by Vince Flynn
Dumond waved him behind the desk. “The screen on the left is a mirror image of the banker’s. That is exactly what he’s looking at right now.”
“Do you know if he opened your e-mail?”
“Yes.”
“Has he replied to it?”
“No.”
“Did he check the name Deckas against the bank records?”
“No.”
“Okay. Connect me to his direct line.”
Dumond went to work on his keyboard and donned a headset. Using a sophisticated telecommunications program he bounced the call around so it would be untraceable. When it started to ring he picked up the handset and gave it to Rapp. After the third ring a man answered in Greek.
“Yeea sas.”
“Mr. Kapodistras, I need your assistance in a very important matter.”
There was a long pause and then the banker asked, “Who am I speaking with, and how did you get this number?”
“Neither is important at the moment. What is important is that I am in a position to help you avoid a potentially embarrassing situation.”
“Are you an American?”
“Yes. Did you get the e-mail I sent you about a press conference the FBI is going to hold today?”
“I did.”
“Did the name Alexander Deckas mean anything to you?”
“No.” There was hesitation in the voice. “Should it?”
“That depends how involved you are with your clients.”
Dumond pointed to the monitor that was mirroring Kapodistras’s screen. The banker was searching his database looking for a match. After a few seconds the client profile for Deckas popped up on the screen.
“It is the stated policy of our bank to not discuss our clients under any circumstances.”
“Mr. Kapodistras, I see that you were a vice president at the bank back in two thousand and one. Do you remember what it was like in your business when it was discovered that Osama bin Laden had been using Cyprus banks to hide his al-Qaeda funds?”
Rapp had seen the official report. Greek regulators and U.S. federal agents had descended on the Mediterranean island, and the banking business had been thrown on its ear. Decades of the Cyprus banking industry marketing itself as the Switzerland of the Mediterranean was destroyed overnight by the actions of a militant few. People banked on Cyprus because it gave them the same thing the Swiss did: absolute privacy with exceptional service. And they did it in many cases for half the fee. The reduced fees were nice, but the privacy was paramount. Clients fled in droves. Clients who had nothing to do with terrorism, but nonetheless did not want any government knowing how much money they had, or worse, how they had obtained it.
“It was a difficult time to be in my business, but in difficult times comes great opportunity.”
Kapodistras sounded like a man who might be willing to deal. “Well, I have an opportunity for you today.”
“What kind of opportunity?”
“An opportunity to spare your bank.”
“From?”
“Scrutiny that you do not need. An army of regulators from Athens, and an even bigger army of U.S. federal agents going through your bank file by file…line by line. Media parked out in front of your bank for a week driving your customers away. It won’t be pretty.”
There was an extremely long pause before Kapodistras replied. “Whom do you work for?”
“The American government.”
“And why are you paying me this courtesy?”
“I am an impatient man and I believe the two of us can get what we both want without turning this into a public spectacle.”
“You are interested in this Alexander Deckas?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask why?”
“Yes. Do you remember the attack on President–elect Alexander’s motorcade this past November?”
“The one that killed his wife?”
“Yes.”
“What about it?”
“Your client was the man who detonated the bomb.”
There was no uncomfortable laugh. No denial. Just silence for at least ten seconds and then, “What proof do you have?”
“More than you could imagine, including a confession, but for the sake of brevity I’m going to cut to the heart of the matter. In two and a half hours the FBI is going to announce that they have arrested Mr. Deckas. The evidence against him is overwhelming. A team of FBI agents is en route to your island right now. They should be landing in a few hours. I am offering you two choices. The easy way, or the hard way.”
“I’m listening.”
Rapp placed his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Dumond, “Tell Wicker and Hacket to go to his office.” Rapp removed his hand and spoke into the phone. “On Saturday night my people took Mr. Deckas into custody and transported him back to America. We went through his office and home in Limassol and are in possession of his banking records as well as a key for a safety deposit box in your bank.”
“And you would like to see what is in that box.”
“That’s correct.”
“And if I say no?”
Rapp sighed. “If you say no, I will turn everything over to the FBI. They will probably show up at your home tonight with the Greek authorities and drag you down to the bank and force you to open the box. The FBI being the thorough, distrustful gents that they are will want to go through all of your records to make sure none of your other clients are connected with Deckas. The Greek authorities will allow this because they will want to look like good allies…and after all, the man killed the future president’s wife. People will start to talk, and you will become known as the bank of choice for terrorists and assassins. Your legitimate customers will leave out of fear of association and your unsavory customers will do the same for the exact same reason. By the end of the week I would imagine your deposits will be cut in half and your fifteen percent stake in the bank will be worth considerably less. Who knows…you might even be forced out.”
“Whom do you work for? The CIA?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that, Mr. Kapodistras.”
“How can I trust you?”
Rapp detected the tension in the man’s voice. He was being faced with a very tough but ultimately easy decision. “As far as I can tell, sir, you have brought none of this on yourself. Your job is to protect your bank, your depositors, and your investors. The best way to do that is to give me what is in that box. If my instincts are correct, the sooner you distance yourself from the contents of that box the better off you and your bank will be.”
“What will prevent you from turning any evidence over to the FBI?”
“I’m not looking to put anyone in jail.”
After a long pause the banker said, “I need some time to think about this.”
“I’ll give you one minute.”
The banker laughed thinking Rapp was joking.
“I’m serious. Two of my men are probably talking to your secretary as we speak. They expect you to come out of your office and take them down to the safety deposit room. If you do not, they will call me and I will turn everything I have over to the FBI. I will also tell them that we have spoken and that you were extremely unhelpful. In addition to that there are some other very nasty things I could employ, but we don’t want to get into that over the phone. I’ll send someone to talk to you about it in person.”
“But there are procedures: signature cards, passwords, the key.”
“We have the key, and one of my men can forge the client’s signature. All you have to do is provide the password.”
“I will need to inventory the contents of the box.”
“Go right ahead. In fact…I’m sure there’s some cash in there. Keep half of it for your troubles. The rest of it, though, my men are taking with them. Do we have a deal?”
“Yes,” the banker said without any hesitation. “We have a deal.”
“Good. Now go straight out to your reception area and greet my men. Act lik
e you have met them before. The big one you may call Kevin and the shorter one Charlie. Take them straight downstairs and do whatever they ask of you. If all goes well, they will be out of your way in ten minutes or less. Any questions?”
“No.”
“Good. Thank you for being so cooperative.” Rapp placed the handset back in the cradle and said to Dumond, “Continue to monitor all of his calls and e-mails. If he doesn’t do exactly as we asked, crash his entire system and tell Wicker and Hacket to get out of there.”
Rapp walked over and grabbed his jacket.
“Where are you going?” Dumond asked.
“I need to run down a lead.”
“What do you want me to tell them at Langley if they start asking about you?”
“You never saw me.”
“You got it.”
“And find out who the Russian is.”
“I’m working on it.”
29
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Brooks heard the director’s voice on the intercom and her heart began to race. This was it. Her whole career would be decided in the next ten minutes. Sheila, with the overdone makeup and the infatuation with Mitch Rapp, told her she could go in. Brooks stood. Her blond hair was in a tight ponytail, and she was wearing a black pantsuit. She’d seen Kennedy on TV before wearing virtually the same outfit. Brooks had intentionally decided to wear it today. She was looking for any advantage she could get. She tugged on the front of her white blouse, adjusted the collar, and grabbed the door handle. Brooks took one last deep breath and opened the door.
The door swung in and the first thing Brooks saw were two stone-faced men sitting on a couch directly across the room. It was Juarez and McMahon. Director Kennedy stepped into view and extended her hand.
“Cindy.”
“Director Kennedy.” Brooks took her hand. “It’s a real honor to meet you. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”
Kennedy smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, we’ll get this mess straightened out. Please,” she gestured toward one of the armchairs opposite the couch, “take a seat.”
Brooks took the chair on the right and glanced nervously at her boss and the agent from the FBI. Neither man looked away. Between the two of them they had to have had sixty plus years of hard experience. McMahon was the Special Agent in Charge of the investigation into the motorcade attack. The FBI wouldn’t give that job to just any agent. They would bring in their best.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Kennedy asked as she took a seat in the chair next to Brooks.
“No, thank you.” Brooks crossed her legs and clasped her hands over her right knee.
“Gentlemen?”
Juarez and McMahon didn’t take their eyes off Brooks. They simply shook their heads.
“Well,” Kennedy said as she withdrew her hand from the coffeepot in front of her, “it appears we have a bit of a problem.” She turned sideways so she was facing Brooks. “I’ve known these two men here for some time. I’ve seen them both in various states of anger, but you, young lady, have somehow managed to really get them riled up.” Kennedy tilted her head and smiled.
Brooks, not knowing how else to react, laughed nervously.
“Why do you think that is?”
Brooks regained her composure. “For starters I would like to apologize. Mitch Rapp ordered me not to discuss this operation with anyone until he cleared me to do so.”
“Really.” Juarez ran his thumb and forefinger down his mustache and then leaned forward. “Would you like to show me the org chart where it says that Mitch Rapp is anywhere in your chain of command?”
“Sir, I…” Brooks struggled for a response.
“There is no such chart!” Juarez snapped. “The director and I outrank Mr. Rapp. We are your bosses. He isn’t, and if you don’t get that through your thick head, you are going to find yourself in a whole shitload of trouble.”
Kennedy looked at Juarez, her eyes telling him to back off. She looked back to Brooks. “Cindy, here is the situation. The FBI has in custody a man who is alleged to have been behind the attack on President–elect Alexander’s motorcade. You delivered that man to Andrews Air Force Base yesterday afternoon. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“Do you believe this man is in fact the person we have been looking for?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why?” asked Brooks.
“What evidence do you have?”
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, Director Kennedy, but I gave my word to Mitch that I would not talk about this with anyone until he cleared it.”
Kennedy tried not to take offense. She knew Rapp was the real issue here, not this young rookie. “I understand that Mitch asked you not to talk about what happened on Cyprus, but I’m asking you as the director of the Central Intelligence Agency,” Kennedy put her arms out and looked around the spacious office, “the person who is responsible for this organization, to tell me what happened.”
Brooks looked down and clasped her hands tightly together. She was really in a bind. She couldn’t help but think that even if Rapp did make good on his promise, she would forever be stained by this complete lack of respect. Rapp had told her on the flight home not to worry. Just hang in there for twenty-four to thirty-six hours tops and everything would be fine. She remembered him making her look him in the eye. Those beautiful, yet intimidating, almost black eyes, and he asked her if she trusted him. At the end of it all that was what it came down to. She trusted him.
Brooks looked up at Kennedy and in a very polite voice said, “Director Kennedy, may I ask you one question?”
“Sure,” Kennedy replied after a slight pause.
“Do you trust Mitch?”
At first Kennedy felt blindsided by the question. Almost tricked. But she could tell by the look on Brooks’s face that she was sincere. The debate strategy would have been to throw the question back at Brooks or ask her a different one, but Kennedy didn’t want to. This young operative had just put the discussion into a very interesting light. She smiled at Brooks and said, “Yes, I do. I trust him completely.”
Brooks nodded and brushed an errant strand of blond hair back behind her ear. “Personally, I don’t particularly care for him.”
“Really?”
“He’s not the easiest person to work with.”
“You think so?” Juarez asked sarcastically.
Kennedy ignored him. “Lone wolf.”
“Very much so.”
“I’m afraid a great deal of that is due to his training. When we recruited him, he was very much a team player. Very social. We had to teach him how to operate as an individual…a lone wolf.”
“That’s only part of it. He’s not well.”
“How so?”
“The mere mention of his wife sends him into a tirade. At one point I actually thought he was going to hit me.”
Kennedy searched the young operative’s eyes for a hint of dishonesty or a possible self-aggrandizing agenda, but she didn’t see a sign of either. She was simply giving a dispassionate summary. “He’s been through a lot.”
“Yes, I know, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that he hasn’t been referred for counseling.” Brooks watched Kennedy look away from her and then check her watch. She had hit a nerve. “It is not a criticism of management,” Brooks added quickly. “He’s not ready for help. You’d have to institutionalize him.”
“Commit him to a psychiatric institution?” Kennedy asked with a look of real shock on her face.
“Yes. For his own good.”
“Your graduate degree is in psychology?” Kennedy asked.
“Yes.”
Kennedy glanced over at Juarez who was shaking his head. Turning to Brooks she said, “That was tried once before. Years ago.”
“Before his wife?”
“Years before.”
“How did it go?” Brooks asked.
Kennedy looked to Juarez who said, “He killed
the man who had him committed.”
“Killed?” Brooks said with surprise.
“Killed,” Juarez repeated himself. “Snapped his neck with his bare hands.”
Brooks looked at Special Agent McMahon with a mix of shock and horror on her face.
“Don’t look at me.” McMahon put his hands up. “I turned my hearing aid off five minutes ago.”
“Relax,” Juarez said. “It turned out the treasonous bastard had it coming, but that’s a whole other story. One that you’re not cleared for.”
“The point is,” said Kennedy, “You don’t simply commit someone like Mitch. People would get hurt.”
“I think people might get hurt if he doesn’t get help.”
Kennedy considered that possibility for a moment.
“This is bullshit,” Juarez said. “We’re completely off the subject here. This meeting isn’t about Mitch. I’ll deal with him when he comes in. He’s pulled this shit before. Just never quite so brazenly. This is about you,” Juarez leaned forward and pointed at Brooks, “young lady. It’s about you doing your job and telling me and the director here, just what in the hell Mitch is up to. You either do that, or your career is over. It’s that simple.”
Brooks looked to Kennedy. The director looked at her without an expression.
“And by the way your career isn’t simply over. I own your ass right now. You have no rights. You signed them away your first day on the job. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’m going to march you down to the basement and have the boys from the Office of Security run you through the ringer. Hot lights and lots of difficult questions all while you’re hooked up to a lie detector.”
Brooks was seriously considering telling them everything when an intercom buzzer sounded from atop Kennedy’s desk.
“Director?”
Kennedy turned toward her desk and in a louder than normal voice asked, “Yes, Sheila.”
“I have Mitch for you on your direct line.”
Kennedy stood quickly. “Did you start a trace?”
“He told me if I tried to trace the call he’d never speak to me again.”
“For god sakes, Sheila! Does anyone work for me anymore? Put a trace on the call.” Kennedy grabbed her handset and pressed line one. “Mitch, we were just talking about you.”
