The Survivor (24 page)

Rapp started walking south, paralleling the road. The slow pace felt odd, but he was wearing slick dress shoes and drenching himself in sweat wouldn't do much to enhance his cover.

At fifteen minutes, he drifted closer to the road. Once again, Glauser was right on time. He stepped onto the shoulder, and she slowed just long enough for him to jump into the passenger seat.

He immediately leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to let his mind go blank. When he got back to Langley, it was going to be like a
bomb going off. What he needed now was a few minutes to clear his head.

“Are you all right?”

Normally, he would have ignored the question, but Glauser's voice was shaking badly enough that even a half-deaf cop would pick up on it.

“Relax, Maria. You did great. It's almost over.”

“I was told I'd have to move some people and equipment,” she said, the words tumbling breathlessly from her mouth. “You don't transport people in body bags. You transport bodies in them. And were those Gatling guns? They sounded like Gatling guns! I blew up a house. A house! Then I had people call the police and lie about it.”

Clearly the subject wasn't going to die on its own. “We told you about the house, Maria.”

“You said it was a last resort.”

“It was. Now take me to the airport.”

“The airport? We're supposed to rendezvous with your people at—”

“Plans have changed.”

“But Director Kennedy said—”

“Airport, Maria. And don't talk anymore until we get there, okay?”

ISI H
EADQUARTERS

I
SLAMABAD

P
AKISTAN

K
ABIR
Gadai knocked quietly and then entered the ISI director's office. He found Taj sitting at his desk staring at an empty wall. The younger man stopped immediately, leaving as much space between them as the office would allow. Taj's anger had clearly defined levels, and his deathly stillness was a sign of the last: a rage so intense that it couldn't be processed. Gadai had seen him like this only once before and it had ended with seven men from the S Wing being summarily executed along with their families.

Thank Allah he was there to report good news. He had to assume that Taj's anger was the result of the Obrecht operation, which had been carried out during Gadai's time in Rome. The question was whether the prudent course was to inquire about it or to ignore the subject entirely.

“Things went extremely well with Isabella Accorso,” Gadai said, keeping his tone submissive. “Just as you planned.”

Taj's eyes remained fixed and his body motionless. It was impossible that he hadn't heard. Gadai began to wonder if he had done something to displease the ISI director. He racked his brain but could come
up with nothing. It mattered little, though. Only what Taj believed was of importance.

The silence stretched out long enough that Gadai could no longer endure it. No one knew for certain what had happened to Taj's previous assistant. The man's broken body was found by people scavenging a trash heap and his death had been quickly deemed an accident. Of what type no one had ever attempted to determine.

If that was to be his fate, it would be better to find out quickly—to have an opportunity to defend himself before Taj's anger grew further. And, if necessary, to beg for mercy for his sons.

“The Obrecht operation, sir? I trust it met with similar success?”

Taj's eyes flickered and Gadai resisted an urge to step back, knowing that the wall behind him would prevent it.

“Obrecht is dead,” Taj said finally. “Rapp is not.”

Gadai didn't let his relief show. He'd had no hand in planning that operation and in fact had pointed out its numerous potential pitfalls.

The ISI was in the business of knowing everything there was to know about Mitch Rapp. Its files were likely more extensive than those at any other intelligence agency in the world, including the CIA. What those files described was a man who had walked away from certain death on countless occasions, each time leaving in his wake the bodies of men who believed themselves to be assured of victory.

“And Gould?” Gadai prompted gently.

“Also dead.”

Gadai nodded. He also had warned against the killing of Abdul Qayem. While it was true that the Afghan general knew far too much to be allowed to fall into the hands of the CIA, it was also true that his death had left the ISI with no obvious path to Mitch Rapp. Qayem could have been used to bait a trap deployed on terrain they controlled: Quetta, North Waziristan, or any of a number of sites in Afghanistan. Rapp could have been isolated and pitted against an overwhelming force.

Of course, pointing this out would be unwise to the extreme. Better to accentuate the positive.

“Gould and Obrecht were loose ends that we would have been
forced to deal with sooner than later, Ahmed. Rapp has done our work for us while allowing us to remain in the shadows. And, in the end, he is only one man.”

That caused Taj to spin toward him. “
I
am only one man, Kabir. Sometimes one man is all it takes to change the order of things.”

“I hardly think it's a fair comparison,” Gadai said. “Mitch Rapp is a simple enforcer constrained by a dysfunctional and cowardly government. You are a brilliant man who will soon lead one of the most powerful countries in the world.”

“Don't patronize me, Kabir. I know what you're thinking. Qayem.”

“Not at all,” Gadai lied smoothly. “In light of Rapp's escape from Switzerland, it's clear that you were right. The risks of leaving the general alive were too great.”

Taj's eyes narrowed, but thankfully he chose not to pursue the subject. “I understand you have Rickman's files.”

“Yes, sir. And they've been wiped from the law firm's system.”

“Including the backups?”

“Absolutely.”

“The woman?”

“She and her daughter are both dead. The authorities are treating it as an accident. No criminal investigation has been initiated and none is planned, according to our sources.”

He nodded and seemed to relax a bit. Rapp's survival was undoubtedly dangerous, but with the Rickman files in their possession, the assassin could be neutralized. Without the support of the American president and the CIA infrastructure, he would become less than nothing.

“Have you been able to access the information?” Taj asked, though he almost certainly knew the answer to the question.

“They're encrypted.”

“You didn't get the key from the law firm?”

“They didn't have it. But the instructions for the files' dissemination weren't encrypted. In fact, the next release is scheduled for tomorrow. Our people think that this is the path to accessing the information.”

“Explain.”

“We
believe the man who is decrypting and sending out the files is some kind of computer criminal. The law firm couldn't be allowed to see the contents of the files because they would have called the authorities. Conversely, a criminal couldn't be given access to all the files at one time, because he might have sought to use them for his own ends. It's the combination of the two organizations—one legal and one not—that made Rickman's system work.”

“Then you can find this computer criminal?”

“We believe so. Through his email address.”

“You believe so?” Taj said, the volume of his voice rising noticeably. “If we can't access the information in these files, we've learned nothing. Accomplished nothing. We have the tools to crush America's entire intelligence empire in our hands and we can't use them. Find this man, Kabir. Find him now.”

“Yes, sir. But I want you to know that doing so will involve some compromises.”

Taj's expression turned suspicious. “What kind of compromises?”

“On the surface, his email address is administered through a server in Singapore, so I think we can be confident that he's not a resident of that country. It's simply a gateway. After the email arrives there, it would be forwarded all over the world in the span of only a few seconds, creating a trail that's very difficult to follow.”

“But not impossible.”

“No, sir, not impossible. We'll get closer with each file release. Eventually, it will lead us to—”

“Each file release? What are you saying, Kabir?”

“That we will have to continue sending the files per Rickman's schedule.”

Taj stared silently at him for a few seconds. “It's a dangerous game. We don't know what is in those files and who the ultimate recipient will be.”

“I agree, sir, but I think that the risks are acceptable in light of the reward.”

“How
many releases will have to be carried out before we find the man we're looking for?”

“It's impossible to say for certain, but our hope is no more than five. In the end, though, at least we know that each release will damage the CIA. So if it's more than five—”

“The route to power isn't through clumsy attacks on the CIA, Kabir. It's through subverting the organization. Creating double agents, blackmailing informants and politicians. Turning an intelligence network they spent hundreds of billions to create against them.”

“Yes, sir. But chipping away at America's ability to defend itself and the internal chaos that the releases will create is hardly an unattractive secondary strategy.”

Taj's frown suggested that he was unwilling to accept anything but complete victory. “Then it's your recommendation that we go forward with the scheduled release tomorrow and continue until we identify the man carrying them out?”

“Yes, sir. The death of President Chutani is less than a week away. Even if there were no hope of getting the encryption key, this would be the most prudent course of action. It will keep the CIA—and Mitch Rapp—focused elsewhere.”

Taj just nodded, unwilling to give his authorization aloud. It was clear that he was making Gadai entirely responsible. There would be no reward for success. It was expected. Failure, on the other hand, would be severely punished.

T
HE
F
ARM

O
UTSIDE
H
ARPERS
F
ERRY

W
EST
V
IRGINIA

U.S.A.

B
LACK
clouds blanketed the sky, producing heavy drops that roared against Irene Kennedy's armored SUV. Her driver slowed further on the curving gravel road, leaning over the wheel to better see through the overwhelmed wipers. It seemed fitting somehow.

Kennedy stared out the window at the deluge but didn't really register it. The Swiss authorities and Interpol were currently descending on what had been Leo Obrecht's mansion, cataloging damage, identifying bodies, and collecting evidence. An army of European financial regulators had locked down his bank and were starting the process of unraveling what would likely become the largest and most sophisticated criminal financing operation in history.

Her people were quietly leaking fabricated evidence that would lead to the conclusion that Obrecht had gotten in over his head and provoked the wrath of Louis Gould. There were no guarantees, though. It was a mess of epic proportions. Just like Joe Rickman intended.

Her driver rolled to a stop alongside the farmhouse, getting as close as he could to the steps. The features of the man looking down from the covered porch were obscured by the rain, and for a brief moment Kennedy felt the breath catch in her chest. She allowed the fantasy to play
at the edges of her mind for a moment, but she knew it wasn't Stan Hurley. It never would be again.

Her door was pulled opened and she ducked beneath the umbrella held by her driver.

“Where's Mitch?” she asked Mike Nash as he moved to open the door for her.

“No one knows.”

A flash of anger interrupted her grief, but she knew there was no point to it. Rapp would reappear when he wanted to. Not a moment before.

“What about . . .” Her voice lost its strength for a moment. “What about Stan?”

“We have him,” Nash said, leading her inside. “No need to worry.”

“I want to see him.”

“There's nothing to see, Irene. He's dead.”

“I know he's dead,” she snapped. “Just take me to him.”

Nash let out a long breath and led her into the kitchen. There was a walk-in freezer set into the back wall, installed in case they ever needed to feed a large security team. He pointed to it.

“Seriously, Irene. I don't see the—”

“Open it.”

Nash would never be able to understand what she was feeling. He and Hurley had been close, but she had known the man since she was a little girl. Even after she'd become his boss, he'd always seemed bigger than life to her. Incorruptible. Unwavering. And indestructible. Her intellect told her that he was gone but the child who still lived somewhere inside her couldn't believe that the man she'd known as Uncle Stan was dead.

Nash reached for the freezer's handle but then hesitated. “There's something I should probably—”

“Just open it, Mike!” The intensity of her anger surprised her, but he wasn't its target. She was angry with herself. Hurley had died trying to clean up her mess, and now she could feel herself losing her nerve. She'd
approved his involvement in the Obrecht operation knowing he was old and sick. The least she could do was face him.

Nash pulled back the heavy steel door and she stepped inside, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the lower light. When they did, she found herself unable to move. She'd prepared herself. But not for this.

“That's what I wanted to warn you about, Irene. We laid him out next to the steaks, but for some reason it really bothered Scott. So this is what we figured out.”