Kill Shot

by Vince Flynn

  “What do you think?” Greta asked.

  “I think I’m horny.”

  “Not funny.”

  “I’m not trying to be.” Rapp set the jacket on the bed and stood. He walked over to Greta, stopping only a foot away. She looked at him for a second and then protectively folded her arms across her chest and looked across the room at the blank wall. Her body language was clear enough, but Rapp was not so easily deterred. He gently placed his right hand on her chin and turned her face toward his. “I’m sorry I got you involved in this. Maybe it would be better if you went back to Zurich. I’ll do what I need to do and when things have settled down I’ll come see you.”

  “And if things don’t settle down?”

  Then I’ll probably be dead, he thought, but he didn’t dare say it. “They will. I’m good at my job, honey. Trust me when I tell you these guys have more to fear than I do.”

  She shook her head and her eyes began to fill with tears. “You were almost killed the other night. If that bullet had been just a few inches to the right you would have bled to death. As it was you almost fell to your death. I just don’t understand why you can’t leave with me right now. Walk away from this insanity.”

  “This isn’t the type of job you just quit. You’re going to have to trust me on this, Greta, and if you can’t then you should head back to Zurich.”

  “Is that what you want me to do?” The first tear began to roll down her left cheek.

  Rapp didn’t like to see her like this. He wiped the tear away with his thumb. “I want you to be safe and the safest place for you is definitely not with me, but there’s another part of me . . .” Rapp’s voice trailed off.

  “What?”

  “There’s another part of me that can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again.”

  More tears fell. “It doesn’t have to be that way. All you have to do is . . .”

  “Walk away.” Rapp shook his head. “It’s not going to happen, darling. I need to see this thing through, and then we can talk about it.”

  Greta reached up and grabbed his face with both hands. “I love you.”

  Rapp smiled. “I love you, too.” He bent down and kissed her. His right hand left her chin and found the small of her back, pulling her in tight. Their kisses became deeper and more passionate. Rapp’s breathing grew heavier and he slid his hand down to her perfect little ass.

  Greta moaned. She knew what he wanted and she wanted it every bit as badly. She missed him and wanted nothing more than to lie in his arms and spend the rest of the weekend in bed. But she pushed herself back a few inches and asked, “What about your shoulder?”

  Pulling her close, Rapp whispered in her ear, “We’ll just have to be careful.”

  Greta started unbuttoning his shirt.

  Rapp hooked his thumb under her sweater and slid it around her hip to the front of her jeans. He found the top button and with his thumb and forefinger he popped the button open. It was suddenly as if the starter had fired the gun. They began tearing each other’s clothes off, stopping only to help the other with a particularly stubborn garment. Shirts, pants, sweater, socks, and shoes flew in every direction until Rapp was left in his white boxers and Greta in her sheer black bra and thong. Other than the bullet hole in Rapp’s shoulder and his bruising, they were the picture of perfection. He was hard and chiseled, every muscle defined and ripped tight. She was lithe and shapely in all the right places and her skin was as soft as anything he’d ever felt.

  Greta pushed him back onto the bed, where he sat looking up at her, his hands on her hips. Greta grabbed his face and said, “I’m not wearing the wig.”

  Rapp wasn’t going to deny that the wig was a turn-on, but Greta was so beautiful she could have been bald and she still would still have driven him nuts. “You don’t have to wear the wig.”

  Greta smiled, pushed him onto his back, and climbed on top of him. She reached up and pulled the wig off with one hand while she undid her blond hair with the other. A gentle shake of the head and her hair fell to her shoulders. “Just sit back and relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Rapp smiled, closed his eyes, and for the first time in days his mind was clear of thoughts of retribution and murder.

  CHAPTER 25

  PARIS, FRANCE

  THE bodyguard did his best, but chivalry got the better of him—that and the fact that the woman called out his boss’s name with such intimacy that he was disarmed. Francine Neville stepped around the fit DGSE sentry and offered her right cheek to Fournier. She knew that would put him in an impossible situation. Part of Fournier’s carefully constructed image was that he was both a ladies’ man and a gentleman. Neville knew she was still a desirable woman, and in front of this well coifed crowd, the spook would have no choice but to greet her with a kiss.

  Fournier was startled, but managed to hide it by pretending to plant a kiss on Neville’s right cheek and then the left. “Francine,” he said enthusiastically, “how nice to see you.”

  “And you as well, Paul.” She grabbed the back of a chair and asked loudly enough for a third of the restaurant to hear, “May I join you?”

  In a voice barely above a whisper, Fournier said, “I would love for you to join us, but we are in the middle of a rather private matter.”

  Neville waved her hand in the air to dismiss any concern and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t overstay my welcome.” She pulled out the chair and sat. She then motioned to the last available chair for Simon to join her. “Paul, this is Martin Simon, one of my top people.” Before Fournier could respond, Neville turned her delicate brown eyes on the foreigner sitting to his right. “Hello.” She extended her hand across the table, palm down. “I’m Francine.”

  Vega smiled warmly and took her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Francine. I’m Max.” He intentionally ignored the mousy-looking man who was with her.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Neville said.

  “My dear, the business of the Directorate is always important,” Fournier said, not bothering to hide his irritation. “But obviously the security of the Republic is not so important to you.”

  “Unfortunately, we don’t all agree on the best way to keep the Republic safe.” Not wanting to give Fournier a chance to reply, Neville turned to Max and said, “I detect a slight accent. Are you Spanish?”

  He nodded.

  “CESID?” Neville asked, wondering if he worked for Spain’s main intelligence agency.

  Vega laughed. “No, I am a simple businessman.”

  Neville returned her gaze to Fournier, not believing a word that came out of the Spaniard’s mouth. Her smile vanished. “I thought you would like a quick briefing on the investigation.”

  Fournier glanced uncomfortably at his guest and then returned his attention to his old conquest. “Now is not such a good time. Maybe we could talk later. Why don’t you call my office and set up an appointment.”

  “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Your office hasn’t been much help.”

  Fournier wondered how she had found him.

  “No worries, though. This will only take a few minutes, and then I’ll be on my way.” She took great joy in seeing the pained expression on Fournier’s face. “Yesterday you offered to help with the investigation and my superiors were thrilled. They asked me to see if you could help with a little problem.”

  “If it is within my power, I would love to be of assistance.”

  “Good. I am told you have a very cozy relationship with the Libyans.” Neville smiled in a humble way. “Being local law enforcement, we have no such contacts, so I was wondering if you could ask them why these supposed bodyguards were never seen in public with the Libyan oil minister.”

  Fournier blinked several times before responding. “I’m not sure I understand your question.”

  “The four dead men who you referred to as Tarek’s bodyguards . . . We can’t find a single witness who saw them. Tarek checked into the hotel with his as
sistant, who told one of my officers that they were traveling without bodyguards.”

  “That seems a little strange,” Fournier said.

  “What seems strange? You telling me they were Tarek’s bodyguards or Tarek’s assistant telling my officer that they were traveling without protection?”

  “Francine, my dear, I assumed they were Tarek’s bodyguards, just as you did. I have no information that would say otherwise.”

  She nodded. “Well, the assistant is now at the Libyan Embassy. They won’t let us interview him.”

  “I’ll see if I can change their minds,” Fournier offered in a helpful tone, even though he had no such intention.

  “There’s another interesting tidbit. We have been unable to locate five of the hotel guests.”

  “I’m not totally surprised. The place was crawling with cops and reporters. They probably left and checked into other hotels.”

  “No,” Neville said, shaking her head. “Their bags are still in their rooms and you wouldn’t believe the coincidence,” she said in mock shock. “Four of those guests match the descriptions of the four dead bodyguards.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and we found a room down the hall from Tarek’s that was loaded with surveillance equipment.”

  “I thought that was the room where Tarek’s bodyguards were keeping watch.”

  “That’s what we thought, but according to Tarek’s assistant he didn’t have a security detail with him.”

  Fournier pursed his lips into a thoughtful expression and then in a helpful tone said, “This assistant was probably scared out of his mind when your officer interviewed him. Maybe he left out a rather important detail.”

  “And what about the hotel staff and guests we interviewed? Tarek left the hotel at least seven times and no one remembers seeing a security detail with him.”

  “Well,” Fournier said, trying to come up with a logical explanation. “Maybe Tarek didn’t want them with him in public. Maybe he preferred a low profile.”

  “The room with all of the surveillance equipment in it . . . the hotel computers had it blocked off. The computer said it was being renovated even though it was renovated only a year ago.”

  Fournier frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Neville could see through the act. “Do you know what else doesn’t make sense?”

  Fournier got a bad feeling that he wasn’t going to like the answer to this question. “No.”

  “My officers say that while you were in Tarek’s suite with me, one of your men made a little visit to the roof.”

  “I had several men with me. I don’t know where they were specifically. I instructed them to spread out and see what they could find out.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Neville said, her tone changing from congenial to suspicious. “A rope was taken from the roof.” She wasn’t going to tell him how she knew. “Any idea what happened to it?”

  “Surely you are not trying to say one of my men tampered with evidence.” Fournier acted as if he was offended by the accusation.

  Neville kept her eyes locked on him. “Paul, I know you better than most. I know you are an extremely deceptive man who is involved in all kinds of nasty things that, God forbid they ever came to light, might possibly destroy our country, so please don’t act offended. Deny all you like, but we both know you are capable of transgressions far worse than interfering with my investigation.”

  Vega cleared his throat and grabbed his phone. “I have other business to attend to. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Fournier placed his hand on Vega’s wrist and kept his gaze on Neville. “Francine and I have a long history. I fell in love with her, but she broke my heart. One should never mix business and pleasure. I’m afraid our history is complicating matters.”

  Neville tossed her head back in fake laughter. “Actually, Max, I found out he was cheating on me, and I told him I never wanted to see him again. Lying comes very easy to Paul, so you have to be very careful in dealing with him.”

  “Come now, Francine,” he said with a pouty grin.

  “Don’t worry, Paul, I got over you a long time ago, but I did learn some valuable lessons. For instance . . . that you are an incredibly selfish and deceptive man.” She turned to Simon. “What would our profilers call that?”

  “Narcissistic.”

  “Yes . . . thank you. That is the right word.”

  Fournier held his hands up in mock surrender. “I should have treated you better. It is one of my great regrets. Now if you’ll excuse us, Max and I have some important business to attend to.”

  Neville turned to Simon. “We seem to have worn out our welcome.”

  “It appears so.”

  Neville stood and, looking at Fournier, said, “You will of course make your men available for me to interview?”

  “Anything I can do to help,” he said with a playful grin.

  Neville took one step away from the table and then turned back. “I forgot to mention that we are looking for that fifth guest. He fits the general description of the other four men who were killed . . . the supposed bodyguards. You wouldn’t happen to know where we could find him?” Neville asked with a provocative smile.

  Fournier pushed his glass forward and stood. He walked around the table and put his hand on Neville’s shoulder. With his mouth only a few inches from her ear he said, “Darling, I don’t know what you are up to, but I would suggest you run back to your husband and children. This is a dangerous game you are playing, and if you are as smart as you think you are, you should know that I am not someone to be trifled with.”

  Neville jerked away from him, slapping his hand off her shoulder. “Do not touch me!” she snapped, loudly enough for most of the restaurant to hear. “This mess has your smell all over it, and don’t think that just because you work for the Directorate you are above the law.”

  Fournier’s bodyguard stepped in and grabbed Neville by the elbow.

  She responded by pulling out her badge and shoving it in the man’s face. “Take your hands off me.” Wheeling back to Fournier, she said, “I have already spoken to the inspector general’s office. We have a meeting in the morning where I am going to fully brief him on my investigation, and my fears that your department is somehow involved in this. I will also inform him that you threatened me.”

  “I did not threaten you, Francine.” Fournier sighed as if the idea was preposterous.

  Neville composed herself. “I’m on to you, Paul. You show up at the scene of the crime at practically the same time as I did, one of your men is seen going to the roof, and now we’re missing a crucial piece of evidence. You float this idea that these four dead men were Tarek’s bodyguards, but I can’t find anyone who says he had bodyguards protecting him. This entire mess is beginning to smell like one of your dirty little operations.”

  “Francine, you should be very careful about throwing around such wild accusations.”

  “They might sound wild to the average person, but anyone who is familiar with your work will understand that this is right up your alley. In fact,” Neville said, just realizing something, “I’d be willing to bet an entire year’s salary that Tarek was on your payroll.”

  It was Simon who reached out and touched his boss this time. “Francine, we need to go.” Simon, looking at the exchange from afar, realized that Neville had more than likely hit uncomfortably close to the truth. It would be a legal nightmare trying to get the DGSE to open the files they kept on Tarek.

  “I am not afraid of you, Paul. I know how you like to do things in the shadows. You can’t stand being exposed in the open like this. Mark my words, you will regret your decision to involve yourself in this mess.” Neville turned and marched through the restaurant, Simon in tow.

  When they reached the lobby, Simon said, “Well, that wasn’t exactly what I expected.”

  “It wasn’t what I expected either,” Neville snapped.

  “Boss, do you know what Tarek
did before he became Libya’s oil minister?”

  Neville stopped in the middle of the lobby and faced Simon. She searched his face for a clue. “What?”

  “The word is he worked for the Mukhabarat . . . Libyan Intelligence.”

  “Shit,” Neville mumbled under her breath. She grabbed a clump of her black hair, shook her head, and in a voice filled with desperation, said, “This just keeps getting worse.”

  “We need to be careful.”

  She looked back toward the restaurant. “That’s what he wants us to do. He wants us to be afraid of our shadows. Move slowly . . . that’s why I made that scene in there. He can’t stand the thought of his dirty little secrets being made public. If we want to get to the bottom of this, moving cautiously is the last thing we should do. We need to expose him and do it quickly.”

  Simon grimaced. “Francine, this is very dangerous. We have nothing that ties him to any of this.”

  “You think he just showed up before the bodies were cool because he was out for a walk? His man just wanders onto the roof while we’re all focused on the room? I don’t buy any of it.”

  “I know it doesn’t look good, but none of this is solid enough to implicate him.”

  “Then we’ll have to find something. The crime scene should be wrapped up by tonight. We will have plenty of manpower available, and I want to find out who that man was . . . Max.”

  “Francine,” Simon said with caution, “he is more than likely a source for the Directorate. I’m telling you, this is dangerous.”

  “Yes, and we work for the National Police. The Directorate can play all of the games they want when they are abroad, but not here in Paris. We are the law.” She could see that the always-rational Simon did not like this turn of events. Like many, he feared the reputation of the Directorate. Neville knew their only hope in getting to the bottom of what really happened was to ignore the fear and push forward. Any pause would give Fournier the time he needed to pressure the people who could relieve her from the case. “Just trust me . . . we need to move fast. Don’t worry about Fournier. He put himself in the middle of this by showing up at the crime scene and sending his man up onto the roof. I want answers. I want you to start with this Max guy and then get me the name of Fournier’s man who was on the roof. I want to question him myself.”