Vince Flynn - Executive Power

RAPP WAS STANDING IN THE HALLWAY outside the Roosevelt Room, his back against the wall and his hands firmly clasped in front of him. Normally he enjoyed being as anonymous as possible but this morning he rather relished playing the role of intimidator. He'd even gone so far as to wait in the conference room alone with the Ambassador until the Israeli had been forced to ask him to leave.

His injury was considerably better and despite not having slept much the night before he felt okay. This was because they were finally making some progress, taking action and forcing people to do things that would tell them more about where they stood. Sitting back and waiting for things to happen was contrary to Rapp's way of life. He was about to open the door and rattle the Ambassador again when his digital phone began to vibrate. Rapp snatched it from his belt and checked the number before answering the call. It was the CTC.

"Hello."

"Mitch, you're not going to believe what I'm looking at." It was Olivia Bourne and her voice was elated.

"I've got our mystery boy on camera. He just checked in at the United counter at BWI."

"Baltimore Washington International?" Rapp's voice was eager.

"You're sure it's him?"

"The computer picked him up first. It's been running searches all morning at Reagan, Dulles, BWI, Union Station and Richmond. "The facial recognition program that Bourne was referring to was able to scan hundreds of images every second and instantaneously compare them against a sample, which in this case was the earlier photograph of John Doe they had from his entry into the country.

"It's him, Mitch, and if you hold on for a second I'll give you a name and an itinerary."

Rapp's mind was already racing ahead.

"Have you told anyone?"

"Only Marcus. He's working on a name and flight right now."

"Is he still at the counter?"

"No. He's just walked away, but we have him on camera. He's headed toward the security line. Hold on… Marcus has a name. Don Marin. He's booked on a flight that leaves for Paris at ten thirty-two, and from there it looks like he's… connecting to Nice."

The frantic calculations and maneuvering came to an abrupt halt.

"Say that again," commanded Rapp. Even as Bourne repeated herself Rapp barely paid attention. His mind was already off, looking in a different direction, toward Europe. He was no longer frantically trying to figure out how to get to the Baltimore airport in thirty minutes. He was no longer trying to figure out how to deal with the airport police and the FBI and everybody else who would want to get their hands on the man who had more than likely killed both the Palestinian and Saudi Ambassadors. He was suddenly seeing things with great clarity.

"How are the cameras at BWI?" he finally asked.

"Good."

"Good enough to make sure he gets on that flight?"

There was a pause while Bourne did some checking.

"I've just pulled up his gate and they're already boarding the plane. I don't think he has enough time to do anything other than go straight to the gate."

"But if he's got another ticket on another flight…"

"I'll keep an eye on him and make sure he gets on the one to Paris."

Rapp stood calmly in the hallway clutching the tiny phone to his left ear. If this went wrong, he would be severely criticized for not alerting the airport police and having John Doe arrested. If he did that, however, there would be a record, and a lot of witnesses. And even if he did manage to get the guy away from the police and the FBI he would have to try to interrogate him, which Rapp detested. There was a better way, a little bit riskier, but in the end, a way that was much more likely to give them the truth.

Bourne's voice pulled him back to the moment.

"What do you want me to do?"

Rapp didn't speak at first and then he said, "Keep an eye on him.

Make sure he gets on that flight and get me a surveillance team and a plane."

Bourne did not reply right away and then asked, "Are you sure you don't want to alert the FBI and have him detained?"

No, he wasn't sure, but he was pretty sure, and if his luck held for another thirty minutes he'd be absolutely sure.

"Let's keep the Feds out of this for now. Just don't lose him, and get me a plane."

Rapp stabbed the end button and then quickly dialed a number from memory. After several rings Scott Coleman answered and Rapp asked, "Can you and the boys be ready to leave within the hour?"

"May I ask where we're going?"

"South of France. Low intensity, mostly surveillance, but I might need you guys if I have to do any heavy lifting."

"Standard fee?" asked the retired SEAL.

"Of course."

"We're in."

Rapp was already on his way downstairs.

"Good. I'll call with the specifics, in the meantime get ready to roll."

WITH HER FINGER POISED ABOVE THE KEYPAD of the secure phone Kennedy looked to the President and asked, "Are you ready?"

Hayes nodded and placed his hand near his own phone. Kennedy dialed the number from memory, and after she'd hit the last number she gestured for the President to pick up.

The voice that answered on the other end was not Ben Freidman's.

It was one of his assistants, who politely informed Kennedy that Freidman was on the phone. Kennedy didn't doubt that. The director general of Mossad was undoubtedly talking to Prime Minister Goldberg about the phone call he'd just received from his Ambassador in Washington.

Kennedy told the assistant that it was very important that she talk to Freidman and that she would wait.

It didn't take more than a minute for Freidman to come on the line, and when he did his voice was cautious.

"Irene, how are you?"

"Fine, Ben, and you?"

"I have been better. Much better."

"I would imagine so. Have you heard about our meeting with your

Ambassador?"

"Yes, the unfortunate development was just relayed to me."

"Ben, I'm calling you as a favor. One old friend to another. The President is very serious about this. He wants those tanks out of Hebron immediately."

"So I've heard," was all Freidman managed to say.

Kennedy knew he was not about to freely offer information.

"That's not all the President wants, Ben."

With a tired sigh, Freidman asked, "What else does he want?"

"Your job," Kennedy replied flatly.

"He wants you removed as head of Mossad immediately."

"That is ludicrous. Why would he demand such a thing, much less care who runs Mossad?"

"He knows you lied to us about Hebron, and allies don't lie to each other about things like that." Kennedy looked at Hayes while silence filled the line. She knew Freidman was trying to think of some excuse for deceiving them.

"Ben, I'm sure you had your reasons, but now is the time to come clean. If you care about keeping your job, and keeping our alliance together, you'll tell me."

Freidman snorted.

"David Goldberg is not about to start taking orders from anyone. Even the President of the United States."

"Really," replied Kennedy. Sensing Freidman's confidence was feigned, she said, "Even if it meant ending his career in political scandal?

I'm not judging you for what happened in Hebron. God only knows how we'd react if we had suicide bombs going off every week, but you need to keep me in the loop, Ben."

"What do you know about Hebron?"

"No, Ben," Kennedy forcefully announced.

"That's not the way we're going to do this. If you want to keep your job, and you want to avoid this scandal becoming public, you're going to answer the questions.

The President is furious, Ben! Those were Apache helicopters and Hellfire missiles." She lowered her voice as if she didn't want to be overheard and said, "We have satellite footage of the attacks. The President wants to take the tapes to the UN and show the world that you and Goldberg are liars."