Separation of Power mr-3

by Vince Flynn

  When the door opened Hayes was relieved to see Michael Haik enter. The wiry national security advisor came around the table and apologized to the President's guests. He then bent over and whispered something into the President's ear. Hayes nodded several times and then looked to the people sitting across the table.

  "I'm sorry, but something has come up." Hayes stood. "Thank you for coming to see me." He walked around the table and shook each person's hand. "You've made some very good points, and I'll take them under advisement."

  As the President started to leave, the man representing the AFL-CIO stepped forward and said, "We're sick of losing on this issue, sir. We're prepared to pull out all the stops this time."

  Hayes paused and looked at the man. He should have kept walking but didn't. "What's that supposed to mean. Harry?"

  "It means come next election, we're going to remember who stood with us on this one."

  Hayes took a step closer to the man. "What are you going to do, Harry? Tell your people to vote for a Republican?" Finding courage in the fact that the President had a less than fifty percent approval rating, the man replied, "With all due respect, sir, you might not be the only person seeking the party's nomination."

  Instead of losing his temper, Hayes smiled at the man. He patted the union representative on the shoulder and said, "Good luck trying to get someone to commit political suicide." With that Hayes left the Cabinet Room and made a mental note to keep an eye on the MFN China vote. There were maybe three or four people within the party that might try to challenge him. If any of them voted against MFN status for China it would be a clear signal that they'd decided to challenge him.

  As they started down the stairs to the basement of the West Wing, the President asked Haik what the unscheduled visit was about. Haik in formed him that General Flood had not wanted to talk about it over the phone. The two men continued to the Situation Room, where they found Irene Kennedy, General Flood and two other army officers waiting. The President recognized one of them, but not the other. The man he recognized was General Campbell, the head of the Joint Special Operations Command.

  "Mr. President, this is Colonel Gray. He's the CO of Delta Force. I think you've met on one other occasion."

  "Yes, of course we have "The President now remembered the warrior. He reached out across the table and took the man's hand. "Good to see you again, Colonel." As would be expected Gray had a hardened edge to him that commanded respect.

  "I'm sorry to interrupt your meeting," continued Flood.

  "Don't worry." Hayes rolled his eyes. "You actually saved me from another thirty minutes of sheer boredom." The President sat in his chair at the head of the table and everyone followed suit.

  General Flood settled his large frame into the chair at the opposite end of the long conference table. "During our last meeting you asked me to explore all options to achieve our goal. I consulted General Campbell on the mission and he brought in Colonel Gray. Before I turn this over to the Colonel, I'd like to note that Delta Force was conceived to handle extremely delicate and difficult situations. I have confidence in Colonel Gray and his men and I encourage their creative solutions to very difficult problems. It is our job," Flood looked at the President, "to decide how and when to use them." The general glanced over at Colonel Gray and nodded for him to start.

  "Mr. President, you may remember during the Gulf War that Delta Force was asked to look into the possibility of going after Saddam and either grabbing him or killing him. There were two schools of thought here. The first was that we were at war and hence we wouldn't be in violation of the executive order banning the assassination of foreign leaders. Many of us in the military argued that Saddam was a soldier. More often than not he wears a uniform, and he is a military dictator. The other camp argued that we would be in violation of the executive order signed by President Reagan. The debate proved to be moot due to the fact that we could never locate the exact whereabouts of Saddam. Along the way, however, we learned a couple of interesting things. Saddam takes his own security very seriously. So seriously that he often leaves his own people in utter confusion. He has an entire fleet of white armor plated limousines and cars that he uses like a big shell game. These caravans move about the country in a completely nonsensical pattern. During the war we'd get a report that Saddam was in one part of Baghdad only to find out two minutes later that there was a second caravan seen on the other side of town, and then five minutes after that we'd get a report that he was seen in the south meeting with leaders of his Republican guard. The man has over twenty palaces, and we'd get reports all night of motorcades coming and going. He was impossible to track.

  "It wasn't until after the war that something occurred to me. As warriors we're taught to probe for the enemy's weakness, and if we can't find one, we have to find a way to use his own strengths against him." Colonel Gray grinned. "I've found a way to use Saddam's strength against him."

  The President was hooked. Sitting up a little straighter he said, "I'm listening."

  "Sir, Saddams own people don't know where he is. They are used to seeing motorcades of white cars racing about the country at all hours of the day. No one ever stops them, because the only person in the whole country who travels in such a fashion is Saddam himself and a few of his select family members."

  The President still hadn't figured out where the colonel was heading. "I don't see how you'd use this against him."

  "If one of these motorcades contained not Saddam, but a select team of Delta Force operators, they would be able to move about the country unchallenged."

  Very slowly a smile crept onto the Presidents face, and then he began to nod. "I'm intrigued. Colonel. I'd like to hear more."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN.

  Milan, Thursday evening

  Rapp was growing impatient. He'd arrived at the Jamaica Cafe before six so he could check the place out. Anna was back at the hotel sleeping. After a tiring night of travel and a full afternoon of shopping, she'd hit the wall. Rapp had tucked her into bed and said that he'd return and wake her for a late dinner. He noted with a yawn that he could use a little sleep himself.

  Rapp had grabbed a corner booth in the bar, which was beginning to fill with customers and smoke. In his left hand he held his Heckler & Koch HK4 pistol with a snubbed silencer. It was under the table covered by a cloth napkin. Rapp wasn't taking any chances and with each passing minute his unease was growing. It was now a quarter past six, and there was no sign of Donatella. Mentally, he began going down the list of possibilities. Rapp agreed with Kennedy that Donatella's activities in America some two weeks earlier were not sanctioned by the Israeli government. Mossad had done a lot of crazy things over the years, but this didn't fit. There was no reason he could think of why the notorious Israeli intelligence service would want to double-cross him and leave him for dead in Germany. Mitch Rapp and the Orion Team had been Mossad's greatest ally for nearly a decade.

  They were capable of penetrating the operation. There was no doubt about that. If anyone could do it, it would be Mossad, but they still didn't have the motive. And if director Stansfield had been right, the motive was to stop Kennedy from becoming the next director of Central Intelligence. Once again Rapp didn't see it. As the director of the CIA's Counterterrorism Center she had been a staunch ally of the oldest democracy in the Middle East. No, Rapp thought, Donatella had to be free-lancing. The big question now, was for whom.

  As the minutes slid by he began to wonder if he'd ever get the answer to his question. There was the chance that Donatella was hung up at work and running late, but you did not survive long in this business by accepting the most common reason. You survived by thinking of all the possibilities and planning for contingencies. Throwing logic aside for the moment, he wondered what she would do if she had in fact been working for Mossad when she'd assassinated Peter Cameron. She'd have to run. There was no other solution. She couldn't very well turn to the Israelis and tell them he'd contacted her. They'd just as soon kill her rather th
an protect her. For once and for all, Rapp did away with that possibility. There was no way the Israeli government was involved in this.

  There was the list of usual suspects. The Russians, the Chinese, Iraq, Iran, Syria, the Palestinians and the French. Of the group, the Russians were probably the only ones who had the assets to penetrate the operation, and once again, he didn't see the motive. All roads pointed back to America. Somebody wanted him dead, and if Thomas Stansfield had been right, that person or persons ultimately wanted to end Irene Kennedy's career.

  Rapp hadn't the faintest idea who they were. He needed Donatella to point him in the right direction, and for that to happen she had to show up. As he looked around the bar for the hundredth time he quietly hoped that she'd been smart enough to keep their meeting earlier in the day to herself. She had to trust him one last time and he would make sure she'd make it through without getting harmed.

  Finally, at 6:27 Donatella entered the noisy, crowded bar in a black pant suit with a coat draped over one arm. Like two true professionals they barely glanced at each other. They'd been taught the same thing. Trouble almost always comes from where you'd least expect it. Get the target to focus on one thing and then blind-side them. They both warily checked their flanks to make sure no one was coming after them. Rapp watched heads turn as the gorgeous Donatella walked through the bar. His eyes expertly scanned the crowded bar, searching for faces he'd seen before, and looking for a pair of eyes that were watching him rather than the stunning brunette.

  Donatella smiled her devilish smile and came around to his side of the booth. She kissed him on the cheek and then with her curvaceous hip she bumped him to the side and sat practically on his lap. Her intent was twofold. First of all, she did not want to sit with her back to the door and second, she did not want to have to talk across the table. It would be much better if they could whisper in each other's ear.

  "Sorry I'm late," said Donatella in Italian. She shook her head to the side in an effort to move some other thick mane out of the way.

  "What was the holdup?" asked Rapp in her native tongue.

  "It was a disastrous day. We had a shoot that cost a lot of money and produced nothing but crap, and then the only man I've ever truly loved stopped by my office and told me he was getting married." Donatella flagged down a passing waiter and ordered a double Stoly martini with a lemon peel. When the waiter was gone she turned back to Rapp and said, "All in all it's been a really shitty day." With a fake smile she asked, "And how was your day, honey?"

  Rapp felt a little guilty. "I'm sorry, Donny. I never meant to hurt you." Taking her hand he said, "You've always been very special to me, and you always will be."

  "But not that special." She stared at Rapp with her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes, her full lips pursed as if she might begin to cry.

  Rapp put his right arm around her and pulled her tight. He kissed her forehead and said, "You have to have faith that everything will turn out."

  Donatella pushed away; her eyes were moist. "That's easy for you to say. You have someone. You found the person you want to marry, and what do I have? Nothing."

  "You have to have faith that it will happen for you, too."

  "My faith was you. However foolish it might have been, I thought one day we'd walk away from all of this crap and live happily ever after."

  After brushing a tear from her cheek, Rapp said, "We haven't exactly seen a lot of each other over the past year."

  "I know, it was foolish of me, but dammit, I loved you. I still love you."

  Rapp swallowed uncomfortably. He knew Donatella to be a very passionate woman, but he didn't expect her to show this much emotion. "Donny, I loved you very much. You know that. We were there for each other during some of the worst times." She nodded, but kept her head tilted down, buried in his chest. Pulling herself together a bit, she looked up and said, "I'm happy for you ... I really am ... it's just that ..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

  "What?"

  "This is a lonely fucking business."

  Rap knew all too well what she meant. He pulled her close and squeezed tight. "Don't worry, Donny. If you're ready to put it all behind you, I'll make it happen." Rapp decided at that exact moment that he would do whatever it took to bring her in. He would use whatever leverage he had to make sure she was safe.

  Donatella sat up and grabbed a handkerchief from her bag. She blotted the tears from her eyes and said, "I'm not done yet. I have a few more years left before I can retire."

  Rapp thought of the fate of Peter Cameron and decided she might not have a few more years. At that moment the waiter approached the table and set Donatella's drink down.

  "He'll have a glass of your house red wine, please." Donatella dismissed the waiter and turned to Rapp. "If I'm going to cry and drink vodka I'm not going to let you get away with drinking coffee."

  Rapp didn't argue. He instead used the opening to get to the point. "Donny." Rapp looked her in the eye to make sure she knew how serious he was. "I'm going to tell you some things, and as always they're in complete confidence. In return I need you to be honest with me."

  Donatella set her drink down and moved back a bit. She'd been thinking about how she was going to handle this all day and she as yet hadn't come up with a solution. "I'll do my best."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "It means I'll do my best."

  "Will you be honest with me?"

  "I'll be honest with you, but you know there are certain things I can't answer no matter what our history is." Reluctantly, Rapp conceded the point and asked, "Are you going to answer the question that I asked you in your office this afternoon?"

  She'd thought about little else since he'd left, that and the fact that the man of her dreams was going to marry someone else. Her first instinct was to lie. It had nothing to do with Mitch, it was standard operating procedure. Everybody was on a need to know basis, and if they knew that, shouldn't be asking the question. Hence they shouldn't be offended when they found out they were lied to. Mitch fell into a different category, though. They had been through so much, and not just in the bedroom, but in the field. There was an unspoken rule between them. If you can't answer the question, don't. Mitch knew something. She had no idea how, but one thing was clear, somehow he knew she was in Washington several weeks ago.

  Rapp leaned in and repeated the question. "Where you in Washington several weeks ago?"

  Donatella took a sip of the cold vodka. "Yes."

  "Did you spend any time at George Washington University?"

  "Who wants to know?"

  "I do."

  "No one else?" asked a skeptical Donatella.

  "Oh, there are others, but no one wants to know as bad as I do."

  "And why is that?"

  Rapp studied her for a second. They could go on like this for hours, like two tennis players volleying the ball across the net at each other. He was in no mood for such a game; he didn't have the time. Taking a calculated risk he said, "There was a professor at George Washington University that I really wanted to talk to. Unfortunately, someone stuck a pick in his ear and scrambled his brain before I could get to him. Any idea who would do such a thing?"

  Donatella fidgeted and looked away at the crowd. She knew he had her. He'd seen her kill that way before. Choosing to deflect his question by asking one of her own she said, "Why did you want to talk to him?"

  Rapps eyes lit up with anger. He leaned in until his nose was just inches away from Donatellas. His response was spoken through gritted teeth. "Because he tried to kill me."

  Situation Room, Thursday morning

  Colonel Gray had the room's rapt attention. Even the unflappable Irene Kennedy was shaking her head in disbelief at the Delta Force commander's bold plan. Its audacity was absolutely beautiful.

  President Hayes looked at the colonel with a slightly miffed expression and asked, "You've already practiced this?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "How?"

  "We took thre
e MH-47E heavy lift helicopters from the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR) and loaded them each with one Mercedes sedan and four Delta operators. We flew the planes from Pope Air Force Base in North Carolina to Hulbert Field in Florida. Once we arrived we conducted eight separate infiltration and exfiltration operations over an eight-day period. We tried to make the exercise as realistic as possible. Each night we sent out two MH-53 J Pave Lows with Delta operators in each bird. Their job was to secure the landing area for the arrival of the MH-47E's. The first two nights we made it easy on them. We selected paved roads on remote parts of the base. The Pave Lows arrived at the preselected area and secured and marked the landing strip. The MH-47E's arrived and landed without incident. The cars were unloaded and the Delta operators took off on their simulated mission. The cars were then reloaded and the choppers took off.

  "The next two nights the Pave Lows arrived and found the designated area occupied by potentially hostile forces. They had to move onto the secondary landing sites and so forth. With each passing night we made the mission increasingly difficult. We simulated one of the choppers breaking down, we simulated the force coming under attack in the middle of unloading the cars, we threw everything at them."

  "And?" the President asked.

  "They fared very well. We finished the exercise with an understanding of what should be done to increase the odds for success. We also came away believing that if called on we could put this plan into action in very short order." The President blinked several times and said, "So you're telling me you think you could fly a couple of these choppers into Iraq, land, unload the cars, drive into Baghdad, hit the target, and get everybody out safely." The President shook his head. "Excuse me if I sound skeptical, but this seems a little over the top."

  "I'm in the business of over the top, sir. That's what you pay me for."