Vince Flynn - Act of Treason

“Customs and Immigration web site. When I was in their database earlier today I put a flag on Garret’s passport.”

“A flag?” Kennedy said in a slightly alarmed voice.

“Not the normal kind of flag. I set it up so I would receive an alert if he tried to leave the country. I also tapped into the airline’s reservation system while I was checking his travel.” Dumond typed in several commands. The screen changed as quickly as his fingers flew. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Dumond stopped typing and stared at the screen.

“What?” Rapp asked.

“Garret just checked in for an Air France flight from Dulles to Geneva.”

Rapp and Kennedy looked at each other, their thoughts passing without words.

“When does his flight leave?” Kennedy asked.

“Twelve twenty.”

“I’ll call Jose and have him put his best people on it,” Kennedy said.

Rapp checked his watch. “There’s a chance I can get there first. Besides, I don’t think we want to use embassy people for this. Tell him I want NOCs only.”

“You’re probably right.” Kennedy watched Rapp punch numbers into his mobile phone. NOC stood for Non Official Cover. They were Langley ’s most coveted operatives. “Are you sure you should go?”

“You have any better ideas?”

“Not at the moment.”

Rapp could tell she still wasn’t sold on the idea. “Like you said, Irene. We have less than two days. If these guys were involved in any way in that attack, I’m willing to bet the answers are in Switzerland.” Rapp looked away from Kennedy and spoke into his phone. “Scramble the boys. We need to be in the air by midnight.” Rapp listened for a second and said, “Across the pond. Mostly surveillance, but you never know. I’ll see you in thirty.” Rapp closed the phone and looked at Kennedy. Her expression radiated concern. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

Kennedy frowned and said, “I’m not worried about you.”

“Then who in the hell are you worried about?”

“Stu Garret.” Kennedy shook her head. “I know how you think, Mitch. I don’t want you slapping him around.”

“Irene…come on,” Rapp said as if he was complaining.

“Well…at least not until he gives you a reason.”

Garret was in a supremely foul mood. He’d boarded his flight convinced he would sleep his way across the Atlantic. He had it all planned out. He’d have a vodka on the rocks before takeoff and two or three glasses of red wine with his meal, and then he’d kick off his shoes, recline his seat, put on the little mask they handed out, and he’d snooze until the sun was gleaming off the snow-capped Alps. Unfortunately, he didn’t account for his enlarged prostate. An hour into his slumber he awoke to make his first of three trips to the head. When he landed in Geneva, he was tired, grumpy, and more than a bit out of whack. He was at least happy, though, to be out of Washington. No one bugging him for photographs and advice.

A driver was waiting for him at the airport. The man took him to his hotel and on the way showed him where he would be meeting Mr. Speyer for dinner at 8:00. Garret was immediately put off that they were going to make him wait for six and a half hours to discuss business, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Speyer wasn’t answering his phone, and he wasn’t about to call Green.

He checked in to his hotel a little before 2:00 in the afternoon and asked for a 7:00 p.m. wakeup call just to be safe. When he got up to his room the jet lag hit him hard. He turned off both mobile phones and hit the Do Not Disturb button on the hotel phone. He must have been dehydrated from the flight because he slept straight through to his 7:00 p.m. wakeup call without disturbance from his prostate. Garret showered and shaved and put on a blue sport coat, white dress shirt, and dark gray slacks.

When he arrived downstairs a car was waiting for him. Garret walked outside with his puffy down coat and stopped for a moment on the sidewalk. Across the street was Lake Geneva. The city lights flickered on the surface. As a political consultant, Garret had a keen sense of awareness when it came to people. He liked Geneva. It was a city of scoundrels, many of whom tried to portray themselves as aristocracy. It was a voyeuristic heaven. You got to watch the charade of social pretense that masked insatiable appetites for food, drugs, drinking, gambling, and sex. It could be a very fun place to visit.

Garret stuffed his hands in his jacket and climbed into the back of his waiting Mercedes sedan. The driver said hello in French, and Garret nodded to his reflection in the rearview mirror. The car eased out into traffic and rolled down Quai du Mont-Blanc, toward the finest restaurant in all of Geneva. Garret was looking forward to the meal, but he was not looking forward to the company. He decided he would have to order the most expensive thing on the menu. He didn’t have to worry about the wine. Speyer would take great care to make sure something extremely expensive was selected.

Mitch Rapp sat in the backseat of the car and studied Garret through the opaque glass of the backseat side window. The fingers on Rapp’s right hand clamped down on the cuff of his black leather jacket. The entire team was carrying miniaturized encrypted radios with wireless earpieces. Rapp pressed the Transmit button sewn into his cuff and said, “He’s on his way.”

He released the button and looked at Hacket who was behind the wheel. “You know the routine, Kevin. Hang back for a second and make sure no one else is following him.”

The black Mercedes sedan began to roll. The flight from DC had taken six hours and eleven minutes. They were wheels up at 11:47 p.m., and with the time change they were on the ground in Geneva a few minutes before noon; a full hour before Garret’s plane was due to land. No one slept on the way over. There was too much work to be done. Dumond went online and hacked into the networks of seven different hotels before he found out where Garret was staying. He was booked at the Beau-Rivage on Quai du Mont-Blanc overlooking the lake. If he had business at Speyer ’s bank, the hotel made sense. It was a short walk.

After analyzing the Rivage’s reservation system, the best they were able to do was get a room on the same floor as Garret two doors down. There was no adjacent hotel with a direct line of sight to Garret’s room so they would have to bug his room instead. After they cleared customs, they found two identical black Mercedes sedans with heavily tinted windows and a white Volkswagen cargo van waiting for them. In the trunk of each sedan they found a full complement of silenced weapons, and in the back of the van a surveillance kit. Everyone was dressed in business attire, except Coleman and Stroble, who were wearing pilot’s uniforms. Coleman and Stroble took one of the sedans and parked out in front of the Air France terminal. Rapp, Dumond, and Hacket took the white van and followed Brooks and Wicker, who were in the other Mercedes, to the Rivage. Brooks and Wicker checked into the room at the Rivage while the rest of the team went to the D’Angleterre a few blocks away. Rapp and the other two waited outside until the newlyweds finished bugging Garret’s room.

Dumond in the meantime managed to insert Garret’s mobile phone numbers into the National Security Agency’s Echelon system. The CIA worked closely with the NSA on overseas matters. Neither wanted to be embarrassed over the discovery that they were intentionally targeting U.S. citizens abroad, so they’d developed a system where numbers could be monitored for a brief period, a day or two, and then they would be purged from the system as if they’d never been looked at in the first place. Garret’s e-mail addresses were also added to the list. So far the hardest part of the op had been getting a reservation for Brooks and Wicker at Le Bearn. Wicker slid the concierge at the Rivage a hundred-dollar bill and the guy barely batted an eye. It took two more C-notes before the guy could guarantee a table.