Vince Flynn - The Third Option

There was some background noise, and then came an unmistakable voice. Upon hearing Rapp speak, Cameron became so unsettled he almost threw the phone across the room.

In a hushed and panicked voice, Cameron asked, «Jeff, are you there? For Christ's sake, answer me.» Cameron listened for a while. He heard some other voices now, voices he didn't recognize, and then some breathing. «Jeff, is that you? Answer me, dammit.» A moment after that, the line went dead.

Cameron stood and began frantically pacing his apartment. He scrambled to piece together what had just happened. How had it happened? How in the hell had Rapp figured out what was going on? Was it just luck? Did he just happen to go by his house to fetch something, or was he on to him? He couldn't begin to think of what he would tell Clark. Was there any way Rapp could learn his real identity from Duser? Cameron felt confident there wasn't, but then again, he had felt he had the upper hand against Rapp every step of the way, and the man kept proving him wrong. Cameron remembered the feeling of true fear he had had in the woods in Germany when he had attempted to follow Rapp. Cameron suddenly felt very unsafe in his apartment.

It might be time to lie low for a while, he thought. Cameron had a prearranged plan for this. He went into his bedroom and grabbed a suitcase from his closet. He tossed it onto the bed and started to fill it with essentials. His heart almost leaped from his chest when he heard his phone ring. Cameron raced from the bedroom and grabbed his mobile phone from the coffee table. He checked the readout before answering. It was Duser.

Cameron pushed the send button and said, «What in the hell happened?»

There was no reply for several seconds, and then, «I'm going to give you one more chance to live. Tell me who you work for right now, or I will hunt your fat, bearded ass down, and I will make sure you suffer a very slow and painful death. And don't think for a minute that you can run from me. Wherever you go, I will find you.»

Cameron's free hand touched his beard while he looked in the mirror above his fireplace. Rapp knew what he looked like. Not knowing what to say, Cameron did the only thing he could think of. He ended the call and stood staring at himself in the mirror. With a chill creeping over every inch of his skin, he went into the bathroom and began to shave.

The sun was up but not out. Thick gray clouds once again blanketed the skies above Washington like a dirty circus tent. Rapp was tired but nowhere near exhaustion. Knowing that Anna was safe had given him back the sense that he could maneuver without fear, that his rear and flanks were secure. He had just left her with some people he could trust – the United States Secret Service. They owed Rapp in the biggest possible way and were more than willing to help. She was safely tucked away at Blair House with the president, the first lady, and several dozen Secret Service agents. She would go to work today like any other day, and then Rapp would have to decide that to do. His worst fears had been borne out the night before when they had taken her, and no matter how many favors he had to call in, he wasn't going to let it happen again.

Rapp had considered arranging protection through Kennedy and the Agency, but until they knew who in the hell they were dealing with, he decided the best thing was to keep her near the president while he sorted things out. For having been awakened in the middle of the night, Rielly took the news fairly well that the men who had picked her up just blocks from the White House were, in fact, not FBI Agents. When she asked who they were, Rapp didn't quite know how to answer the question. When she found out that some of them had been killed, downstairs while she slept, in the kitchen of a home that she was beginning to think of as her own, she was less than enthused. When she asked who killed them and Mitch refused to answer, she got very upset. Rapp eventually told her. That was usually the case with Anna. She possessed a challenging combination of temper and determination.

Rielly had seen him kill before. He had done so to save her life and the lives of others. It helped that, in the most basic terms, her boyfriend was a good guy, and the people he killed were not, and it also helped that she had grown up in a house filled with cops. But, like ice on a broken wrist, though knowing these things made the pain better, it didn't solve the problem. What Rapp did for a living bothered her. It bothered her in a very real way, and Rapp knew if he didn't put his killing behind him, he would lose her. She was too special to let that happen. This would be the end of his days with the CIA. It was time to get out.

As he pulled off the Georgetown Pike, he checked the clock on the dash of his car. It was approaching seven in the morning. A short while later, he pulled up to the gate at the end of Director Stansfield's driveway. The ninja-clad machine-gun-toting security officers let him through without checking his ill. Rapp had called ahead and told Kennedy he was coming. Rapp parked and walked up to the house. Normally, Rapp didn't obsess about his appearance, but there were a few people he felt deserved the respect of a clean-shaven face and some decent clothes, preferably a suit. Director Stansfield was one of those people, and Rapp felt slightly embarrassed that he had a day's worth of thick black stubble on his face and was wearing jeans and a baseball cap.

He knocked on die front door, and a second later it was opened by a man with a large bruise on his jaw. The CIA security officer looked less than enthused to see his midnight assailant. Rapp eyed the man and asked, «How's your jaw?»

«Sore.»

«Good.» Rapp walked past him. «Maybe it'll teach you to be a little more careful next time.» He continued down the hall and into the study. He didn't care if the man liked him. This business wasn't about popularity. Rapp only hoped he would learn from his mistake.

Kennedy was standing next to her boss reading him something from a piece of paper. When she saw Rapp, she held up the sheets of fax paper and said, «We have some info on one of the men from last night.»

«From Hornig?» Rapp was referring to Dr. Jane Hornig. The woman specialized in getting information out of people who didn't want to talk. Rapp had sent the two men they had taken alive to Hornig for interrogation.

«No. We ID'd one of the men you shot. His name is Jeff Duser. A former Marine, thirty-five years old, was court-martialed and thrown out of the Corps for what appears to be a quite extensive list of infractions.»

«Who does he work for?»

«We don't have that, but I've got some people looking into it.»

Rapp looked at Stansfield. «I'm sorry for my appearance, sir. I didn't have time to get cleaned up.»

«No apology needed.» Stansfield was speaking with a slight slur. «Where is Commander Coleman?»

Kennedy answered for Rapp. «He's at Langley with Marcus and several of his men, reviewing files.»

«State Department?»

«No,» answered Rapp. «They came up empty on State, so I told them to check Langley's files.»

«How is Ms. Rielly?»

Rapp was a little surprised by Stansfield's question. Neither man had ever acknowledged the relationship before. «She's doing all right.»

«Do you need me to ask the president to have a talk with her?»

«No… I don't think so:' Rapp stood near the fireplace, looking back and forth between Stansfield and Kennedy, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He wanted to get this over with. It was the reason he was here during this short respite in the action. With some awkwardness, he said, «As long as I have the two of you alone, I'd like to discuss something.» True to form, Stansfield and Kennedy returned his look with stoic, expressionless faces. «When this is over… as soon as we find out who this Professor is… I'm done.»