Vince Flynn - The Last Man

“That’s more than I knew.” Lewis shot Kennedy a raised eyebrow.

“I do remember hearing something about you not being able to hold your liquor.”

Rapp came back to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. “I think my problem was that I was dumb enough to think I could go for drink for drink with Stan.” Rapp’s entire body convulsed at the thought. “Not a fun memory.”

“Speaking of memories,” Kennedy said as Lewis handed her a glass of wine. “Thank you. Speaking of memories, how do you feel about Switzerland?”

Rapp took a sip of vodka and said, “Switzerland… nice country. Could you be more specific?”

“Banking… bankers, actually. Do you remember doing any business with Swiss bankers over the years.”

“Of course. Herr Ohlmeyer and then his sons. This isn’t about his granddaughter, Greta, is it?” Rapp had had a relationship with the woman years ago.

“No… not that I know of. Is there something you’d like to tell me about Greta?”

“Not very professional,” Rapp said with a disappointing shake of the head.

“How’s that?”

“Just because I had this little knock in the head, that doesn’t mean you guys get to go on a fishing expedition through my memories.”

“It was worth a try,” Lewis said with a shrug. “I’ve never found him to be this cooperative.”

“I agree,” Kennedy said, as if Rapp wasn’t present. “Is there a chance he’ll stay like this?”

Lewis made a great show of pondering the possibility and then shook his head. “I think he’ll be the same old combative, ill-tempered man he always was.”

“His authority issues?”

“Can’t say for sure, but it stands to reason that those will reemerge as he regresses to his old ways.”

“You two are hilarious. Why don’t we ever spend any time talking about your issues?”

Kennedy and Lewis looked at each other and at the same time said, “Because we don’t have any.”

As they laughed at their own joke, Rapp looked on with a deep frown. “Bankers… we were talking about bankers.”

“Sorry,” Kennedy said as she took a sip of wine. “Bankers.” She set down the wineglass, grabbed a blue folder, spun it toward Rapp, and opened it to reveal a photograph of a man who looked to be in his midfifties. “Does this man look familiar to you?”

Rapp shook his head. “I’ve never seen him.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Could it be a blind spot? Maybe it’ll come to you later?”

“That’s not how it’s worked so far. When you show me photos or tell me something it triggers something that helps me remember. This guy,” Rapp waved his hand over the photo, “there’s nothing. No sense that I’ve ever met him or know anything about him.”

“Interesting.” Kennedy pulled the file back and flipped through a few pages. “What about these photos?” Kennedy laid out a photo of an office building and another one of a house.

“Nothing.”

“He works at a second-tier bank… Sparkasse Schaffhausen, located in District Five, Gewerbeschule Quarter.”

“I know where that is.” Why do I know that place? Rapp asked himself. His mind was filled with visions of a dark street and a gunfight. “I think I killed someone not far from there.”

Kennedy gave him a blank stare for a long moment and then said, “That’s correct. Two people, actually. You killed them not far from there and then fled to the Gewerbeschule Quarter.”

“I remember.” Rapp grabbed the file from Kennedy and held up the photo of the banker. “Tell me about him.”

“A Herr Obrecht. We don’t know much about him. I’ve made a few discreet calls, but our people don’t seem to run in the same circles as he does.”

“Is this the banker who claims I’m stealing money?”

“Yes.”

“And Rick as well.”

“That’s right. Director Miller showed me the affidavit. The banker claims to have met you twice and Rick on five separate occasions. Each time the man says the two of you converted cash into bearer bonds and placed them in a safety deposit box.”

“And how did this Agent Wilson come across Herr Obrecht?”

“An anonymous tip.”

“Come on.”

Kennedy nodded. “I know… it’s ridiculous.”

“This is bullshit.” After looking into his drink for a long moment, Rapp said, “Hypothetically, if I was going to steal money from Langley, wouldn’t I be a little better at covering my tracks? I mean, we have five accounts in Switzerland that we use to fund various operations. Right?” Rapp asked, not trusting his memory.

“That’s correct.”

“So why use some second-tier banker who I don’t know and can’t trust?”

“I’m afraid that’s a question we’re going to have to ask Herr Obrecht.”

The excitement on Rapp’s face was obvious. “Please tell me we have him.”

“We have him under surveillance.”

“And?”

“Nothing so far, other than some contacts with a few unsavory types. In the world of Swiss banking, however, that’s hardly an indictment.”

“How about I go have a chat with him?” Rapp raised and eyebrow in anticipation.

This was the old Rapp. Extremely results oriented and rarely willing to sit back and let things unfold. Kennedy was torn between letting him do what he was so good at and the potential fallout if things didn’t go well. The FBI was firmly behind her at the moment, but with Senator Ferris lurking about, who knew what next week would bring? “If I send you, what are you going to ask him?”

Rapp looked at her as if it were a trick question. “How about why did you lie to the FBI and say that I did business with you, you piece of shit?”

Kennedy frowned. “Not very subtle.”

Rapp looked at Lewis. “Was I known for being subtle before I hit my head?”

Lewis sighed and said, “I’m afraid subtlety has never been your thing.”

Islamabad, Pakistan

In the upper left corner of the fifty-inch flat-screen TV a single car passed through the main gate of Bahria Town. General Durrani took in a drag from his cigarette, ignored the anchor on Al Jazeera, and focused on the smaller picture. The next part of his plan was so ingenious that he had kept it from Rickman so he could see the man’s shock and then admiration as the audacity of it sank in. He couldn’t wait to see the surprise on his accomplice’s face when everything was revealed.

Dr. Bhutani had arrived the previous evening, and after spending an hour with the patient Bhutani informed Durrani that his decision to call him had been the right one. Rickman had a 103-degree temperature, a ruptured testicle, severely bruised kidneys, four broken ribs, and a shattered left orbital socket, and those were just the most immediate concerns. There were too many scrapes and bruises to count, and Bhutani had no idea if any other organs had been damaged. The doctor was no fool. He knew the importance of Durrani’s job and he knew his comrade placed an extremely high premium on secrecy.

So after finishing his examination, Bhutani said to Durrani, “That man needs to be in a hospital. I don’t suppose you will allow that?”

“No,” Durrani offered brusquely. “And he doesn’t want to go to a hospital either.”

“State secrets?”

“Yes.”

“You may trust me, as always.” Bhutani then took a long moment to consider the care of this intriguing patient, whom he had already identified as an American. “Antibiotics will go a long way to making sure we nurse him back to health, but there are some things we must keep an eye on. If we cannot get the fever down with antibiotics then I’m afraid we really will have to move him to a hospital, if you want him to survive. Would you like me to quietly explore some options?”