by Vince Flynn
She looked up at the door and wished he would walk through it right now before she went any further down this path. She wished that he would hold her tight and tell her that this last piece of business was taken care of. That he was done with the killing and the field operations and was ready to take a desk job at Langley. She held the sweaty glass so tightly she thought it might break. Tilting her head back, she took a big gulp and finished her second drink. She got up to pour another, and as she walked toward the minibar, she prayed that Mitch wouldn’t let her down. She didn’t want any more nights of worrying, wondering if he was on his way to meet her or if he was already dead.
THE MAN MOANED and started to move. Rapp tore his headset off and threw it on the seat. Keeping the gun pressed against his head, Rapp took his free hand and undid the man’s belt and pants. Then grabbing him by his jacket collar, he yanked him from the car and slammed him against the rear door of the sedan. He’d already checked his breast pocket for ID and had found nothing. Rapp took this as a sign that he wasn’t a cop.
“Who do you work for?” asked Rapp in Italian. The man looked at him through dazed eyes and told Rapp to go fuck himself. Without hesitation Rapp brought his knee up and delivered a vicious blow to the man’s groin. He tried to double over, but Rapp kept him pinned against the car.
Rapp repeated the question, and this time the guy spat in his face. Rapp brought his head back and snapped it forward. His brow landed on the bridge of the man’s nose, instantly crushing it and sending a stream of blood running down the man’s face.
Grabbing him by his jacket collar, Rapp swung the man around and yanked the back of the jacket down so his arms were pinned against his sides. He then pushed him forward and started marching him across the street toward Donatella’s flat. The man moaned in pain and spit blood from his mouth. His unbuckled pants fell from his waist and he was forced to grab them.
“Keep walking.” Rapp’s pistol was stuck in the small of the man’s back right on the spinal column. One wrong move and the guy would lose the use of his legs for the rest of his life. With his free hand, Rapp hit the send button on his mobile phone and listened through his earpiece as it began to ring.
After an eternity, a very out of breath Donatella answered. In a clipped voice, Rapp asked, “Is everything all right?”
“No.” There was obvious pain in her voice.
“Hold tight. I’m on my way up. Can you buzz me through the door?”
“Yeah.”
Rapp pushed the man in the back and drove him forward. “Move it.” When they got to the door, Rapp told Donatella to buzz him in. The elevator was waiting for them, but Rapp ignored it. Shoving the man toward the stairs he said, “All right, numb-nuts, let’s double-time it up these stairs. If you slow me down or try anything stupid you’re dead.” With that they started up the stairs, Rapp pushing the man every step of the way.
When they reached Donatella’s apartment the door was cracked. Rapp pushed the man into the flat and closed and locked the door behind them. When he entered the living room he saw a body on the floor and Donatella sitting on the couch with blood on her face and neck.
“What in the hell happened?”
“There were two of them waiting for me. The one on the floor, and a second one over there behind the couch.”
Rapp didn’t bother asking if they were dead. “Are you hit?”
Donatella nodded.
“Where?”
“My shoulder.”
Rapp could tell by her posture that the wound was more than a graze. His mind was scrambling to prioritize what had to be done. A gunshot wound was serious business. They would have to get a doctor, and not just any doctor. They’d need one on the payroll. One who wouldn’t report it to the authorities. The first thing he had to do though, was secure the man he’d dragged up from the car. With one hand still on the guy’s shirt collar, Rapp flipped his gun in the air and caught it by the barrel. He then swung it, smashing the grip into the back left side of the man’s head. His knees went limp and Rapp lowered his unconscious body to the floor.
Stepping over him, Rapp knelt down in front of Donatella. “Are you hit anywhere else?” he asked incredulously as he looked at all the blood on her chin and neck.
“No. This is his.” She jerked her head toward Rosenthal’s body. “I bit his ear during the struggle.”
Rapp started peeling back her jacket so he could get a look at the wound. Donatella winced in pain. Rapp asked, “Any idea who these goons belong to?”
“No.”
After he’d eased the jacket off her shoulder, he found the bullet hole in her shirt and tore it open so he could inspect the wound. He quickly realized by the size of it that he was looking at an exit wound. His other hand slid around the back and felt for the entry wound. He found it with his forefinger and was pleased that there was very little blood coming from it. “What would you say if I told you I think they’re Israelis?”
“I’d tell you you’re crazy.”
“Well, the one I dragged up here, when I jumped him . . . he swore in Hebrew. And then when I pulled him out of the car he spoke in Italian.”
“What does that prove?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” While Donatella thought about it, Rapp continued to check her shoulder. He tried to calculate the trajectory of the bullet and announced, “It passed clean through, which of course is good, but I think it did some pretty bad damage.”
“I’d say,” muttered Donatella as another wave of pain washed over her.
“Where’s your first-aid kit?”
“In my bedroom closet. Top shelf, right side.”
Before leaving the room, Rapp yanked the cord off the nearest lamp and then tied the wrists of the man he’d knocked out. “I’ll be right back.”
Donatella watched Rapp go down the hall to her bedroom. When he was gone she whispered several swear words to herself and looked at the bodies on the floor. It was a big deal that Rapp had heard the man swear in Hebrew. Donatella didn’t recognize any of them, but they were Mossad. They were personal recruits of Ben Freidman. She’d seen the type before. As Donatella linked things together, she saw that she was painted into a very tight corner. Her life in Italy was over, and for that fact, so probably too was her life. She needed a way out, and she didn’t mean finding a way to spend the rest of her life on the lam. She’d seen others try it. Very few succeeded. They usually slipped up somewhere along the way or were forced to live such a shitty life that it wasn’t worth it. No, she’d worked too hard for everything. She wasn’t going to just throw it all away. She needed leverage. She needed a way to negate Ben Freidman’s significant power. She thought of what Rapp had said earlier. That he could protect her. That he could take it all the way to the top. She wondered briefly how high all the way to the top was.
The man on the floor began stirring. Donatella wondered what information he would provide when Mitch went to work on him. At that moment she made a difficult decision. She would be the only one with the secrets, and if Rapp wanted them, he would have to come through on his promise. He would have to give her her life back.
The silenced Walther was still in her left hand. She heard Rapp coming back down the hall. Donatella raised the weapon, took aim and fired a single shot into the top of the man’s head.
25
What in the hell are you doing!” snarled Rapp as he stood in the hallway, staring at the smoke wafting from the end of Donatella’s silenced pistol. His own gun was aimed at her head, and he was holding the first-aid kit in his other hand with some towels under his arm. “Put your gun down right now, Donatella!”
Acting as if his request was tiresome, she tossed her weapon to the floor and sank back into the couch. Rapp crossed over to her and kicked her weapon to the other side of the room. He set the first-aid kit and the towels on the coffee table, looked at the man with the fresh bullet hole in the top of his head and then turned back to Donatella. “What in the fuck was that for?”
/>
“We were going to have to kill him sooner or later.” She looked away from Rapp and closed her eyes. “I didn’t want you to have to do it.”
“The hell you did.”
“I did you a favor.”
“My ass you did.” Rapp pointed his pistol at the man whose hands he’d just tied. “You knew him, didn’t you?”
With her eyes closed and a grimace on her face, she shook her head.
“Bullshit, Donny.”
“Stop your stupid arguing and give me a shot of morphine.” She reached out for the kit with her good hand. For this exact reason Donatella possessed a military first-aid kit, complete with battle dressings, sutures, clamps, surgical staples, penicillin, morphine and much more.
Rapp snatched the kit away from her and said, “I came all the way over here to help you, and you haven’t given me shit. You’d better start giving me some answers.”
“You didn’t come over here to help me, you came over here to help yourself.”
“Oh, is that right, you little ingrate? If I hadn’t stepped in, the Agency would have grabbed you off the street and done God only knows what to you.”
“For all I know, these guys were sent here by the Agency.”
“Yeah, Donny, these guys were sent here by the Agency,” Rapp said in a mocking tone. “That’s why you executed this sap right here.”
“I don’t know them.”
“Bullshit, Donny. I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t have just executed this guy if you weren’t afraid he’d have something to say.”
“I don’t know any of these guys.” She grimaced as another wave of pain washed over her. “Give me some goddamn morphine.”
“You might not know these guys personally, but you sure as hell know who sent them.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe, my ass, Donny. I’m done fucking around. You’re gonna tell me right now who hired you to kill Peter Cameron, or I’m walking out of this apartment and out of your life.”
“I think you’re walking out of my life whether I tell you or not.”
“Fine.” Rapp grabbed his mobile phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“The Agency. I’m done with you. I’ll babysit you until they get some people over here to pick you up.”
“Hey . . . hey . . . put the phone away for a second.”
“Why? Give me a good reason.”
“Because I need you. Because I saved your life once.”
“Ain’t that convenient. I’ve saved your life twice and tonight makes three. If you want to get the ledger out, I think it’s you who owe me.”
Donatella held her fist up against her forehead and closed her eyes as another wave of pain washed over her. “Just give me the kit, and I’ll give myself the damn shot.”
“Donny, what in the hell is wrong with you? I came here to help you. Why won’t you trust me and tell me who hired you?”
“Give me the shot, and I’ll tell you.”
“Nope.” Rapp shook his head.
“Fine.” Donatella tried to get off the couch, but Rapp pushed her back down.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Mitch, either give me a shot, or get the hell out of my way.”
“No way, Donny. You can either tell me who hired you, or you can tell one of the Agency’s doctors.”
After letting out a moan, she said, “All right . . . fine. Give me the shot, and then I’ll tell you.”
Rapp looked at her, trying to discern her sincerity. “Do you know who hired you?”
“Yes, dammit! Now give me the damn shot!”
Rapp finally relented and set the kit down. He opened it and found an ampule of morphine. He took the small glass container and held it in front of Donatella’s face. “This is your last chance. I’m going to give this to you and then you’d better tell me who hired you to kill Peter Cameron. If you don’t, you’re going to wish you would have.” Rapp stabbed the ampule into her thigh and the painkiller was released into her bloodstream.
It didn’t take long for Donatella to begin to relax. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Rapp grabbed a pair of scissors from the kit and began cutting the sleeve from Donatella’s bloodstained blouse. His biggest fear now was that she’d lose consciousness from the loss of blood. “Where do you want to start?”
“What do you mean?” Her eyes were getting glassy.
“Who hired you, Donny?”
“Oh . . . we’re back to that again.”
“Yep.” Rapp grabbed one of the towels and started wiping the blood away. “Who hired you, Donny?”
“Oh . . . Mitch, I’m in a lot of trouble.”
“I can help. I promise you I’ll protect you.” Rapp placed one of the towels on the couch. “Here . . . lie down.” He gently lowered her onto the towel. He began cleaning the wound. “Whatever kind of trouble you’re in, I promise I can help you get out of it.” Rapp doused the wound with iodine. Thanks to the morphine, Donatella never felt the sting.
“You have to promise me, Mitchell. You have to promise me that no matter how bad this gets you’ll stand by me.”
Rapp tore open a packet of coagulant powder and sprinkled as much of it into the wound as possible. “Donny, do you trust me?” He looked into her beautiful brown eyes.
Donatella blinked. “Yes, but . . . I’m warning you . . . this is going to get very ugly.”
Rapp shrugged and began packing gauze into the bullet hole. “It can’t be any worse than some of the crap we’ve already been through.”
“Oh, yes it can. You have to promise me that you won’t leave my side until I’m safe. You have to take me to America.”
After thinking about it Rapp said, “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
He finished packing the wound and applied a field dressing to the front of her shoulder. Gently, he rolled her onto her side and started cleaning the entry wound. “I’m waiting, Donny.”
Donatella was tired. Too tired to continue the fight. She owed much to Ben Freidman, but if he’d sent these goons to kill her, she owed him no more. She had neither the strength nor the assets to fight him on her own, and any hope of going to him and proving her loyalty was childish. Ben Freidman was a ruthless man who would do anything to save his own ass.
Donatella sighed and said, “It was Ben Freidman.”
Rapp let her roll onto her back. He had to see her face. “You mean to tell me Ben Freidman, the head of Mossad, ordered you to kill Peter Cameron?”
“Yes.”
“Holy shit,” muttered Rapp. He pushed Donatella back onto her side, and went back to work on the wound. He and Kennedy had ruled the Israelis out. As far as they could tell, there was no motive for them to try and kill Rapp. They must have missed something. Those in the know around Washington knew that no group was better at penetrating U.S. intelligence assets than Israel. In many ways they were America’s most ungrateful ally, but they almost always worked toward the same goal when it came to counterterrorism.
“Was Cameron an agent for Mossad?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then why would Freidman want him dead?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the person who hired us.”
“What do you mean, ‘hired you?’ You said Freidman ordered the hit.”
“I’m freelance now, but Freidman still handles my contracts. He sets everything up, takes care of the money and keeps a third of it.”
“Cheap bastard. So technically Mossad has nothing to do with this.”
“No. We’re completely separate.”
“Donny, I don’t think you’re very separate when you were trained by them, used to work for them and Freidman is the current director general.”
“Mitchell, I’m telling you Mossad had nothing to do with this. Someone approached Ben with a rush job, and they were willing to pay a lot of money to have Cameron taken care of quickly.”
“How much?”
�
��Half a million.”
Rapp stopped what he was doing momentarily. Half a million bucks was a lot of money for a contract on a former civil servant. “Did you get the money?”
“Yes.”
Rapp placed a field dressing on her back and then gave her a shot of penicillin. “How do you feel?”
“Fine.” She smiled crookedly. “I don’t feel a thing.”
After helping her sit up, Rapp asked, “Do you think you can walk?”
“At your service.”
“All right. I’m going to get you a new shirt from your room, and then we need to get out of here.” Rapp stood. “Do you still have a bag packed?”
“Of course. Bedroom closet, bottom right side.”
“If you can think of anything else, now’s the time. You might not be back here for a while.” Rapp hurried into the bedroom and reappeared less than a minute later with a bag over his shoulder, and a blouse and black sweater in hand.
Donatella looked at the dead bodies on the floor. “What are we going to do about these guys?”
“I’ll make a call and have it taken care of.”
Rapp helped Donatella change into her new blouse and sweater and then helped her put on her coat. He threw some of the medical supplies into the bag and grabbed her pistol from the floor. After finding her purse, he put in a fresh magazine and gave her the gun. Rapp grabbed Donatella with one hand and threw the bag over his shoulder. They left the apartment, locked the door and took the elevator down to the first floor. As they went out into the cool night, Rapp scanned the street for danger. They headed toward the hotel and he briefly wondered how he would explain Donatella to Anna. He tried to tell himself that she’d understand, but something told him it was wishful thinking.
26
Donatella wasn’t saying much. Rapp had her gripped firmly under her good arm. He would have liked it if they could have walked a little faster, but at least he didn’t have to carry her. Rapp wasn’t too sure how long she’d last. She’d lost a fair amount of blood. There was no way around the problem; that blood needed to be replaced. They could worry about the wound and possible infection later, but for now he needed to get her stabilized. Fortunately, the streets were not very crowded. If there was any more trouble out there he’d stand a good chance of seeing it coming.
