Separation of Power mr-3

by Vince Flynn

  Freidman grimaced at Clark's words as if he were wrestling with an idea he didn't like. "This woman is very good. One of my best. I have put years and years of training into her."

  "Five hundred thousand."

  Freidman liked the number. It was easily double what he had expected. That was another thing he really liked about Clark and his cowboy attitude. There was no dicking around when it came to money. After considering the issue for a bit longer, Freidman nodded and said, "I'll take care of it, but it will have to wait until I return. This is too delicate to handle from America."

  Clark felt as if a heavy weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. Relieved, he asked, "When are you heading back?"

  "Tomorrow afternoon."

  Smiling, Clark said, "Ben, I can't thank you enough for coming all this way. I really appreciate it. I should have listened to you when you warned me to steer clear of Rapp."

  "Don't worry." Freidman shrugged off the comment as if it were trivial. "You have been a good ally, and when you are President," the director of the Mossad raised his glass in a toast, "you will be an even better ally."

  CHAPTER SIX.

  Maryland, Monday evening

  The stars were bright even with the fire. Anna had given him a portable wrought iron fire kettle for his birthday, and Mitch had put it to good use. The temperature was around fifty and dropping. Rapp sat on the deck of his small cottage overlooking the Chesapeake. A slight breeze was coming in off the water, just enough to keep the smoke from billowing into his face. He was dressed warmly in jeans, a beat up sweatshirt and an old brown Carhartt jacket. He was sitting all the way back in a white Adirondack chair with his feet up on a footstool that was barely a foot from the flames. Shirley was lying at his side quietly. All he needed to make the night perfect was for Anna to get home.

  Ten minutes later he got his wish, or at least he hoped. Shirley heard the car first. Her head snapped up, which alerted Rapp. He listened carefully to the sounds with his eyes closed for a moment. The dog leapt to her feet and scampered off the deck and around the side of the house to investigate. Rapp continued to listen while his left hand slid between the folds of his jacket in search of the cold hard comfort of his 9mm Beretta. The harsh reality of Rapp's life was that people wanted to kill him. During the first ten years of his career in counterterrorism he could always count on coming home and letting his guard down. His job required it. The weeks and sometimes months that he spent abroad on missions was absolutely draining. The sheer amount of information he had to memorize for a mission was sometimes overwhelming: maps, codes, specifics on his target, the local authorities, political groups and competing terrorist groups. It all had to be memorized, and that was before being inserted.

  Once he was in the country it got even worse. Without letting others see, he had to be hyper aware of everything that occurred around him. Imagine walking through a sea of people in the vibrant city of Damascus. Not only did he have to track those he had been sent to kill, but he also had to constantly look over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him. This was no easy task in a part of the world where ninety plus percent of the men had black hair and mustaches and most of the women were covered from head to toe in the traditional Muslim wrap. If his true identity were discovered he would be painfully stoned to death without a tribunal, and that would be the easy way out. If he were caught by the police, or a foreign intelligence service, he would be brutally tortured. And not just slapped around and screamed at. This was the Middle East. No part of his body would remain un violated He would be forced to endure the most inhumane conditions imaginable. Rapp regained control of his wandering imagination and pushed the horrible thoughts from his mind.

  This was why he needed a safe place. A place where he could let his guard down and recuperate. That had been taken away from him, though. Someone in America knew about Rapp's secret life. They had tried to kill him twice now: once in Europe and once back in the States. Europe was bad enough, but setting a trap for him in his own home and using his girlfriend as the bait was way too close. Someone knew too much about Rapp and as each day passed it strengthened his resolve to find out who that person was. Before he could get on with his life he had to close this chapter. And Rapp desperately wanted to get on with his life. He wanted Anna, and he wanted children. He wanted a normal life, but he knew as he looked into the kitchen and saw Anna standing in front of the refrigerator that it would have to wait. He would have to do what he was trained to do. He would have to hunt down the person who had hired Peter Cameron, and he would have to kill him.

  Rielly stepped out onto the deck with Shirley following close behind. She had a beer in each hand and a sly grin on her face. She bent over and kissed Rapp on the lips. "How was your day, honey?"

  "Just great," he replied with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. "How was yours?"

  Rielly straightened up and handed him a beer. "Fine." Turning, she said, "I'm going to put some jeans on. I'll be back in a minute."

  Rapp smiled at her as she went back into the house. That was easy, he thought. He'd been dreading the interrogation she would give him about his meeting with Kennedy. Rapp took a swig of beer knowing that as soon as she came back down she would dig in. He wondered how he should edit his story so it would come out in the best light. There were certain things he couldn't tell her for reasons of national security and others that he just couldn't tell her because he feared she would think less of him.

  When Rielly came back outside she had on jeans, one of Rapp's flannels and an old wool blanket draped over her shoulders. She plopped down in her chair, tilted her chin up, pursed her lips and closed her eyes.

  Rapp leaned over and kissed her on the lips. "Thanks for the beer."

  "You're welcome." Rielly took a sip of her own and said, "Now tell me all about the meeting."

  "You know ... we talked a little bit about this and a little bit about that. It lasted about an hour. No big deal, really. Anything happen at the White House today?"

  "Nice try." Rielly grinned. "You could care less about what happened at the White House today, and I have no idea what a little bit of this and a little bit of that means. So cut the crap and tell me what happened."

  "I'm not sure where to start." Oh, he loved her. She was so beautiful and strong, both physically and mentally. Rapp was equally drawn to both. He knew himself well enough to know that if he were to ever survive in a long term relationship he would need a woman who would keep him in line from time to time. Rapp had been a loner for far too long and had picked up some habits that weren't very helpful in running a successful partnership.

  In an intentionally condescending tone Rielly said, "Why don't you start from the beginning?"

  "Well, I wore my gray three-button suit and that tie you bought me for Father's Day." Rapp stopped and looked at her with a shitty grin. "Why did you buy me a tie for Father's Day, by the way? We never discussed that. Was it wishful thinking on your part, or were you trying to imply that I may have some children that I-don't know about?"

  "I've got all night, Mitchell, my darling. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can just tell me, or I can wear you down hour by hour."

  Rapp smiled as he took another drink. "I can hold out."

  "Oh ... I'm sure you can. But two can play at that game." Rielly gave him a devilish smile and turned her attention to the fire.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" asked Rapp with a little more eagerness han he would have liked to show.

  "No sex."

  Rapp groaned, "Oh God. Don't you pay any attention to all of those stupid relationship books that you and your friends read? They all say the same thing. Never, And I repeat, never use sex as a weapon."

  "I'm not using it as a weapon." Rielly shook her head. "If I decide to abstain I will do it on religious grounds."

  "And what would those be?" Rapp laughed.

  "That I shouldn't be giving myself so freely to a man who I am not married to, much less engaged." Rielly
quickly took a drink of beer to hide the smile that was spreading across her face.

  Rapp watched her for a second and said, "So you want to become some sort of born-again virgin?"

  "Yeah, something like that."

  Rapp laughed. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Only a sexually repressed Irish Catholic girl from Chicago could come up with something so ludicrous."

  "We'll see how ludicrous you think it is after a couple of weeks of cuddling and nothing else."

  Still laughing, Rapp held up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. You win. What would you like to know?"

  Rielly smiled triumphantly. "What was the new job offer?"

  "Come to work in the Counterterrorism Center. She hasn't decided on a title yet. I'd be attached to the Middle East desk in some form or another. Either as a senior analyst or a special assistant to the DCI on Islamic terrorism."

  Rielly raised her eyebrows in exaggerated excitement. "I like the second one. It sounds very important." With a grimace Rapp said, "I'm not sure I like either of them."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know, honey. I don't know if I can go to work in that damn puzzle palace."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm not used to punching the clock, and as you know, taking orders is not my strong suit."

  "Yeah, but what else are you going to do?"

  Staring into the fire Rapp said, "I don't know. I'll stay home and raise the brood."

  "Oh no, you won't." Rielly shook her head. "The last thing I want is a brooding husband raising the brood. You go nuts, Mitchell. You need challenge in your life. Don't get me wrong. I think you'll be a great father, but a Mr. Mom you're not."

  "Yeah, I know, but--" Rapp stopped and took a drink.

  "But what?"

  "I don't think I'm cut out to play all of the Mickey Mouse games they make you play at Langley."

  Rielly reached over and touched his hand. "I think you should do it. At least give it a try." "Really?" Rapp said, a little surprised.

  "Yeah. And don't forget, you've got the director in your corner if anything goes wrong."

  Rapp studied her. "Hmm."

  "What?"

  "I just didn't expect you to tell me to take the job."

  "We all have to do something, honey. You were very good at what you did for the last ten years." Rielly reached out and touched his cheek."I got to see it firsthand." Softly she added, "You saved my life. "A warm smile washed over her face and she leaned over and kissed him. "And now that I've fallen in love with you, you are going to have to retire from the front lines and take a desk job." She pinched his cheek. "The transition might be a little difficult at first, but you know too much about the Middle East to just walk away."

  "It doesn't bother you at all that you'll have to tell your family and friends that I work for the CIA?"

  "Are you kidding me?" Rielly grinned. "My girlfriends all drool over you as it is; when they find out you're a spy they're gonna lose it." She laughed. "No, I'm serious. Won't it affect how you're treated at work? You know ... sleeping with the enemy."

  "No." She shook her head and then after thinking of a couple of potential problems added, "And if it does, I'll deal with it." Thinking about what she had just said, Rapp slowly nodded his understanding. "Well, that makes me feel better about it."

  "Good. What else did you talk about?"

  Rapp thought about Kennedy asking him to take over the Orion Team, but that was strictly off limits. He had never uttered the words to her, nor would he. "Not much else. Just salary and some administrative stuff."

  Rielly gave him a skeptical look. "Come on. What else?"

  "Nothing that I can talk about."

  "Mitchell?"

  "Anna," Rapp replied in a mocking tone. "You're going to have to get used to this. If I take this job, almost everything that I touch will be classified. I won't be able to come home and chat about it."

  Rielly rolled her eyes. "Your whole life is classified."

  "Honey, we might as well come to terms with this right now. If you won't respect the fact that I can't talk about ninety percent of what I do or see at work then I might as well tell Irene right now that I don't want the job." Rapp stared at her intensely to make sure she knew he was extremely serious about the issue.

  "I'll respect it, I'll respect it. Don't worry."

  "Good." Rapp leaned over and gave her a long kiss. Her lips felt so good. He was head over heels in love. He knew it was affecting his judgment, but there was nothing he could do about it. There was no turning back, no slamming on the brakes; he didn't even have the willpower to tap them. After a while he worked his way to her ear and asked, "Can we go upstairs and have sex now?"

  Rielly purred her response, and they rose together and went into the house, leaving behind the warmth of the fire.

  CHAPTER SEVEN.

  Oval Office, Tuesday morning

  "What in the hell is this meeting about?"

  President Hayes tilted his head down so he could look over the top of his specs at the three people standing in front of his desk. He was still drinking his morning coffee and reading the days schedule when the three of them had come waltzing in with apprehension on their faces. They then proceeded to dump something in his lap that was unusual, to say the least.

  Valerie Jones, the President's chief of staff, spoke first. "I just heard about it for the first time five minutes ago." Jones turned to look past Michael Haik, the President's national security advisor, to Irene Kennedy.

  Kennedy spoke."I received the call early this morning. He was very serious, but then again, he usually is"

  Hayes leaned over on the left armrest and stroked his chin. This whole thing was strange, a first for him in his relatively short career as President. Nothing good could come of it, he was sure of that. Looking up at Kennedy, he asked, "Have they ever done something like this before?"

  Kennedy thought about her dealings with the Israelis over the last two decades. "They request backdoor meetings with us from time to time. Usually for the obvious reasons: they don't want the press or any opposition to find out," Kennedy shook her head slightly, "but I don't seem to ever remember them going straight to the top."

  "This can't be good. The director of Mossad flies to the United States and pretty much demands to see me. I don't see anything positive that can come out of this." Hayes looked up at his NSA. "Michael, what's going on over there? Any flare-ups in the peace process that I haven't been told about?"

  "No, its the same old thing. Arafat demands XY and Z and then walks away from the table. The bombs start to go off and then a month later they sit back down at the peace table and start over again." "It's not that," Kennedy said in a thoughtful tone. "If it had something to do with the peace process they wouldn't fly Ben Freidman all the way in from Tel Aviv. Their ambassador would take care of it, or the prime minister would call" She paused and thought about another possibility. "No," she said making up her mind. "Ben Freidman means real trouble. Something is going on over there that we don't know about. Something serious."

  "Great," the President grumbled. With more than a little frustration he said, "And none of you have any idea what it is."

  "Sorry, sir," was all Haik could say.

  The President thought about the situation for a moment. He was tempted to pick up the phone and call the Israeli prime minister, but caution got the better of him. The PM was due to visit the U. S. in two weeks. There was obviously a reason for sending Freidman. The President looked to Haik and said, "Get General Flood over here. I want him to sit in on this."

  Haik grabbed the white handset of the bulky secure telephone unit sitting on the Presidents desk and hit the speed dial button for the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Seconds later, General Flood was on the line and the national security advisor was explaining the situation. The general said he would be there just as quickly as his limousine could take him across the Potomac.

  President Hayes checked his watch. It was a quarter past eigh
t. "Freidman will be here at nine?"

  "Yes," Kennedy answered.

  "All right, between now and then I would like the three of you to try and come up with some idea of what this is all about." President Hayes snatched his glasses from his face and glared at three of his most trusted advisors. All he got in return were blank stares.

  * * *

  Colonel Freidman and his bodyguard caught a taxicab on Connecticut Avenue. Freidman could have easily requisitioned one of the embassy's limousines for the trip but he preferred to keep a low profile. Anyone arriving at the White House in a limousine was sure to get his or her photograph taken. There were other cities where Freidman wouldn't dare to move about unless he was entombed in an armor plated limousine, but Washington was not one of them. All of the various groups of the Middle East knew the rules. To attempt an assassination on American soil would be suicide, both financially and politically.

  As the taxi headed toward the White House, Freidman stared out the window at the embassies they passed. The concentration of power in this town was unlike any other in the world, and Freidman was here to make a huge power play. He respected America; it was, after all, his country's greatest ally. Every year the Americans pumped billions of dollars into the Israeli economy, and the military aid they supplied was invaluable, but then again America had riches beyond her needs. There were many in Freidman's country though, who felt the Americans could give more, that they could do more to secure the borders of the only true democracy in the Middle East. Freidman was one of those people.

  Trusted with the security of his tiny homeland, Freidman would stop at almost nothing to get what was good for Israel. He respected America, but in the end that respect was greatly overshadowed by his ultimate loyalty to the Israeli cause. America wasn't always willing to do everything they asked, and that was where Freidman often came in. The ugly secret was that the Mossad spied on the U. S. Not only did they spy, but from time to time they also ran covert operations against their greatest ally. That's not what this meeting was about, at least not yet. Played in the best possible light, it was about two allies taking on a common enemy. In the perpetually cynical eyes of Ben Freidman, it was getting the U. S. to do Israel's dirty work.