by Vince Flynn
“Because of the nature of our work, we receive a good number of anonymous tips.”
“Are you familiar with Swiss banking?”
“Somewhat, sir.”
Miller placed his hands on the file. “And how easy do you think it is to come by information like this?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“Lisa,” Miller said.
The head of the Bureau’s Intelligence Division said, “Extremely difficult, sir. We spend months on end trying to just find out if a person of interest has an account at an institution like this. Getting our hands on detailed account records is extremely rare.”
Miller closed the file. “Did it ever occur to you that this is disinformation?”
“It did until I was able to interview the banker.”
“Lisa,” Miller barked, “how difficult is it to get these bankers to talk about private accounts.”
“I’m unaware of it happening without an order from a Swiss court.”
“Did you have a court order?”
“No.”
“Did it ever occur to you that these were legitimate accounts?”
“Legitimate… how?”
“You do understand that the CIA has to move money around the world?”
“Yes.”
“And that because they’re the CIA, they need to do a lot of it in a secretive manner.”
Wilson nodded. “All the more reason we need to keep an eye on them.”
Miller shook his head. “You’re not getting this, are you?”
“Getting what, sir?”
“That you’ve fucked this thing up so bad, you’ll be lucky if you have a job by the time this is over.”
“With all due respect-”
“Shut up,” Miller barked. “Lisa, please explain to Senator Ferris’s man what’s going on.”
“It appears that a hostile foreign intelligence agency launched an operation against the CIA’s Clandestine Service. We believe that part of that operation involved sending disinformation to the FBI’s Counterintelligence Division.”
Wilson frowned. “Says who… the CIA? This is bullshit. Where did you get this information?”
“I’m afraid it’s classified.” Williams looked from Wilson to the director.
Wilson wasn’t going to go down so easily. “My clearance is as high as yours.”
“Your clearance used to be as high as Lisa’s,” Director Miller said.
“What is going on here? I don’t get it. The fact that a few of you don’t like Senator Ferris doesn’t mean this information is false. You need to allow me to finish my investigation. Give me thirty minutes with Rapp. I’ll hook him up to a polly and we’ll get some answers.”
Miller shook his head. “I’ve decided to pull your clearance until an official review can be completed.”
“But… you have to let me take a shot at Rapp.”
Lisa Williams, the only woman in the room, looked at Wilson like he was nuts and said, “Do you have any idea who you are talking about?”
“You mean Rapp? Yeah, I know who I’m talking about. He’s dirty and he’s corrupt and I don’t understand why everyone is so afraid of taking him on.”
Miller shook his finger at Wilson and said, “Let’s get something straight. First off, you could polly Mitch Rapp for the next year and you wouldn’t get a thing out of him.”
“I disagree, sir.”
“Stop interrupting me. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Rapp would eat you for lunch. Beyond that, you don’t know jack shit about the man. He’s a damn national hero. You’ve been played, Joel, and you’ve made the FBI look like a bunch of fools.” Miller hit the intercom button and said, “Please send her in.” Turning his attention back to Wilson he said, “You are on indefinite administrative leave until I say otherwise. If you are lucky enough to keep your badge, I can promise you that you will be assigned to some benign post where you can do as little damage as possible.”
Wilson was reeling. In his wildest dreams he hadn’t imagined it could get this bad, and then the door opened and it got worse.
Director Kennedy stopped directly across from Wilson. She placed a document on the wood surface and slid it across the table. After Wilson caught it, she said, “I assume you recognize the legal document in your hands.”
Wilson’s scanned the heading. It was a National Security non disclosure contract.
“If you flip to the last page, you’ll see your signature.”
Wilson went to the last page and noted his signature. He’d signed the document when he went to work for counterintelligence. He began to slide the document back to Kennedy. “I think we should be looking at your-”
Kennedy reached out and stopped him from moving the document another inch. “That copy is for you. I suggest you read it, and then you find a really good lawyer. A private one, who will more than likely be very expensive, because the FBI will not be supplying you with counsel on this little screwup.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t decide what the FBI does or doesn’t do.” Wilson looked to Miller.
“No, I don’t, but I do run the CIA, and we have a very good legal department, and we happen to have a very good working relationship with some federal judges who take national security issues quite seriously. We haven’t even begun to investigate you, and we’ve already come across three instances in which you are in violation of your national security contract. I’m no lawyer, Agent Wilson, but they tell me if we want to press the issue we could have your ass thrown in a highsecurity federal facility for months. You screwed up here big-time, and if you want to avoid jail you had better start to show some serious cooperation, or at a bare minimum shut your mouth and crawl under some rock, but this is your only warning. If you run to Ferris, or try to claim victimhood, I will have your ass thrown in jail.”
“You can’t intimidate me.”
Kennedy realized Wilson didn’t get it. “I’m not trying to intimidate you. I’m telling you the facts. You have screwed up like very few people in your position can screw up. You signed that document in your hands and we happen to take it very seriously. Do yourself a favor and find a lawyer who has had some experience with this type of thing. He will tell you that if I decide push this, you will go to jail.”
“If you have everything all locked up, then why don’t you do it?” Wilson asked Kennedy in an overconfident tone.
Kennedy looked to Miller and said, “I’m done with him. The man’s a fool. If you can talk some sense into him by this evening, I’ll call the dogs off. If not, my people will be in federal court in the morning.” Kennedy turned and left without saying another word.
Wilson looked at his five colleagues and incredulously said, “Can’t you see what’s going on? She wants me to drop this because she knows I’m on to something.” When no one reacted, Wilson looked at David Taylor, whom he’d worked closely with for the last three years. “David, don’t you see what’s going on?”
Taylor spun his chair to his left. With his back brace it was the only way he could look Wilson in the eye. “Do you know what your problem is, Joel? You think you’re the only noble person in this town.”
“Come on.”
“I’m serious. The rest of us are all corrupt or greedy. Our motives are suspect, but not you. You’re above all of that. You’re a fucking martyr and you brought this all down on yourself because you’re an arrogant know-it-all. Even in the face of all of this, you can’t see that you’ve screwed up.”
Director Miller looked at him with pure disgust. “Maybe you’d gain a little more perspective from our field office in Bismarck, North Dakota.”
Chapter 46
Virginia
The house was forty minutes northwest of Langley, just past Dulles International Airport. A couple who had retired from the Clandestine Service after putting in thirty-plus years were listed as the owners of the sprawling property. They were now consultants for the CIA, and continued to be paid a generous salary
, but they rarely made the commute to the George Bush Center for Intelligence. Their job was to manage the forty-seven-acre compound and its various buildings. The place was low-key, concealed behind rows of trees, a fence, and nothing more than a single gate. There were no guard dogs or men wandering the perimeter with machine guns.
Even to the more discerning eye there was very little to see. The perimeter security was all microwave trip wires and heat sensors and miniature cameras. The system itself was automated, with a software program that could distinguish a deer from a man to limit false alarms. The bulk of the security was in the house. All the windows were fixed, bulletproof Plexiglas, and the interior had been demolished to the studs. Because of the lessons learned from overseas embassy attacks, the walls were now reinforced with ballistic fabric and the doors were all titanium covered in wood veneer. The basement contained two holding cells, an interrogation room, and a panic room as a last and unlikely resort, should the security on the first floor be breached.
Rapp was in the study on the main floor, sitting in a black Herman Miller lounge chair. A man in an identical chair sat six feet away on the other side of the fireplace hearth asking questions and taking notes. The man, Dr. Lewis, was the resident shrink for the CIA’s Clandestine Service. He had known Rapp for a long time. He adjusted his glasses at the corner and said, “Your wife.”
“What about her?”
“How much do you remember?”
Rapp remembered all of it, or at least he thought he did. It was a strange process to relive it all for a second time and it wasn’t all bad. The good memories came back as well as the bad ones. Rapp recognized that might be a good thing to share with Lewis. To a certain extent you had to share with the man, or he simply deemed you unfit for the field, and the only thing more unnerving to a Clandestine officer than a therapy session was being confined to a cubicle at Langley. There was also a feeling of trust with the doctor. It was similar to way he had felt with Kennedy when he’d awakened in the hospital. There was also a feeling that he was not typically a very trusting person.
“At first it was just the pain… the bad memories… the loss… the feeling that I would never be able to recover. It all came flooding back.”
“And how did that feel?”
Rapp laughed defensively. “Like shit… how do you think it felt?” Lewis nodded and scribbled a quick note. “No, I would imagine that was not an enjoyable experience.” He stopped writing. “And then what happened?”
“The good memories came back. Meeting each other, dating, falling in love… that didn’t take long, and then the wedding. We were really happy. I was really happy.” Rapp looked into the fire for a moment and said, “I don’t think I was ever happier.”
Lewis nodded. “I would say that’s probably true.”
Rapp pulled his gaze away from the fire. “Did you know her?” “I only met her once, but I’ve watched you grow up in this business.
I did your original psych evals twenty-some years ago. I’ve watched you through the good and the bad and you definitely had an extra bounce in your step during the time you just described.”
Rapp’s gaze fell back to the fireplace. “In a strange way I want that again.”
“What exactly do you mean?”
“What Anna and I had. I want to find that again. How have I been since she was killed?”
Lewis did not like vague questions. “Could you be more specific?”
“As a person, did I change? Was I the same? What was I like?”
“I would say your grieving process was not untypical.”
“You’re holding something back,” Rapp said, putting a hard stare on Lewis.
Lewis thought of Kennedy and the way she described how Rapp could look right through her at times. “You were understandably angry.”
“Violent?”
“Yes,” Lewis said with a nod, “although violence is a part of this business.”
“But I was more violent than before?”
“Yes… you lacked patience. Not that you ever had a great deal of it to begin with, but after Anna’s death you seemed to lose any tolerance for dissent.”
“Did it interfere with my work?”
Lewis thought about that for a long moment and then said, “As far as I know, it did not, but I think you should ask Irene.”
“You’re holding back again.”
“There was some concern that you were growing a bit too reckless. Taking too many chances. Always pushing ahead even when it made more sense to pause and regroup.”
That sounded familiar to Rapp. He remembered the rage, he remembered killing certain people and feeling satisfaction that the person would never take another breath. It was actually gratifying. Rapp had spent some time trying to remember all of the people he’d killed. It was like a photo album of assholes. The Who’s Who of terrorists, assassins, arms dealers, corrupt financiers, and intelligence operatives. The trip down memory lane was devoid of guilt.
“Back to the good memories,” Lewis said in an effort to steer the conversation back to a point of interest. “How did they make you feel?”
“Good,” Rapp shrugged. “That’s why they call them good memories.”
Lewis laughed and scratched another note.
Rapp frowned as a distant memory came back to him. “Didn’t I tell you once that I don’t like you taking notes?”
Looking as if he’d been caught, Lewis set his pen down and said, “Yes, you did.”
“And we came to some kind of an agreement.”
Lewis nodded.
“If I would be more open, then you’d stop taking notes.”
Lewis coughed slightly and then said, “That’s correct.”
“So what gives?”
“It’s a habit,” Lewis said sheepishly.
“Were you trying to test my memory?”
“A little bit.”
After pointing at the note pad, Rapp pointed at the fire. Lewis tore out the top three pages and tossed them into the fire. “Now,” Lewis said, “back to the good memories for the third time. Tell me about them.”
“I was happy.” Rapp got a faroff gaze in his eyes, “I remembered how close we were. How it was hard to be apart, and when we were together, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”
“And you remember making love?”
“Jeez, Doc,” Rapp said, fidgeting in his chair. “Come on. Can’t I keep some of this shit to myself?”
Lewis smiled, “Yes, you may. I don’t need to know everything. It’s just good to know that you’re no longer repressing those memories.”
“I did that?”
“Yes. I tried to get you to talk about her on several occasions, but you became so enraged that I had to drop it.”
“Did I threaten you?”
The question caught Lewis so off-guard, he began to laugh nervously.
“What?”
“Your mere presence is a threat to many people.”
“And to you?”
“No.” Lewis shook his head. “I’ve known you a long time and you’ve never threatened me, but you need to understand that you are very good at what you do and you have some anger issues. After your wife was murdered, there was a bit of fear that you had become more volatile.”
Rapp didn’t like that sound of that. “Like I couldn’t control myself?”
“Yes.”
“Did I ever cross that line?”
“Mmmm… no.”
“But I came close.”
“Yes.”
This didn’t sound good. “I think I need a drink.”
“Why?”
Rapp grimaced. “I don’t like hearing this.”
Lewis took this as a good sign. Progress with Rapp was rare and should be celebrated. “I could use a drink as well. Come on… follow me.”
The two men left the study and moved down the hall to the open living room and kitchen. Rapp was surprised to find Kennedy in the kitchen, a series of files spread out on the tabl
e in front of her.
Kennedy looked up and asked, “How’s it going?”
Rapp shrugged, not feeling that it was his place to judge his progress or lack thereof.
“It’s going well,” Lewis said.
Kennedy could tell by the tone of Lewis’s voice that he was sincere, which got her wondering. “How is his memory?”
“Good. A lot of things are coming back.” Lewis grabbed a bottle of cabernet and started searching through drawers. He found a corkscrew in the third drawer and opened the bottle. He grabbed two glasses and held one up for Kennedy.
“Please.”
Rapp had filled a tumbler with ice and was standing in front of a bar cart in the living room, his right hand dancing over the tops of the bottles. “Would one of you please remind me what it is that I like to drink?”
A look of distress washed over Kennedy’s face, and she shared a look of concern with Lewis.
“I’m just kidding,” Rapp announced. “Vodka, occasionally scotch or whiskey, gin and tonic in the summer, margaritas when I eat at a Mexican restaurant, a little high-end tequila when I’m south of the border, and I think I got sick on Campari once.” Rapp started pouring some Grey Goose into a glass. “That was years ago, of course. I think it was Stan’s fault.”
“That’s more than I knew.” Lewis shot Kennedy a raised eyebrow.
“I do remember hearing something about you not being able to hold your liquor.”
Rapp came back to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. “I think my problem was that I was dumb enough to think I could go for drink for drink with Stan.” Rapp’s entire body convulsed at the thought. “Not a fun memory.”
“Speaking of memories,” Kennedy said as Lewis handed her a glass of wine. “Thank you. Speaking of memories, how do you feel about Switzerland?”
Rapp took a sip of vodka and said, “Switzerland… nice country. Could you be more specific?”
“Banking… bankers, actually. Do you remember doing any business with Swiss bankers over the years.”
“Of course. Herr Ohlmeyer and then his sons. This isn’t about his granddaughter, Greta, is it?” Rapp had had a relationship with the woman years ago.
“No… not that I know of. Is there something you’d like to tell me about Greta?”
