by Vince Flynn
The thought occurred to Donatella again that she was going to die, that this man was too tough for her. It was this feeling of absolute desperation that caused her right arm to move, and when it did it bumped into a familiar object. Donatella closed her eyes, as her fingertips searched the familiar shape. After what seemed like an eternity she had it in her hand. With agonizing pain she picked it up and released her bite on the mans ear.
His head snapped around, his ear barely still attached, flapping loosely down by his neck. He looked at her with absolute rage in his eyes. Her sweaty left hand lost the battle over his gun and he twisted it from her grip. Any feeling of accomplishment or celebration that he might have felt was short-lived. Donatella stuck her silenced Walther .22 against the bloody spot where the man's ear should have been and pulled the trigger. Rosenthal's head jerked violently, his eyes opened wide with the horror of what had just happened and then his whole body went limp. Donatella did not have the strength to move. She just lay there, covered by the body of the man she'd killed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.
Four Seasons Hotel, Milan, Thursday evening
Anna felt a little off kilter. She'd woken on her own at five past nine, a little surprised to find that Mitch hadn't returned. Not overly alarmed, she went into the bathroom and stepped into the shower. Mitch had said he had some business to take care of, but that he'd be back around eight to take her to dinner. Anna stood in the marble shower and let the warm water bring her back to life. She tried to figure out what time it was in Washington, and if she'd just taken a long nap or had a short night's sleep. She wasn't awake enough yet to figure it out, so she gave up after a couple of weak attempts. She was in Italy to enjoy life and hopefully to start a new one. Time didn't matter for the next six days. She would sleep when she wanted to sleep, she would eat when she wanted to eat and she would have sex often.
By the time she got out of the shower she'd gone back on her first promise. She toweled herself off and squinted at the clock sitting on the nightstand in the other room. It was 9:20 and despite what she'd just told herself, time mattered. Her job was a series of deadlines, and they were deadlines you couldn't miss. When Tom Brokaw tossed it to you in the middle of the nightly news you were live in front of millions of people. Deadlines were there to be kept. It had been pounded into her psyche from day one other first journalism course at the University of Michigan.
Professionally she was good at keeping deadlines, but personally she struggled. This was a source of great irritation between her and Mitch. For very real reasons, he was a worrier. He was rarely late, and when he was, he called. She was constantly late for everything but the news and it drove Mitch nuts. The talons of fear began clawing at her. She was getting a taste of what he felt. It would be one thing if Mitch was just another tourist, but he wasn't.
Standing in front of the mirror she began applying lotion to her skin. She worked her way from top to bottom, rubbing the lotion in more vigorously as she went. By the time she reached her feet she was mad. She was mad at Mitch for being late, and she was mad at herself for allowing herself to get upset. She kept telling herself to relax, but it didn't work. To help pass the time she got dressed. She had no idea where they were going to dinner so she put on a nice pair of dress pants, a white camisole and a sheer gray blouse. With that done the clock was quickly approaching 10:00.
With few other options she opened the mini bar and made herself a vodka tonic. Anna alternated between sitting and sipping her drink and walking out onto the balcony and sipping her drink. The Four Seasons had a beautiful courtyard. From the room's balcony she could look down at the people dining on the terrace of the hotel's restaurant. They sat under white umbrellas and dined by candlelight. A young couple, about her age, began dancing to the music of a string quartet. It was all very romantic and it depressed her. She went back inside and poured herself another drink, a stiff one.
She sat down in front of the TV and turned it on. She stared at the screen but it didn't really register. Her mind was off and running, trying to solve bigger problems, trying to decide if maybe she was making the wrong decision. Why would any woman want to live the rest of her life with so much stress?
The doubt sneaked up on her, and she began asking herself just what in the hell she was thinking when she'd allowed herself to fall in love with Mitch Rapp. There were a lot of obvious reasons. He was an incredibly gentle and sensitive man, especially considering what he did for a living. He was, without exaggeration, the sexiest man she'd ever known. His rugged good looks were backed up by a confidence and intellect that feared nothing. He was a lover like no one she had ever experienced. When they went to bed it felt as if their bodies were made to be with each other. And he had saved her life and countless others. She could place no value on that. He was a phenomenal person, but he had his faults, or more precisely, he had one major fault.
Rielly knew what it was like to grow up in a home where you worried if a loved one might not return after a days work, or if the next knock on the door might be your father's best friend coming to tell the family that Dad had given his life in the line of duty. Rielly's father had just retired from the Chicago Police Department after thirty years. As a little girl she vividly remembered lying awake at night hearing sirens and worrying that Daddy wouldn't come home, crying as she thought of never seeing him again. Her parents did their best to protect her and her brothers from the fears, but they were unavoidable. Chicago was a big city and with it came some pretty rough crime and with that came dead cops. They saw it on TV, they saw it in the papers, and the nuns made them pray for the deceased officers and their families at St. Ann's, her Catholic grade school. It was not a nice part of her childhood.
Anna loved her father dearly. He and her mother had done a wonderful job raising her and her brothers. Two of those brothers had followed in their father's footsteps and were now patrolmen with the Chicago PD and the other brother, the black sheep, was an attorney.
Anna had always told herself she'd never marry a cop. Despite the fact that her mother and father had made it, she'd seen enough other fathers friends to know the stress from their jobs more often than not made marriage a failed venture. And Mitch's job, if that's what she could call it, was ten times worse. Cops were meant to keep the peace and enforce the law. Occasionally they had to draw their weapon, but rarely did they have to shoot someone. If they did it was usually because someone was shooting at them. During these dark moments of doubt, Anna was forced to admit who Mitch Rapp really was. He was an assassin. When he went to work he went with the intent to kill. He didn't wait for anyone to shoot first, he went with his gun cocked and drawn.
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 mini bar, 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 mans 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 mans nose, instantly crushing it and sending a stream of blood running down the mans 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 mans 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 Donatellas 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 Rosenthals 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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.
"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 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 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 baby-sit 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."
