Executive Power Part 27

After returning from the White House, Rapp had gone straight to the CIA's Counterterrorism Center on the ground floor of the new headquarters building where he was brought up to speed by Jake Turbes. He had been Kennedy's replacement when she'd vacated her post to become the new DCI. Kennedy had handpicked him with the consent of President Hayes. Turbes was a veteran of both Laos and Afghanistan. He was one of the few people left at Langley with any real field experience. This probably more than any other reason was why Rapp got along with him.

It was amazing that Turbes, a maverick from Louisiana, had survived the Agency's purges. The risk-averse CIA of the nineties did not treat case officers like Turbes well. He was a real throwback, and Rapp suspected that Turbes had only survived the various shakeups by keeping a low profile and a little black book.

Rapp had confirmed a rumor that one of Turbes's bosses had indeed tried to fire him. The boss, a slick climber, didn't like Turbes's rough style and gunslinger att.i.tude and wanted him out. With thirty years under his belt Turbes was informed that he was being forced into early retirement. Turbes politely declined. The boss told him he didn't have a choice. Turbes then told the boss that he knew all about the girlfriend he kept in Cathedral Heights and that he would be more than happy to tell both his wife and the counterespionage guys that he was keeping a flame on the side. The boss decided to rethink Turbes's early retirement, but that wasn't enough for the fifty-three-year-old veteran.

He told the supervisor he had twenty-four hours to resign from that Agency or he could kiss his reputation and family good-bye. The next morning the boss resigned.

Right now Turbes was very unsettled about what was going on in the Middle East. Prior to the terrorist attacks of September 11, the director of the CIA's CTC was afforded a fair amount of anonymity.

That was no longer the case. Congressmen and Senators now called frequently demanding to know what dangers were lurking on the horizon and what the CTC was doing to thwart them. Turbes had been forced to hire six extra people just to handle all the increased liaison duties between the Hill and the various federal departments.

Turbes agreed with the belief that intelligence wasn't any good unless it was shared with the people who might be able to do something about it, but the politicians by and large did not fall into the category.

As far as Turbes was concerned there was one absolute about Washington, and that was that politicians loved to hear themselves talk. No matter how many times you told them that something was cla.s.sified there was always someone else they felt they could confide in. A wife, a girlfriend, a staffer without the proper security clearance, the list was almost endless.

There were a few rare exceptions. A select number of Senators and Congressmen could really keep their mouths shut, and they were the people who for the most part had gravitated toward serving on the intelligence committees. The real plums for the egos on the Hill had always been Judicial, Appropriations, Finance and Armed Services. These were the committees that were most likely to garner them air time and enable them to funnel pork back to their districts. But with the new war on terror a few of the opportunists had forced themselves onto the intelligence committees so they could capitalize on the committees' sudden higher profile.

Turbes kept a close eye on these people and had shared many of his concerns with Kennedy and Rapp. Just today he had sat on two pieces of intelligence that were so inflammatory he didn't feel he could trust them with the committees until Kennedy gave the go-ahead. Kennedy had agreed wholeheartedly and had already scheduled an early meeting at the White House so they could brief the President. The first piece of intelligence involved the gruesome murder of an Iraqi general in the Middle East and counterfeit money and the second involved the most taboo subject in the entire Hayes administration-the Saudis. Rapp knew when the President heard what they had to say he was going to blow his lid. OPEC for the most part went the way of the Saudis, and a warm relationship with the Saudis could go a long way toward keeping oil prices stable.

Rapp grabbed a pot from under the stove, filled it with water and placed it on the burner. While waiting for it to come to a boil he decided to check to see if they had any messages. There were two for Anna and he saved them both. After adding the rigatoni noodles to the boiling water he uncorked a bottle of red wine and started making the sauce. Shirley the mutt sat on the floor watching him intently, waiting for any sc.r.a.ps that might fall her way. The extent of Rapp's culinary skills were limited to three or four pasta dishes and steaks on the grill. After he had the sauce going he put two place settings on the breakfast bar. He would have to eat standing for a few more days.

Anna arrived home just as the noodles were coming off the stove.

She greeted Shirley and then set down her heavy black bag. After hanging her coat in the front hall closet she entered the kitchen with arms folded and stopped on the other side of the small center island.

Looking down, she fingered a stack of mail, most of it junk.

Rapp dumped the noodles into the colander sitting in the base of the sink and looked through the rising steam at his wife, who so far had not acknowledged him. Deciding to take Kennedy's advice he said, "Honey, I just want to let you know I'm very sorry about last night. I shouldn't have blindsided you like that, and in the future I'll try to do a better job of letting you know what's going on."

Anna did not look at him. She kept her eyes down, and continued to finger the stack of mail. She had her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and slowly she began to nod. It was less of an acceptance of the apology than an acknowledgment that she'd heard him.

Rapp watched her intently, not quite sure how this little game was supposed to proceed. With each pa.s.sing second of her silence he grew a bit more irritated. He'd made the first step and she could at least thank him for trying. In a voice void of his earlier conciliatory tone he asked, "Is there anything you'd like to say?"

She shrugged her shoulders and continued looking through the mail.

"I don't like this," she said without looking at him.

"I don't like being so out of control. No one has ever made me this angry. This is not who I am."

Rapp wasn't sure if he should reply, but something told him he should just keep his mouth shut and listen.

"I've never known anyone like you. There's no relationship book out there on how to be married to a spy."

Rapp smiled.

"I'm not a spy."

"You know what I mean." She kept her arms folded and looked him in the eye for the first time.

Rapp nodded in silence.

"I understand that I didn't marry a businessman. I know who you are, and I respect you and love you for everything you've done, but you have to remember, you didn't marry a nincomp.o.o.p who waits dutifully for you to come home every night and never asks a single question other than "How was your day?"

Anna pointed to herself.

"That's not who I am that's not who my mother was. I'm not going to live a separate life from you. I need to know what you're doing. I need to be kept in the loop." She paused at the sight of her husband frowning.

"Mitch, contrary to what you think, I know how to keep my mouth shut, and I'm sure as h.e.l.l not going to say anything to anyone that might jeopardize your safety."

"What about national security?" he asked.

"I'm not asking to know the names of the CIA's informants in Iraq. I want to know about you. The hardest part about all this is having no idea where you are, or what you're doing."

It was all so strange for Rapp. He'd spent his entire adult life never having to explain to anyone anything about his job. It was something that he'd always kept tightly segmented from his personal life. The entire idea of opening up and sharing any of it with anyone was foreign to the point of making him almost claustrophobic. Even though he felt this way he knew she made sense. If she were to suddenly leave the country with barely a moment's notice, and give him no explanation of where she was going, how long she would be gone, or what she'd be doing, it would drive him insane. There had to be some type of a middle ground where they could meet.

Finally he said the only thing he could.

"I can't argue with a single thing you've said, but you have to understand it won't be easy for me. I'm not exactly a great communicator."

This made Anna laugh.

"No you're not, but admitting it is half the battle."

Seeing her smile made him feel better almost instantly.

"Well, I promise I'll work on it, but you have to promise me you won't push too hard. Spouse or not there are certain things I can't tell you."

"And you need to promise me that you're not going to lead any more commando raids."

Rapp sighed and agreed. Anna and his boss were right. Though his job would never be a safe one, though he would certainly find himself in the eye of the storm again in the future, it had been plain stupid and unnecessary to involve himself so directly in the hostage rescue. It just wasn't his job anymore.

"I promise." He held out his arms and Anna came to him. He grabbed hold of her and held her tight.

"I'm sorry, Anna."

"I know you are." Anna embraced him and kissed his chin.

"I'm glad you're home, and now you're never going to leave again."

Rapp ignored her and asked, "Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving."

"Good. Have a seat." Rapp pulled out a barstool for her and poured a gla.s.s of wine. Efficiently, he prepared two plates of steaming noodles and added a healthy dose of red sauce to each. He grated a little Parmesan cheese and sprinkled it on top of each plate.

Giving him one of her piercing looks, she said, "So what do we have to do to make sure you never get involved in something like this again?"

Rapp wasn't exactly crazy about his wife's choice of words. He was a man of action, and the phrase "never get involved" had far too much finality to it. To buy some time, he said, "Irene and I are going to talk about it go over some guidelines for what I should and shouldn't be involved in."

Anna took a drink of wine.

"I know this isn't easy for you, honey, but you've sacrificed enough. It's time to let some other people carry the load. My dad's been a cop for over thirty years. He didn't spend all of them kicking down doors and chasing bad guys."

Rapp knew she was probably right, but it didn't mean he had to like it. If the Philippines had proved anything to him, it was that he wasn't ready to call it quits. Somehow he would have to sort all this out before another a.s.signment came up, or he would make the same mistakes.

Anna was about to say something else when the phone rang. Rapp walked over and looked at the caller ID. The call was from Langley. He grabbed the handset.

"Rapp speaking." He listened for a moment and then said, "Jesus Christ. You can't be serious." After listening again for a few seconds he said, "All right. I'll be there as soon as I can," and then hung up the phone.

"What is it?" asked Anna with genuine concern.

"Someone just a.s.sa.s.sinated the Palestinian Amba.s.sador to the UN."

FIFTY ONE.

The last train for Washington D.C. left Penn Station at 10:05 P.M. and arrived at Union Station at 1:20 A.M. David had purchased the ticket earlier in the day with cash and then gone about preparing for the evening's focal point. With the Palestinian Amba.s.sador now dead, he was ready to move on to the next part of his plan. David regretted having to kill the two bodyguards, but there had been no other way. He tried to take comfort in the fact that their deaths would hopefully result in the birth of a nation.

After leaving the armory, David had calmly walked back to the Sheraton Hotel on Seventh Avenue, just a few blocks south of the Park.

He had chosen the hotel for its proximity to the theater district, the main hub of tourist activity for New York. With so many visitors from all over America, and the rest of the world, it was effortless to come and go unnoticed.

Once up in his room David had sanitized the rifle one last time even though he had never touched the weapon without wearing gloves. Each piece was placed individually in large green garbage bags, wrapped tightly and then packed in the outside compartments of his wheeled suitcase. At 8:30 he left the hotel without bothering to check out. The room was under a credit card and would be billed automatically.

He'd spied several construction Dumpsters on 52nd Street earlier in the day and he headed west in search of them.

As he approached the first Dumpster he checked to see who was about and then casually unzipped one of the outer compartments of the black wheeled case. When he pa.s.sed under the scaffolding that protected pedestrians from falling debris he found himself alone. David hurriedly threw two of the plastic bags into the cavernous receptacle.

A moment later he found himself standing next to the second Dumpster.

Quickly he chucked the other two bags up and over the side, where they landed with a thud at the bottom.

David continued west and caught a cab on Ninth Avenue. He placed his suitcase in the trunk and then settled into the cramped backseat.

The cabbie asked him where to and was visibly disappointed when David told him Penn Station rather than one of the airports.

David settled in for the short ride and ignored the recorded voice of some celebrity he'd never heard of telling him to buckle his seat belt.

The easy part was over. Now he had to go to Washington and execute the most difficult aspect of his plan.

FIFTY TWO.

Mitch Rapp had seen the President in various states of anger, but this morning he appeared to be especially upset.

Michael Haik, the President's National Security Advisor, had put out the word. President Hayes wanted everyone at the White House by 7:00 A.M. sharp. Kennedy had brought along Rapp and CTC Director Jake Turbes. She made it clear to both of them that she wanted them to keep a low profile during the initial meeting with the President's national security team. The information that the CTC had collected would be discussed later when the group was of a more manageable size.

The large conference table in the Cabinet Room was surrounded by brown leather chairs, each of them exactly alike with the exception of one. The President's chair had a higher back and was placed in the middle of the table so that he was the focus of attention. This morning, with his strained face and clenched jaw, he was very much the center of attention. Bloodshed in the Middle East was one thing, it wasn't good, it wasn't acceptable, but it wasn't a surprise either. The a.s.sa.s.sination of a foreign Amba.s.sador in New York City along with two of his bodyguards was absolutely shocking and unacceptable.

President Hayes listened to FBI Director Roach relay the facts surrounding the a.s.sa.s.sination of the Amba.s.sador. When Roach was done the President tapped his pen on a legal pad for a few seconds and then asked in a very disappointed tone, "That's all we know?"

Director Roach, the consummate professional, looked back at the President stoically and admitted, "For now, that's all we have, sir."

In an unusually testy tone Hayes replied, "I learned that much reading the Post this morning." Dismissing the FBI director with a shake of his head, Hayes looked one person over to Roach's boss, Attorney General Richard Lloyd.

"d.i.c.k, I want this case solved, and I want it solved in a timely manner." The President stared at his old friend and added, "I don't care what it takes. Find out who did this and put them on trial and do it quickly."

The President then shifted his gaze back in the other direction and settled on Irene Kennedy. Rapp watched all of this from a few chairs down. The President was sitting with his back to the window; his national security advisor, Michael Haik, on his left and his chief of staff, Valerie Jones, on his right. Across the table and next to the attorney general were Secretary of State Beatrice Berg and Secretary of Defense Rick Culbertson.

Hayes kept his eyes fixed on Kennedy, his agitation clearly visible in the way he tensed his jaw.

"What have the Israelis had to say about this?"

Kennedy was prepared for the question. If the President wanted to know what the Israeli response was to the killings, he would have asked Secretary of State Berg. Instead he'd asked the director of the CIA, which meant he wanted to know what Mossad had to say about the a.s.sa.s.sination. She'd already spoken to Ben Freidman three times, and on each occasion he had vociferously denied having had anything to do with it.

"Sir, Director General Freidman denies categorically that Mossad had a hand in what happened last night."

The President looked doubtful.

"Why should I believe him?"

The question could be answered in many ways, none of them good. Freidman had wasted what little trust the President had in him, and Kennedy doubted there was anything she could say or do that could rebuild the damage. She would have preferred to stay quiet on the issue, but the President wanted an answer.

"I don't think Mossad would risk doing something this brazen."

"And why's that?" asked Hayes.

"Simple cost-benefit, sir. Killing Amba.s.sador Ali gains them very little and as we are sure to see as the day progresses it will cost them greatly in the international community."

"That line of reasoning would work if they actually gave a rat's a.s.s what the international community thought, but as we saw with the attack on Hebron over the weekend I'm not so sure they much care what the rest of the world thinks."

Valerie Jones nodded.

"I would agree."

Several other people seconded her opinion. Secretary of State Beatrice Berg, however, dissented.

"I don't see it that way. They might think very little of the UN, but they certainly care what we think."

The President immediately turned his attention back to Kennedy.

"Everyone here is familiar with what Israel says took place in Hebron over the weekend, correct?" All the attendees nodded. Hayes turned his gaze on Kennedy.