Vince Flynn - Act of Treason

“Compared to option A, I think it’s a pretty easy choice, but then again you haven’t shown yourself to be the most rational person so far.”

“What is it?”

“You tell me everything. Who hired you, how it was planned, where the money is. Everything.” Rapp could see Gazich weighing his options. “You and I both know,” Rapp added, “you’re going to tell me either way.”

“Then why not torture me? You seem like the type who would enjoy it.”

Rapp shook his head. “I’d prefer to do it the civilized way.”

“And when you’re done with me?”

“We’ll stick you in a prison for the rest of your life. Maybe you’ll be eligible for parole in thirty years, I don’t know.” Rapp was making it up as he went. He knew he had to give the man some hope. “Someone higher up than me will be making that decision.”

“Doesn’t sound like a very good deal.”

“Compared to months of torture and an execution, I think it’s a pretty great deal.”

“You’re not the one on the receiving end.”

“I’m not the one who set off a car bomb that killed the new president’s wife.” Rapp watched as Gazich blinked and then looked away. The words had hit home.

“How about a shot of morphine?” Gazich asked in a tight voice. “I’d like to think about your offer.”

Rapp reminded himself that time was on his side. “All right. I’ll show you how nice we Americans are. I’ll give you the shot and then…”

The cabin door opened and Brooks stepped into the space. She had a satellite phone in her outstretched hand. “Someone needs to talk to you.”

There was something about her tone that told Rapp it was serious.

“All right.” Rapp looked back at Gazich and said, “I’ll be back in a minute.” He stood and started shutting the container doors.

“What about the morphine?” Gazich yelled.

Rapp sealed the doors and Gazich’s screams were reduced to a hollow muffle. Rapp walked across the open space and asked, “Who is it?”

“Director Kennedy.”

Rapp took the phone from Brooks, held it to his ear and asked, “What’s up?” He listened for ten seconds and then said, “Have you people lost your fucking minds?”

The horse had left the barn. That much Kennedy understood, and there was no getting it back. Attorney General Stokes and FBI Director Roach were over by the president’s desk using two separate secure phones to get their people moving. The president and president-elect were talking in earnest, still in the two chairs in front of the fireplace. The news of his wife’s killer’s capture had melted the wall between them. Kennedy had seen Alexander on only two occasions since the election. Both times the future leader seemed somber and detached, which was very uncharacteristic for the charismatic forty-five-year-old from Georgia. The news had reignited a spark in him that had been missing since the tragic death of his wife.

Kennedy watched the president and president-to-be talk one on one. She couldn’t help thinking of the photos Baker had shown her less than twenty-four hours ago. Based on the way Alexander had acted over the last few months, Kennedy doubted he knew of his wife’s infidelities. But she had seen stranger things. Washington was replete with torrid tales of the rich and powerful and their strange marital arrangements. Her instincts told her Alexander was genuinely bereaved, but she’d been fooled by politicians before. Thomas Stansfield, her mentor, had taught her that the good politicians were better than any actor in Hollywood. They were real stage actors; performing in front of a live audience three or four times a day. And they often did it on the fly.

With Alexander, though, there was something about his pain that seemed very real. Kennedy wondered how much of her assessment was formed by wishful thinking. The alternative made her shudder. The best part of her wanted to believe that he was a good man. A man she could support. That was back on the table now. Kennedy could see clearly now what President Hayes had been up to. What he’d been trying to do for her and for the CIA. With Vice President-Elect Ross in Europe, Hayes saw his opening and used it. Ross and Kennedy did not get along. Alexander had virtually turned over the national security piece of the puzzle to his running mate, the former director of National Intelligence. Alexander was focusing on the domestic and economic teams and Ross the defense and intelligence. Translation: Kennedy would be out of a job shortly after the two were sworn in.

What Hayes was trying to do was show Alexander that Kennedy and her people were really effective at what they did. Not the type of people you simply threw overboard because your running mate doesn’t like them. A running mate who happens to have a massive narcissistic complex. While all of these kudos felt good for a change, Kennedy saw a potential problem. The president should have seen it as well, but he probably thought the ends would justify the means. The problem was Mitch Rapp. He’d sooner get a colonoscopy than deal with the Justice Department. Add to that the media firestorm that was sure to follow, and he was sure to be in a foul mood for months to come. She could try to lay it all at the feet of the president, but Rapp would be so upset that an operation was dragged into the public eye he would feel the need to spread his anger around.

Kennedy stood and took a step toward Hayes and Alexander. They stopped talking and looked up.

“I’d better inform Mitch of the change in plans. If you’ll excuse me I’m going to go down to the Situation Room and call him.”

“We’ll come with you,” announced Hayes. “I’d love to congratulate him.”

“And I’d like to thank him,” Alexander added.

Kennedy winced ever so slightly and said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. At least not at the moment.”

Alexander looked confused and asked, “Why?”

President Hayes laughed. “Mitch does not like the limelight. He’s going to hate all of this.”

“You’re right, sir.”

Hayes seemed to take great joy in the fact that all this would bug Rapp. Alexander was frowning like he didn’t get it.

Hayes looked at him and said, “He’s not like us. We hang all of our awards on the wall for everybody to see. His medals and commendations are kept in a safe out at Langley, and I’ll bet not once has he ever gone to look at them. Am I right?” he asked Kennedy.

“Yes, sir. You are.”

“Have you met him?” Hayes asked Alexander.

“No. I’ve heard a lot about him, though.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Especially if it comes from your vice president’s mouth.”

Kennedy decided this would be a good time to exit. “As soon as I’m done I’ll come back and give you an update.”

She turned and left the room, cutting through the secretary’s outer office and then down the stairs and past the White House Mess. She stopped outside the secure door of the Situation Room and grabbed her bar-coded and laminated badge that was clipped to the lapel of her jacket. She stuck it under the scanner next to the door and listened to the click. A small camera above the door monitored her every move. When the door clicked she entered and was greeted by a fresh-faced man in civilian clothing with an obvious military bearing.

“Major Hansen, I presume.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Another marine, she thought. They were always throwing around Ma’am instead of Ms. She didn’t take the use of the antiquated phrase personally. It was a byproduct of being yelled at by their drill instructors for three straight months while they tried to make it through Boot Camp or Officer’s Candidate School.