Vince Flynn - The Third Option

«You must think I'm really stupid. I know who killed Mario, and I know who gave the order.»

Cameron's hands were sweaty. «Gus, I think you should take a few days to calm down, and then we can talk. I want to know who killed Mario as much as you do. I have to go now.» He ended the call just before he pulled into the parking ramp at George Washington University. Cameron hadn't expected the call to be cordial, but he definitely didn't think Villaume would be so aggressive. Cameron concluded that he may have underestimated him. He would have to put a call in to Duser and take his leash off. Villaume could not be allowed to go digging around. Cameron could not afford to have the attention of his former employer brought to bear on his recent dealings.

The Ritz-Carlton on Massachusetts Avenue NW was one of the nicest hotels in Washington. Foreign dignitaries from almost every country had stayed there, as had many of America 's greatest industrialists. Mitch Rapp and Scott Coleman were parked across the street in a loading zone. Rapp was in the passenger seat of Coleman's Ford Explorer, eyeing the front entrance to the hotel. He was looking for Michael Gould, the hotel's concierge. They had found his name in Gus Villaume's file. Gould was the contact Villaume used to talk to his employers. Rapp had done his homework on Gould. He was French and had dual citizenship. He was fluent in four languages, which helped greatly with his job. The CIA's file on the man said that he had no official affiliation with any intelligence services, but Rapp was skeptical. He had dealt with these types often. They were sellers of information. They respected money; and they feared brute force. If enough money was waved in front of their faces, there was little they wouldn't tell. Rapp hadn't yet decided if he would use money or his fists to get the information he needed.

He had spoken to Gould more than an hour ago. His message to the Frenchman was simple: «I need to speak to Monsieur Villaume, and I need to speak to him immediately.» Rapp had given Gould the number to his mobile phone, and he and Coleman had driven to the hotel on the off chance that Villaume might show his face. That was, if he was still alive. With Mario Lukas dead, it wasn't hard to imagine the same fate befalling Villaume. Rapp desperately wanted Villaume breathing. He was the only link to the person who had ordered the hit in Colorado and, Rapp assumed, the same person who had ordered the hit on him in Germany. If Villaume was dead, Rapp was skeptical that he would ever find out who was behind it all.

Neither Rapp nor Coleman was big on conversation, so the stakeout had proceeded in near silence. The rain had subsided just after lunch, but the sky was still gray. Rapp had decided they would wait, keep an eye on the hotel for another hour, and after that they would go take a look at Gould's apartment. At a bare minimum, the man had to have a way to contact ViIlaume and a way to receive payments. The longer Rapp waited to hear back from Gould, the more he was leaning toward getting the information out of the little Frenchman through less than pleasant means.

It was almost two in the afternoon when Rapp's phone I finally rang. Rapp pressed the talk button.

«Hello.»

«Is this the Man of Iron?»

«It is. Is this the Frog?»

«I'm afraid it is.»

Rapp wasn't sure how to play it. He had worked with Villaume and Lukas on three separate occasions, all of them in France, and he had been impressed by both men. They were proficient and dependable. They had helped Rapp hunt Rafique Aziz, a Palestinian terrorist who was one of the men responsible for the downing of Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland. Villaume and Lukas had been there on a night when Rapp had come within inches of losing his life. In fact, if Lukas hadn't arrived when he had, Rapp probably would be dead.

«I'm sorry to hear about Mario. He was a good man.»

«I appreciate that.» There was a pause. «Mario liked you. He believed you were honest.»

«He was, too. Very dependable.»

Slightly overcome with emotion at the loss of his old friend, Villaume said nothing for a while. «I hope you will forgive me, but in light of Mario's incident the other day, I'm a little skittish.»

«I don't blame you, but we need to talk.»

«In person?»

«That would help.»

«I'm afraid that's out of the question.»

Villaume's position did not surprise Rapp. He would do the same. «That's too bad, but I understand.»

The NSA captured literally every cellular and digital call made in the metro area. The cellular calls were analyzed almost instantly. The digital calls took more time because they had to be deciphered. The massive computers out at Fort Meade sifted through them searching for key words such as gun, bomb, assassinate, and thousands more. If the computers came across a word that was flagged, they would kick the call up to the next level of programmed analysis. If a call contained enough flagged words, it eventually garnered the attention of a real person. Conversations that took place in Arabic, Chinese, or Russian received extra attention. The easiest way to defeat the system was to talk like a normal businessperson.

Rapp formulated his next sentence carefully. «I think we might have a common problem.»

«What would that be?»

«I was across the pond on business last week, with your friends from Colorado. Do you know the ones I'm talking about?»

«I think so.»

«They screwed me on a deal.»

«How do you mean?»

«They were supposed to be working with me, and they, ended up working for someone else.»

«I'm not sure I follow.»

Rapp's voice took on an angry tone. «They double-crossed me and tried to send me into permanent retirement.»

«Oh… I see. Were they following company orders?»

«I can assure you they were not. I went to the top to find out, and they were in the dark as much as me.»

«I'm not sure where I fit into all of this.»

«Someone hired you to make that trip to Colorado. I have a pretty strong idea that same person interfered with my business deal across the pond.» Rapp waited for a second and added, «I would also bet that same person had something to do with Mario's accident the other day.»

There was a long pause, and then Villaume asked, «How did you know I had business in Colorado?»

Rapp looked at Coleman. «There were some people there watching you.»

«Were they with the company?»

«No… but they were sent by the company.»

«I'm not sure I believe you.»

Rapp switched the phone from his left ear to his right. «Listen, I know you're in a tough spot. I was there just a few days ago myself. If you can't meet, I understand. But I need to know who hired you.» Rapp sat there and waited for a response. He knew how Villaume felt. He could trust no one. After five seconds of tense silence, Rapp added, «Mario saved my life. I owe him. Give me the goods on whoever hired you, and I’ll make sure the guy pays for what he did to Mario.»

Villaume was tempted. Iron Man would be a powerful ally. The Professor would shit his pants if someone like Iron Man was onto him. It would be the easiest form of revenge he could dream up. Maybe too easy. The timing was a little too convenient. Villaume needed to think about it.

«We've been on the line too long. Let me think about this and get back to you.»

«Hey… I understand your reluctance. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't want to meet, either. All I need is for you to point me in the right direction.»

«I'll think about it.»

Rapp started to speak, but the line went dead. Looking over at Coleman, he said. «Fuck! I sure hope he stays alive long enough to tell us what he knows.»