in the cradle and looked up at Stansfield with a big grin on his face. “Waldvogel got it done. We’re wired for sound and we have a beacon. Guess who picked Cooke up at the airport?”

Stansfield was too fixated on Victor to change gears so quickly. “I have no idea.”

“Paul Fournier.”

“His name seems to be popping up a lot these days.”

“Waldvogel says they’re stopping for lunch and then they have a meeting. Fournier said, and I quote, ‘They are very excited to meet you, but they expect the rest of the list, and they want to know the name of the assassin.’ ”

“What did Cooke say?”

“He said he didn’t fly all the way to Paris just to have lunch.”

Stansfield turned away from Ridley and looked through the glass. Tapping Talmage on the shoulder, he said, “Tell Stan to take a break. I need to talk with him.”

Rapp walked over to Stansfield, and in a voice that only he could hear, said, “Give me five minutes with him. I’m the last guy he expects to see.”

Stansfield was in the midst of considering it when Hurley came into the room looking as if he wanted to punch someone. He froze in midstride when he saw Rapp standing next to his boss. “What in hell is he doing here?”

“Easy,” Stansfield warned. “His story checks out. He’s not the problem,” Stansfield said, nodding at Rapp. “He is.” Stansfield pointed through the glass at Victor, who was looking rather smug considering the situation he’d landed himself in. “Come here,” Stansfield ordered Hurley. The two of them huddled in the corner, where Stansfield relayed everything he’d learned in the past few hours.

“Greta?” Hurley asked in shock at one point.

Stansfield quieted him down and finished. The two of them came out of the corner. Stansfield looked at Dr. Lewis and said, “Tom, Mitch would like to go in there and ask Victor a few questions. I’m running short on time. It appears our deputy director is in the midst of committing treason, and before I do anything about it, I’d like a little more proof.”

“Can you keep your cool?” Lewis asked Rapp.

Rapp frowned. “I don’t think keeping my cool is going to get us anywhere at this point. I watched that fucker kill four people last night. Not one of them was a terrorist. Two of them you knew pretty well. He’s a piece of shit . . . a sick dog, and you guys should have put him out of his misery a long time ago. Now isn’t the time to get weak in the knees.” The last person Rapp expected to support him was Hurley.

“He’s right. Victor thinks he has us outsmarted. The best way to knock him off his game is to send Rapp in.”

“If Mitch walks into that room,” Lewis said, “there’s going to be violence.”

Rapp drew his silenced Glock and said, “You’re damn right there is.”

Lewis looked pleadingly at Stansfield. “This isn’t the way to do this. What if he kills him before we get the answers we need?”

“I promise I won’t kill him, Doc. At least not before we get the answers we need.” Rapp didn’t want to wait around for permission, so he started for the door.

Hurley caught him in the hallway. He grabbed Rapp by the arm.

Rapp spun around with pure anger on face. “Keep your fucking hands off me.”

Hurley held up his hands and said, “This isn’t easy for me, but I wanted to say I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

Rapp took the apology with a nod and said, “Fine, now if you want to help me, make sure you don’t let anyone into that interrogation room until I’m done with him. I don’t care what you hear, you keep that door closed. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. I can do that.”

B
RAMBLE
thought the morning was going well. He could tell Hurley didn’t have his heart in it. Stan hated Rapp every bit as much as he did and then some. The last round of questioning was a little more intense, but he supposed he had to put on a show for the people on the other side of the glass. That bitch Kennedy was probably henpecking him. The good news was she wasn’t going to be around much longer. With Rapp’s big fuckup there was going to be some housecleaning, and Kennedy would be the first one to receive the ax.

Stansfield, that fossil, was on his way out as well and Hurley wasn’t getting any younger. In another ten years Bramble would be running the show and then he could really start to line his pockets. This job was a license to steal. Bramble pushed his chair back and angled it toward the big observation window. He could feel Kennedy on the other side of the glass, the little killjoy, ragging on Stan and anyone else who didn’t think her little boy wonder was the second coming.

Bramble heard the door open and without turning to look he said, “Stan, let’s stop wasting each other’s time. The longer we dick around in here, the harder it’s going to be to catch that little prick.”

“Little prick?” Rapp said.

Bramble jumped up, knocking his chair over. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He saw the gun in Rapp’s hand and said, “Put that thing down right now.”

“Pick up that chair and sit down.”

“Fuck you. I don’t take orders from you. How did you get in here?”

“I’m not going to tell you again. Pick up the chair and sit down.”

Bramble’s mouth was just beginning to form his favorite word when a bullet struck him in his good knee. It must have shattered his kneecap, because his leg completely folded and he crashed to the floor. Bramble reached for his leg and started screaming.

Rapp stood over him and pointed the gun at his face. “Shut up, Victor. Everyone knows what happened last night. There were eyewitnesses who saw what you did. You’re a fucking dirt bag.”

“I didn’t do anything. It was you.”

Rapp pointed the gun at Bramble’s left foot and fired another shot. He waited a few seconds for Bramble’s screaming to subside and then said, “This is how it’s going to work. I’m going to keep putting bullets in you until you tell us what we already know.”

“If you already know it, then why are you asking me?”

“You’re not very smart, are you? We need corroboration. You’ve been passing along information to the wrong people. You told them about Tarek. You described my methods. You helped set me up.”

“Fuck you!”

“Wrong answer.” Rapp pumped a round into Victor’s right foot. There was more howling and more threats and Rapp ignored them all. When Victor finally ran out of steam Rapp said, “Stansfield gave me the green light to kill you. The only way you can save your ass is to tell us who you were working with.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“So you want another bullet. I’m going to let you pick this time. Right hand or left hand?”

Victor covered his heart with both hands.

“You want me to kill you?” Rapp asked.

“Fuck you.”

“You really need to work on some different comebacks.” Rapp looked Victor over and said, “How about your elbows. That has to hurt like hell. Lots of bones and nerves. Which one . . . left or right?”

Victor squirmed on the floor, trying to push himself farther away, but the blood coming from his feet made the floor slick. “Don’t shoot me again. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You’ve done a lot of wrong shit, Victor, and if you want to live you’d better start telling the truth. Now, who were you passing information to?”

“Stan.”

Rapp shook his head. “That’s pathetic, Victor. Stan knows everything. It has to be somebody else. Somebody outside the group. I need a name. Come on, let’s go.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m going to count to five this time and then I shoot.” Rapp started counting.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Four . . . five.” Rapp chose the left elbow and squeezed.

Victor recoiled in pain and screamed for nearly half a minute. Rapp waited patiently and then asked, “Who was it, Victor? Who’s your guy?”

Victor was mumbling now. Rapp thought he caught a name but he couldn’t make it out. He bent down and jammed the suppressor into Victor’s groin. “I didn’t catch that name. You’re going to have to say it a little louder.”

Victor was writhing in pain. Snot was pouring out of his nose. He mumbled some more.

Rapp shoved the gun down hard. “I’m going to count to five again. Remember how that worked last time? One . . . two . . . three . . . four.”

“Paul Cooke!” Victor yelled.

Rapp stood, looked at the glass, and nodded. He looked back down at Victor and said, “If it was up to me, Victor, I’d put a bullet in your head right now.” Rapp turned for the door.

Victor started laughing. Slow and soft at first and then faster and loud.

Rapp stopped and turned back to face the man. “What’s so funny, Victor?”

He got his laughter under control and said, “I knew you didn’t have the balls for this line of work.”

Rapp looked him over, considered his options, and then raised his gun. He fired two shots into Victor’s groin and said, “Well, I guess that makes two of us.”

Rapp knocked three times on the door and a moment later Hurley opened it. “How’d it go?”

“He fingered Cooke, so I guess we have one more rat to deal with.”

“You got that right.” Hurley looked beyond Rapp and saw all of the blood. “What the fuck did you do to him?”

“I gave him a bunch of chances to tell the truth. It just took him a while to figure out it was in his best interest to stop lying to me.”

“What am I going to do with him?”

Rapp shrugged his shoulders. “I promised Doc that I wouldn’t kill him, so it’s up to you.” He walked past Hurley and down the hall to the observation room. The door opened before he got there and Dr. Lewis stepped into the hallway.

With an anxious look on his face, he asked Rapp, “How are you feeling?”

Rapp stopped, considered the question for a second, and said, “Fucking great, Doc. Never better. How about you?”

F
AURNIER
had arranged a private room at Les Enfants Terribles. He knew the manager well and could trust him for discretion. Fournier’s morning had been horrible. He’d been forced to defend himself to virtually every bureaucrat and politician all the way up and down the line. The director general of the National Police wanted his head, and the feminists wanted his balls, and all he wanted was for this nonsense to go away. What were one woman’s feelings when he was wrestling with the national security of the Republic?

Fortunately, Cooke had no idea about the morning’s press conference. He stepped off the private jet with a bounce in his step, looking forward to concluding their business arrangement. Fournier liked Cooke for the simple reason that he was a mirror image of himself. He was intelligent and pragmatic. He never got caught up in the emotional component of things, which was the kiss of death in their business. There was no place for compassion or feelings. It was a brutal business and only the best and the brightest could survive.