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Vince Flynn: American Assassin

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Vince Flynn American Assassin

American Assassin: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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#1 New York Times bestselling author Vince Flynn returns with yet another explosive thriller, introducing the young Mitch Rapp, as he takes on his first assignment. Before he was considered a CIA superagent, before he was thought of as a terrorist's worst nightmare, and before he was both loathed and admired by the politicians on Capitol Hill, Mitch Rapp was a gifted college athlete without a care in the world… and then tragedy struck. Two decades of cutthroat, partisan politics has left the CIA and the country in an increasingly vulnerable position. Cold War veteran and CIA Operations Director Thomas Stansfield knows he must prepare his people for the next war. The rise of Islamic terrorism is coming, and it needs to be met abroad before it reaches America 's shores. Stansfield directs his protégé, Irene Kennedy, and his old Cold War colleague, Stan Hurley, to form a new group of clandestine operatives who will work outside the normal chain of command-men who do not exist. What type of man is willing to kill for his country without putting on a uniform? Kennedy finds him in the wake of the Pan Am Lockerbie terrorist attack. Two-hundred and seventy souls perished that cold December night, and thousands of family and friends were left searching for comfort. Mitch Rapp was one of them, but he was not interested in comfort. He wanted retribution. Six months of intense training has prepared him to bring the war to the enemy's doorstep, and he does so with brutal efficiency. Rapp starts in Istanbul, where he assassinates the Turkish arms dealer who sold the explosives used in the Pan Am attack. Rapp then moves onto Hamburg with his team and across Europe, leaving a trail of bodies. All roads lead to Beirut, though, and what Rapp doesn't know is that the enemy is aware of his existence and has prepared a trap. The hunter is about to become the hunted, and Rapp will need every ounce of skill and cunning if he is to survive the war-ravaged city and its various terrorist factions. As action-packed, fast-paced, and brutally realistic as it gets, Flynn's latest page-turner shows readers how it all began. Behind the steely gaze of the nation's ultimate hero is a young man primed to become an American Assassin.

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“How old is he?” Rapp asked.

“Not sure,” Kennedy said as she put the car in park. “He’s older than he looks, though, but I wouldn’t bring it up. He doesn’t like talking about his age.” She unbuckled her seatbelt. “Wait here for a moment.”

Kennedy exited the vehicle and walked casually across the gravel driveway. She was wearing black dress slacks and a white blouse. Due to the heat and the fact that they were more than a hundred miles from headquarters, she’d left her suit jacket in the backseat. A 9-mm Beretta pistol was on her right hip, more to avoid a tongue-lashing from the man she was about to face than from any real fear that she’d have to use it. She looked up at the man on the porch and brushed a loose strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. Stopping at the base of the porch steps she said, “Uncle Stan, you don’t look too excited to see me.”

Stan Hurley glanced down at Kennedy and felt a twinge of guilt. This little beauty could jerk his emotions around in ways very few could. He’d known Irene longer than she’d known herself. He’d watched her grow up, bought her Christmas presents from strange exotic places, and spent more holidays with the Kennedys than without them. And then a little less than a decade ago, all the joy had drained from their lives when a delivery van packed with over two thousand pounds of explosives pulled up to the U.S. Embassy in Beirut. Sixty-three people perished, including Kennedy’s father. Hurley had been away screwing one of his sources and had narrowly dodged the bullet. The CIA had lost eight valuable people that April day and they had been playing catch-up ever since.

Hurley was well aware that he had almost no control over his temper, so it was his habit to keep things brief when he was upset and talking with someone he liked. He said simply, “Afternoon, Irene.”

Kennedy had been expecting and dreading this moment for some months. Normally Hurley would have greeted her with a warm hug and asked her how her mother was, but not this afternoon. She’d done an end around on him, and Stan Hurley did not like people going over his head for approval on something this serious. The chill in his mood was obvious, but still she pressed on, asking, “How are you feeling?”

Hurley ignored her question and pointedly asked, “Who’s in the car?”

“New recruit. Thomas told me he filled you in.” Kennedy was referring to their boss.

Hurley’s eyes were shielded by the polarized lenses of his aviators. His head slowly swiveled away from the car toward Kennedy. “Yes, he told me what you were up to,” he said with obvious disapproval.

Kennedy defensively folded her arms across her chest and said, “You don’t endorse my decision.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t run a damn Boy Scout camp.”

“Never said you did, Stan,” Kennedy said in a biting tone.

“Then why the hell are you wasting my time sending me some titty-boy college puke who doesn’t know the difference between a gun and a rifle?”

The normally stoic Kennedy allowed a bit of irritation to show. She was well aware of the special hold she had over Hurley, and a look of disapproval on her part was far more potent than a direct attack.

Hurley looked down at her and could see she was unhappy with him. He didn’t like that one bit. It was the same with his own daughters. If one of his boys had so much as looked at him sideways he would have knocked him on his ass, but the girls had the ability to get past all his defenses. Get inside him and create doubt. Still, on this issue, he knew he was right, so he held his ground. “Don’t make this personal, Irene. I’ve been at this a long time, and I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you going over my head and then coming down here and dumpin’ some untested rookie in my lap.”

Kennedy stood sphinxlike, refusing to yield her position.

Hurley took a drag from his cigarette and said, “I think you should save us all the headache and get back in your car and take him back to wherever you found him.”

Kennedy was surprised by the genuine resentment she felt. She’d been working on this for more than a year. Her analysis and her instincts told her Rapp was just the man they were looking for, yet here she was being dismissed like some complete neophyte who had no understanding of what they were trying to accomplish. Kennedy slowly climbed the porch steps and squared off with Hurley.

The veteran backed up a bit, obviously uncomfortable with someone whom he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on entering his personal space. “I got a lot of work to take care of this afternoon, Irene, so the sooner you get back in the car, the better off we’ll all be.”

Kennedy squared her shoulders and in a tight voice asked, “Uncle Stan, have I ever disrespected you?”

“That’s not what this is-”

“It’s exactly what it’s about. What have I done to you that has caused you to hold me in such low regard?” She inched closer.

Hurley’s feet began to shuffle. His face twisted into a scowl. “You know I think the world of you.”

“Then why do you treat me as if I’m still a teenager?”

“I don’t think you’re incompetent.”

“You just think I should stick to analysis and leave the recruiting and training to you.”

He cleared his throat and said, “I think that’s a fair statement.”

Kennedy put her hands on her hips and stuck out her chin. “Do me a favor and take off your sunglasses.”

The request caught Hurley off guard. “Why?”

“Because I know your Achilles’ heel, and I want to see your womanizing eyes when I tell you what someone should have told you a long time ago.”

Hurley cracked a smile in an attempt to brush her off, but she told him again to take his glasses off. Hurley reluctantly did so.

“I respect you,” Kennedy said, “in fact I might trust you more with my life than anyone in this world. You are unquestionably the best man to whip these operatives into shape… but there’s one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re myopic.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I’m not sure you really understand the type of person we’re looking for.”

Hurley scoffed as if the idea was preposterous.

“That’s right, and you’re too stubborn to see it.”

“I suppose you think the Special Operations Group just showed up one day. Who do you think trained all those guys? Who do you think selected them? Who do you think turned them into the efficient, badass killing machines that they are?”

“You did, and you know that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about our third objective.”

Hurley frowned. She knew right where to hit him. He quietly wondered if Stansfield had put her up to this and said, “You think this shit’s easy? You want to take over running this little operation?”

Kennedy shook her head and smiled in amazement. “You know, for a tough guy, you’re awfully thin-skinned. You sound like one of those damn desk jockeys back at Langley who run their section as if they were some Third World dictator.”

She might as well have hit him in the gut with a two-by-four. Hurley stood there speechless.

“You’ve created a cult of personality,” Kennedy continued. “Every single recruit is you twenty to thirty years ago.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, if you’re talking about our first two objectives.” Kennedy held up one finger. “Training operatives with the skills to get down and dirty if they have to and,” she held up a second finger, “creating a highly mobile tactical assault team, but when it comes to the third,” she shook her head, “we’re still at the starting gate.”

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