Vince Flynn Collectors' Edition 2

by Vince Flynn

  “Thank you for being honest. Now will you please tell me who hired you?”

  Donatella looked into Rapp’s piercing eyes. She needed time to think, even if it was just a few minutes. It was obvious she had gotten herself into a mess. Whoever had hired her had shown a propensity for killing the very people he employed. That meant she could easily be next on the list.

  “Donny, for your own good, tell me who hired you.”

  Donatella held firm. She loved Mitch and she felt a loyalty toward him, but her ultimate loyalty was to Ben Freidman, the head of Mossad. She couldn’t give Ben up, at least not until she thought it through. She needed time. Donatella opened her purse and grabbed some money. She threw enough to cover the tab on the table and said to Rapp, “Come on. We need to take a walk.”

  SITUATION ROOM, THURSDAY MORNING

  THE MOOD IN the Situation Room was tense. Colonel Gray had done a thorough job of pointing out the problems of going after the nukes with air strikes. The president had asked Kennedy for her opinion on the matter, and his nominee to become the next director of the CIA was taking her time crafting an answer.

  With all eyes on her, Kennedy announced, “I think Colonel Gray’s plan is ingenious. I think it has a better chance of succeeding than even he knows.”

  The president was a little surprised by Kennedy’s overwhelming endorsement. “What makes you say that?”

  “The psychology of the Iraqi people. They fear Saddam so thoroughly that they wouldn’t consider challenging him.”

  “But it’s not him,” countered Michael Haik. “It’s a bunch of white cars.” It was obvious by his tone that he wasn’t as enamored of Colonel Gray’s plan as Kennedy was.

  Kennedy stuck to her guns. “To them, those white cars are Saddam, and no one ever challenges Saddam. He’s killed members of his own family; he’s killed dozens of his top generals. No one challenges him for fear of losing their life.” Kennedy looked at Colonel Gray. “I really have to commend you. I’m embarrassed that the CIA didn’t come up with this idea first.”

  “Isn’t there a real risk of this blowing up in our faces?” asked the president.

  “Yes, there is, but I don’t think it could be any worse than the fallout from bombing a hospital.”

  “But Saddam put those damn nukes under that hospital. He’s the one putting those people at risk.”

  “I agree with you, sir,” said Kennedy, “but I doubt the international press will.”

  The president lowered his head in frustration and rubbed his temples. Without looking up he asked, “General Flood, what’s your take on all of this?”

  “Sir, I think the important thing right now is to keep our options open. We should have Colonel Gray move his assets into the theater of operations. That way if you decide to play this card, we can do so on short notice.”

  “And if we go ahead, what is your opinion on providing air cover?”

  The chairman of the Joint Chiefs hesitated for a moment and then said, “I am not a believer in half measures, sir. As we’ve discussed before, I do not think we should have ended the Gulf War when we did. We were enamored with our own technology and forgot that the way you win a war is to put troops on the ground. We should have gone all the way to Baghdad and made sure Saddam was ousted.” Flood paused long enough to let out a sigh of frustration and then said, “We chose not to do that and for the last decade the man has continued to be a big pain in our ass. If he has in fact got his hands on some nukes, and is about to make them operational, I think we need to hit him hard, and I mean really hard. I would recommend, whether we implement Colonel Gray’s plan or not, that we launch a comprehensive bombing campaign against him that focuses on his air defenses and his command and control structures, and I think this time we need to really hit him where it hurts. We need to take out his oil and refinery facilities.”

  “General,” started the president, “you know I can’t do that. The environmentalists will go nuts . . . my own party will attack me.”

  “That may be, sir, but you ask those environmentalists what they think will cause more damage to this planet. A couple of thousand barrels of spilled oil or a nuclear detonation over Tel Aviv, or God forbid, Washington.” Flood leaned forward, setting his large forearms on the table. “Sir, the only way he can afford to buy these weapons is through his oil revenues. We need to hit him in his wallet, and if you’re worried about Turkey and Jordan we can throw a couple hundred million more dollars in aid their way after we’re done.”

  The president looked to Kennedy for her opinion. “General Flood makes a very forceful case, and in principle I agree with everything he’s just said. Unfortunately, however, we have to take politics into consideration. Right now your administration hangs on to a razor-thin mandate. If you lose that mandate by alienating the base of your own party you could become ineffective both domestically and abroad.”

  Michael Haik eagerly jumped in. “I agree with Irene one hundred percent. As much as I’d like to, we can’t go after his refineries. The outcry would be horrendous.”

  “So go ahead and bomb a hospital full of innocent people,” replied the president in disgust, “but don’t do anything to hurt Mother Earth. It’s the stupidest damn thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Sir, I’m not saying I agree with it,” said Haik. “I’m just stating the political reality.”

  “Well it’s a shitty reality, and one that I’m very tempted to try and change.”

  “Sir, if I may,” interjected Kennedy. Looking to Colonel Gray she asked, “How difficult would it be for your men to bring one of the nukes back?”

  “That depends how big it is.”

  “I’ll have my people give you an accurate answer by this evening, but for the sake of our discussion, let’s assume at the very least you could remove the part of the weapon that we’re most interested in.”

  “You mean the warhead, of course.”

  “Essentially.”

  Gray thought about it for a moment. “If the weapon hasn’t been assembled, my guess is one man could carry the warhead, but if it has been assembled . . . then things could get tricky. We’d have to spend time trying to dismantle the weapon to get at the warhead, and on a mission like this we’d prefer to get in, plant the charges and be out in a minute or less.”

  “I understand, but it’s conceivable that you could pull it off?”

  The army officer thought about it again and said, “Yes. I think we probably could.”

  Kennedy turned back to the president. “Sir, if we were able to get our hands on one of the weapons, I know our scientists could trace the plutonium back to the reactor where it was created. There is also a good chance we could trace most of the other parts back to their origination.”

  Haik saw an even better use for the captured weapon. “And we could hold one hell of a press conference. There would be nowhere for Saddam to run. We’d have caught him red-handed, and the U.N. would have no choice but to be outraged.” Haik looked at General Flood with a grin. “You could bomb all the refineries you wanted as long as you had proof that you stopped Saddam from having an operational nuclear weapon.” Haik looked back to the president. “There isn’t a politician in this town who wouldn’t be behind you, sir.”

  21

  MILAN, THURSDAY EVENING

  Outside the bar, Rapp and Donatella fell into stride, Rapp on the left, Donatella on the right. It was an old professional habit. Both could shoot, stab or punch with either hand but Rapp favored his left and Donatella her right. They walked south on Via Brera. It was nearing eight o’clock in the evening. The streetlights were on. A quick thunderstorm had coated the ground with a film of water that gleamed beneath the numerous restaurant lights and passing cars. There were other people about, but not many. It looked as if the rain had sent almost everyone indoors.

  It was obvious that Donatella had been shaken by his words in the bar. Rapp looked over his shoulder; her attitude and his natural instincts were telling him that all was not wel
l. His pistol with the silencer attached was right where it should be in case he needed to get at it quickly. “If you’re not going to tell me where we’re going, then tell me who hired you.”

  Donatella’s pace did not slow. The collar of her stylish black trench coat was turned up and her chin was set firmly in the downward position like a fullback about to steamroll a linebacker. “I don’t think I can answer that question, either.”

  Rapp didn’t like the answer. “You can’t or you won’t.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “You know what the difference is,” replied Rapp in an obviously irritated tone. “Do you know who hired you, or not?”

  She laughed bitterly. “Oh, I know who hired me, but I don’t know who hired him.”

  Rapp didn’t say anything for a while and then asked, “Who gave you the target profile?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t answer that.”

  “Why? Is the person connected to Mossad?”

  “Don’t ask me any more questions for a while. I need to think.”

  Rapp could manage to maintain his silence for only a few steps. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to your hotel. I want to meet your girlfriend.”

  Seeing no humor in the comment, he said, “That’s not going to happen. I think you’d better get serious about this, Donny. This problem is not going to go away. This Cameron guy you killed had twenty years with the CIA. Some very important people want to know why he was meddling in an operation and who he was working for.”

  “I thought you were going to protect me.”

  “I can’t protect you unless you tell me who hired you to make the hit.”

  “Then we have a problem, because I don’t think I can tell you.”

  Rapp grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to a stop. “Donny, I’m not fucking around. Irene Kennedy knows you killed Cameron. She can prove you were in the country. She has you on surveillance video leaving Cameron’s office at George Washington University and she knows of at least three other people who you’ve killed by shoving a pick in their ear. She is prepared to take this all the way to the top if need be. I’m over here as a personal courtesy to see if we can keep this thing as quiet as possible.”

  Donatella pulled her arm from Rapp’s grip and started walking again. “Thanks for nothing. If you really want to do me a favor you can go back to Washington and tell Irene that I had nothing to do with this.”

  Rapp followed a step behind, his temper starting to boil over. “Donny, you’d better get real about this, and you’d better start showing some fucking gratitude. If it wasn’t for me you’d have been snatched off the street and you’d be sitting in a dark basement with psychotropic drugs coursing through your veins and a black bag over your head.”

  Donatella turned around and stuck her finger in his face. “Don’t threaten me.”

  Rapp slapped her hand out of the way, and leaned in close. “What in the fuck is wrong with you? You know the rules. You’re a goddamn freelancer. You took a rush job and killed somebody who had been meddling in the business of the CIA, and now the CIA wants some answers.”

  “Well, they’ll have to get them somewhere else, because I’m not talking.” Donatella turned and walked across the Via Senato.

  Rapp stood with his fists clenched at his side and watched her enter the big park known as the Giardini Pubblici. After a brief moment of indecision he followed. She was headed for her flat and away from the hotel. Rapp jogged across the street and yelled for Donatella to wait for him. She didn’t, and kept going at full speed through the park with her head down. A short while later Rapp caught up to her and tried a different tack.

  “Donny, I’m sorry I had to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m here to protect you. Whoever you’re afraid of I can help.”

  She gave him a disbelieving sideways glance and kept walking.

  “You don’t believe me. You don’t think I can protect you? Donny, give me the name of the person who got you into this and I swear I will make sure nothing happens to you.”

  “Just . . . don’t talk for five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for right now. Just don’t say another word until we get to the other side of the park.”

  Rapp was about to hit her with another argument but held back. Donatella was a very headstrong woman. She would have to decide for herself that the best thing would be to tell him who had hired her. After taking a deep breath Rapp grabbed her hand and squeezed it. He did not envy the position she was in. Whoever had hired her had neglected to mention who was looking for Peter Cameron.

  Holding hands, they continued across the park in silence. The whole time, Rapp tried to think of ways to get Donatella to give him the information he needed. When they finally reached the other side of the park, Rapp said, “Donny, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. I can have you on an Agency plane bound for the U.S. by morning. I’ll give you my personal guarantee that nothing will happen to you.”

  She took a second to glance at him, but kept walking. “I can protect myself just fine.”

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t, I’m just offering my assistance.”

  “If I were to take you up on that offer, I’d have to give all of this up. I love this city. I love Italy. I don’t want to go hide in America.”

  Rapp thought about her predicament and decided to make a drastic offer. “Donny, you tell me who you’re afraid of, and I’ll pay them a little visit. One way or another, I’ll make sure they’re never in a position to do you any harm.”

  The thought of Mitch Rapp flying to Tel Aviv to threaten Ben Freidman made her laugh. If there was ever a man who would be so bold it would be Rapp.

  “You think that’s funny?”

  “No, I don’t think any of this is funny. What I do think, is that you need to slow down for a second. I’m not saying I won’t give you what you need, I’m just saying I need a little time to figure out how to do it.”

  During the silent walk across the park Donatella had tried to figure out a way to give Rapp the info he needed without telling him that Ben Freidman was her handler. She felt an awesome sense of loyalty to Rapp, and if they were talking about anyone other than Ben Freidman, she’d tell him. But they weren’t. They were talking about the director general of Mossad. If the CIA were to find out that the head of Mossad was arranging hits in their own backyard they would have an absolute conniption. No, she had to find another way to give Rapp what he wanted. She couldn’t simply give them Ben’s name. He had snatched her from the clutches of heroin addiction and imbued her with a sense of self worth that she would have never found on her own.

  Donatella knew Mitch well enough to know that he wouldn’t rest until he found out who had hired Cameron to kill him. Somehow she would have to convince Freidman to tell her who had taken the contract out on Cameron’s life. It was the only way out. She would send Freidman an encrypted e-mail when she got back to her flat and with any luck she’d have an answer by morning.

  Donatella was about to speak when Rapp squeezed her hand in three quick successions. Her eyes immediately began sweeping from left to right, looking for trouble. Mitch had seen something and the hand squeezing was their signal that someone was watching them. They were just around the corner from her flat. As Donatella searched for what Rapp had seen she was slightly irritated that she didn’t notice it first.

  This was the third time Rapp had noticed the car. The first time was near Donatella’s office earlier in the day, the second was when they’d left the bar and then now. Rapp broke into casual conversation. If anyone was listening to them via a directional microphone he didn’t want to tip them off. “Are you free for lunch tomorrow?”

  “I think so.”

  “Should we meet at eleven-thirty?” Rapp gave her hand a quick squeeze.

  “That sounds fine.” Donatella’s eyes searched the street. Twelve o’clock was straight ahead. Eleven-thirty would be a click to the left. She could barely make out the form of a man slumped b
ehind the steering wheel. The man was parked in the perfect position to keep an eye on her street and the one they were now walking on.

  “That photo shoot you were talking about earlier?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve run into that photographer three times this week.”

  “Really,” said Donatella. Mitch had no idea who the photographer was, so she knew he was telling her this was the third time he’d seen the car.

  They took a right onto Donatella’s block. Rapp kissed her on the cheek and quietly whispered in her ear, “Are you carrying?”

  Donatella smiled at him and said, “Always, darling. How about you?”

  “Of course.”

  When they reached the stoop in front of Donatella’s flat Rapp placed his hands on her shoulders and mouthed the words, Who hired you?

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow. I have to take care of something first.”

  “I’d rather know now.”

  “I’m sure you would,” replied Donatella with a playful grin. “Maybe you could come upstairs and coax it out of me.”

  She placed her hands firmly on his hips and gave him a lustful smile that sent a jolt of electricity through his groin. Rapp was in the process of trying to ignore her flirtations and figure out who would be watching them when Donatella planted a passionate kiss on his lips. Rapp’s first reaction was to push her away, but caution got the better of him, and he remembered they were being watched.

  Donatella’s tongue in his mouth brought back a wave of emotion. It was like a slide show of erotic memories flashing before his eyes in an instant, and then suddenly there was a larger than life image of Anna Rielly. The vision of his future wife had the correct effect and Rapp casually extricated his exlover’s tongue from his mouth.