The Third Option (33 page)

«I think it was Hank Clark's idea.»

The president scoffed at the accusation, and Kaiser rumbled, «You don't honestly expect us to believe that, do you?»

«What is this all about? I don't know where you're getting your information, but I wouldn't be surprised to find out it came from a lying, senile, corrupt old man.» Rudin pointed his beaklike nose at Stansfield.

The president beat the speaker to the punch this time. Hayes slammed his clenched fists down on the table, creating a dull thud that caused Rudin to blink.» Albert, if you so much as utter one more offensive word toward Director Stansfield, I will crush you.»

Kaiser jumped in. «What in the hell were you doing meeting with Midleton and Clark?»

«Nothing. We were talking about intelligence issues.» Kaiser looked to Rohrig. «What's the name of that young hotshot who wants to challenge Albert for his seat?»

«Sam Ballucci. He's going to make a very good congressman someday.»

«Mr. President, would you be willing to raise some money to help Sam Ballucci win the party's nomination?»

«How does twenty million sound, and I'll throw in half a dozen appearances with the young man. Maybe I could even speak to the delegates at the state convention?»

«I think that would be a good idea,» answered Rohrig.

Rudin's crinkled face had taken on an angry red sheen. «I can't believe you are doing this to me. After all I have done for this party.»

«All you've done for this party?» challenged Kaiser. «In my opinion, you've been nothing other than a major pain in the ass. Would you mind telling me what in the hell you were doing when you called Dr. Kennedy before your committee this week?»

«I would say I was doing my job.»

«You now consider throwing wild, unfounded accusations at the director of the CIA's Counterterrorism Center your job? Accusations that do nothing more than harm our president, a fellow Democrat?»

«I take oversight of the intelligence community very seriously,» snapped Rudin.

«Albert, so help me God, if you don't lose that irritating tone of yours and start showing some remorse for your stupidity, I will leave this meeting, and before noon I will have you stripped of your chairmanship.»

Rudin pushed his chair away from the speaker and blinked. This was so unfair. All of this anger should be directed at Stansfield, not him. He was the one trying to protect Congress.

«For the last time, Albert, what did you talk about with Hank Clark?»

Rudin licked his dry lips and looked down at the shiny table. «We discussed the need to find a suitable candidate to run the CIA after Director Stansfield leaves.»

«Did Dr. Kennedy's name come up?»

Rudin reluctantly answered. «Yes.»

«How so?»

«We didn't feel that she was the right person for the job.»

Kaiser shook his head in disgust. «There are two things about this, Albert, that really chafe my ass. The first is that it is not your job to find a suitable appointee to head the CIA. That's the president's job. The second thing that really, and I mean really chafes my ass is that you and that windbag Charles Midleton decided to recruit a Republican to help conspire against the president's nominee. Do you know what that makes you, Albert?» Kaiser didn't give him a chance to answer. «It makes you a goddamned Judas, that's what it makes you.»

It was after nine when Rapp showed up. The streetlights were on, and there were plenty of open meters. He eased his black Volvo S80 into a spot on F Street. Before getting out of the car, he checked all of his mirrors. Then, when he stepped onto the asphalt, he casually scanned the street, first to the west and then the east. If the last week had taught him anything, it was that he needed to be paranoid, especially here in Washington. He had sensed that something wasn't right in Germany, and he'd been careless enough to ignore those instincts. It was a valuable lesson, one he hoped he'd never have to learn again.

Rapp started walking toward 17th Street and the looming Old Executive Office Building. He had to admit he lived a strange life. Here it was, a Friday night, he'd been sitting on the couch with Anna and their new dog Shirley, and he had gotten a call telling him that the president would like to see him. Rapp actually had the nerve to ask Kennedy if it could wait until the morning. Kennedy told him to get over to the White House and hung up. They were all tired and frustrated. Peter Cameron was turning into a dead end, and Rapp knew that it would only get worse with each passing day; He didn't know if he had it anymore – the energy to keep this frantic and dangerous lifestyle going. And there was the bigger question of Anna. She wouldn't tolerate it. She'd said so, and the recent week's events would only solidify her opinion.

It didn't bother Rapp in the least that he was wearing a pair of jeans and a black leather jacket. If the president couldn't wait until morning, this was what he'd get. As Rapp dragged his tired bones across 17th Street, he couldn't help but wonder what the president wanted from him at this hour. Rapp feared he knew the answer. It wasn't as if he were being called on to receive a commendation or medal. They didn't hand those out for what he did. Rapp was one of the dark weapons in the national security arsenal. People didn't even talk about what he did, let alone acknowledge it either privately or publicly. There was only one thing the president could want from Rapp, and he wasn't so sure he would accept it. He was an assassin, and he was sick of killing. It was time for them to find someone else. With more than 250 million people in the country, there was surely some other poor bastard whose life they could ruin.

Rapp walked up to the Secret Service checkpoint on the west side of the EOB. There were several men standing watch. «I'm here to see Jack Warch.»

One of the men from the Secret Service's Uniformed Division eyed him suspiciously, while the other one called the special agent in charge of the presidential detail. «There's a man here to see you.» The officer lowered the phone. «What's your name?»

«Mitch Kruse,» Rapp threw out one of his aliases. The officer spoke into the phone. «Mitch Kruse… yep… okay.» The officer hung up the phone and opened the gate. He pointed up a drive that led to a courtyard in the center of the building. «Head through there. Special Agent Warch will meet you in the courtyard.»

Rapp said nothing and walked up the narrow drive. When he reached the courtyard, he saw Warch approaching from the other side. Warch had a big grin on his face as he saw Rapp. Warch owed his life to the man.

«Good to see you, Mitch.» The agent stuck out his hand. «You look like shit.»

«Thank you. I feel like shit.» Rapp grabbed his hand and gave it a firm squeeze.

«How's Anna doing?»

«Good. Thank you for your help, by the way.»

«Don't worry. I figure we owe you a lot more than that.» Warch started walking and Rapp followed. «How have you been?»

«You want the long version or the short one?»

«I don't think I'm cleared for the long one. Hell, I'm probably not even cleared for the short one.»

Rapp laughed as they entered the EOB. «Come on, Jack, you guys are the eunuchs of the twenty-first century.» Warch placed a hand over his groin. «Tell me about it. Sometimes I feel like one.»

The two continued to talk as they left the EOB and crossed over to the White House. They entered through the ground floor and continued straight down the hall and to the right. This was Rapp's first trip back to the White House since the terrorist attack had partially destroyed the building the previous spring. He was amazed at how quickly they had got the West Wing back up and running. It looked exactly as it had before the bombs had ripped her apart.

Warch knew what Rapp was thinking and said, «It's pretty amazing isn't it?»

Rapp looked down the hallway toward the White House mess. «Yeah, it really is.»

«The building wasn't as bad as you might have thought. The fire department was here so fast they got the flames put out before they did too much damage;' «Yeah, but still. This is amazing.»

The two men stopped in front of the door that led to the Situation Room. Warch asked, «Mitch, are you carrying?»

«What do you think?»

«I know you are, but I'm trying to be polite.»

Rapp was tempted to make a smart-ass comment, but he knew this was a subject that the Secret Service found little humor in. «Would you like to hold on to my gun for me?»

«Very much so.»

Rapp took his Beretta out of his shoulder holster and checked to make sure the manual safety catch was in the up position. Warch took the weapon and then punched a code into the cipher lock. The door clicked, and the Secret Service agent opened it. Immediately to the left was the door to the conference room. Warch knocked twice and then opened the door. Staying in the hallway, he ushered Rapp into the room and closed the door.

Rapp stood awkwardly for a moment, slightly surprised to see Kennedy and Director Stansfield. For some reason, Kennedy had given him the impression that he would be meeting alone with the president. President Hayes spun around in his large leather chair.

«Thank you for coming, Mitch. Could you please take a seat?»

Rapp said nothing as he took the first available chair, which was next to Stansfield. He sat and looked briefly at Kennedy, who was on the other side of the table.

«How is Anna?» asked the president. Rapp didn't answer at first. He looked at Hayes and wondered where to start. Anna was doing well in the sense that she was alive and apparently out of harm's way, but other than that, he wasn't sure she was doing all that well. Rapp decided it was best not to open up that can of worms in front of the president. «She's fine, sir. A little concerned, but essentially she's all right.»

«She's a tough woman. I'm sorry she got caught up in this mess.»

«It's not your fault, sir.»

Hayes wasn't so sure. The president leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. «Mitch, it's been a very bad week.»

«Yes, it has.»

«Irene tells me you want out.»

Rapp was completely caught off-guard. «I'm ready to move on with my life, sir.»

The president looked at Rapp with an unwavering stare. «What if I told you your country couldn't afford to lose you?»

«I'd tell you I'd already given enough to my country.»

The president grinned. There was no intimidating Mitch Rapp. «Yes, you have. No one would argue that… especially me. But I'd like you to consider staying on for a while longer.»

Rapp felt he was getting sucked into a bad dream. «I'm sorry, sir, but I've already made up my mind. I want a normal life. I've found the right woman, and I'm not going to lose her over a career that I don't even want anymore.»

«Are you sure about that?»

«About what?» Rapp wasn't sure whether the president was referring to the woman he'd found or the career he no longer wanted.

The president folded his hands. «Mitch, a man of your talents can't just turn it off and walk away.»

«Maybe… maybe not, but I'm going to try.»

«Well.» The president had a big smile on his lips. «I think we may have found a nice middle ground.» Hayes turned to the director of the CIA. «Thomas.»

«Mitchell.» Stansfield's voice was tired and slightly slurred. «I'd like to start by saying that I've been in this business for more than fifty years, and I don't know if I've seen anyone as talented and courageous as yourself.»

Rapp looked at Stansfield and replied with a silent nod. The words from the dying legend were worth more than any medal his government could ever give him.

«I have known for some time that I'm dying, and I wanted to put certain things in order before that came to pass. One of those things, Mitchell, was that I wanted to give you your life back.» Stansfield slid a large folder over to Rapp. «This is your official personnel file.»

Rapp didn't like what he'd just heard. «I thought it was agreed at the beginning that there would never be any record of me.»

«Yes, that was the plan, but things have changed. Some of your exploits over the last several years have been very hard to keep quiet.» Stansfield looked at Rapp with his steely gray eyes. «This file is my gift to you and to Irene. I created it with the help of Max Salmen. As your file now reads, you have been an NOC with the Agency for the last ten years. Much of what you did is, of course, not contained in that file or is greatly edited. You are now legitimate, Mitchell.»

Rapp was miffed. NOC was an acronym for the Agency's operatives who worked overseas and were not protected by the diplomatic cover of an American embassy or consulate. Rapp stared at the folder in his hands. «Why now? Why after all these years?»

«Because we want you to come inside.»

«At Langley?» asked a disbelieving Rapp.

«Yes. We want you to head up the Middle East desk in the Counterterrorism Center.»

Rapp looked across the table at Kennedy. He was stunned. It had never occurred to him that they would go to these lengths. It was highly unusual, to say the least, that they would risk bringing someone with his past inside Langley. Kennedy returned his look of disbelief with a rare smile. «Are you sure about this?» he asked.

«Yes,» Kennedy answered. «You're too valuable and too young to retire.»

Rapp looked back down at the heavy file and shook his head. He really didn't know where to start. The thought of staying connected to the battle was very intriguing, but going inside Langley to suffer the nine-to-five grind was something that he was not so sure he would like. The place was famous for its bureaucratic BS.

«Mitchell,» started Stansfield, «there's something I think you need to know. I'm afraid you weren't the ultimate target in Germany.»

In light of the fact that Rapp had two baseball-size bruises on his chest he found the statement to be slightly irritating. «No offense, Thomas, but I'm the only person in this room who's been shot this week.»

«I didn't say someone didn't want you dead. I said you weren't the ultimate target. Your body was meant to be found next to Count Hagenmiller's. It was meant to embarrass the president, and I think, ultimately, it was meant to ruin Irene's career.»

The president's demeanor changed instantly. This was the first he'd heard of this. «What are you trying to say, Thomas?»

«This was not started by the Iraqis or anyone else. This was initiated by someone here in Washington. Someone who doesn't want to see Irene become the next director of the CIA and someone who quite possibly would like to see your administration toppled, Mr. President.»

«Do you have some information that you have yet to share with me?»

«No, I don't, Mr. President. Everything I know I have already told you. I have come to some conclusions over the last twenty-four hours that I think point to some big problems.»

«Please explain.»

«This was not a personal vendetta carried out against Mitchell by the Jansens or someone who hired them to kill him. If that was the case, they would have simply shot him while they were alone in the cabin and been done with him. Instead, they waited until Mitchell took care of the count, and then they made their move. The only conclusion that can be reached is that they wanted Mitchell's body found next to the count holding in his hand the gun that fired the bullet that killed the count.»

«But we still had deniability,» replied the president. «There is nothing that can officially link Mitch to the CIA or my administration. If Mitch's identity was discovered, Irene was prepared to spread the false rumors that Mitch was a gun for hire. That he'd been hired by the Iraqis to assassinate the count because Hagenmiller was screwing them over on their deal.»

«That's all fine unless someone else is leaking Mitchell's real story. Let me ask you this, Mr. President. How many people do you think knew about the operation to take out the count?»

«I would hope very few.»

«The four people in this room are the only people who were supposed to know the entire scope of the operation. There were roughly a dozen others who were involved in support roles but had no idea of the complete operation. Someone outside this room also knew what we had planned in Germany.» Stansfield paused and took a moment to look at each of the other three. «I know all of you well enough to doubt that you would have been so careless as to talk to someone outside of this group. That means someone else knows about the Orion Team, and I don't mean the deceased Peter Cameron. He was used to get to the Jansens in Germany, but I doubt he was the one who found out what we were up to.»

«Then who could it be?» asked the president. «You said yourself that the four of us were the only ones who knew exactly what was going to happen.»

«Yes, we were the only ones who knew exactly what was going to happen, but there were others who knew the count was a repeat offender. Furthermore, there are people in this town who know about the Orion Team. They don't know what it is called, but they were in on the decision to found it. Senator Clark was smart enough to put two and two together and come to us with his suspicions. There are others who know me well enough to know that I would trust only two individuals to run such a team, Irene or Max Salmen. They also know that you, Mr. President, have decided to take the battle to the terrorists on every front, and beyond that, you throw Mitchell's notoriety over the last year into the picture, and I'm afraid we were caught going to the well one too many times. It should not be shocking to any of us that someone with a limited amount of information was able to figure out what we were up to in Germany.»