Vince Flynn - Consent To Kill

Rapp asked him, "If you could do it over again would you choose a different line of work?"

Mike laughed and said, "Hell no. This is the best damn job in the world. Your government gives you the consent to go out and kill terrorists. For guys like us, it doesn't get any better than that."

Dinner was lonely. Normally Abel didn't mind eating by himself, but tonight he felt restless. He was staying at Hotel Balzac, a small, luxurious establishment only a short walk from the Arc de Triomphe. He had decided to dine early in the hotel's restaurant and miss the rush. He was given a small but satisfactory table, and he was immersed in the menu when a couple about his age were seated within perfect view. He watched as they held hands and spoke intently. They appeared to be in love. About the time his main course arrived another couple was seated. They were a little younger than Abel, and it was soon obvious that they were also in love. She reminded him of the woman with the large black sunglasses who he had met earlier in the day. She looked roughly the same age and had a similar hairstyle.

Abel was haunted by the mysterious woman from the cafй. She exuded a quiet confidence more powerful than any aphrodisiac he could imagine. She had dealt with him from a position of strength from the moment he'd sat down. She'd known he'd been watching her from across the street. He cringed to remember how smug he had been. She'd even learned his identity in advance and God only knew what else. The entire experience was very unnerving for Abel. He was the one who was used to negotiating from a position of strength. He was supposed to be the unflappable professional who saw all and gave away nothing in return.

Having lost his appetite, he decided to go for a walk. After retrieving his black trench coat and new cashmere scarf from his room he left the hotel and began walking south toward the Seine. There was a chill in the evening air, but Abel didn't mind. It felt good to get out and stretch his legs, and the bite of the air seemed to help clear his mind. Something told him this strange couple Petrov had recommended were the perfect people for the job, but he needed to make sure. Abel had stopped at a pay phone after the meeting and called his old Russian master. Hours later he was still replaying the conversation in his mind.

After some brief banter he had casually asked Petrov, "Did you give this couple my name?"

"They called to make sure we knew each other," Petrov admitted. "I told them we did, and that you were someone who could be trusted."

"Nothing else?" Abel asked.

"Not a thing. What is wrong? You sound troubled."

"They tailed me to the meet," Abel admitted uncomfortably.

"What else?"

"They knew my name."

"I told you they were good." Petrov laughed loudly. "Hire them and be done with it. They will not disappoint you."

Abel got the distinct impression that Petrov was enjoying his discomfort. "They are a bit inflexible in their demands."

"Sounds like a certain German I know."

"Yes, well, I'm the one doing the hiring."

"And they will be the ones risking their hides. I'm telling you…hire them and get out of their way."

Abel considered telling him about the man, and how he'd threatened to sever his spine, and then thought better of it. Petrov would only laugh at him. "What can you tell me about the woman?"

"Did you meet her?"

"Yes."

"Ha," Petrov bellowed. "I have heard she is beautiful. Very mysterious. Do you agree?"

"She is an attractive woman," Abel admitted while trying not to sound too interested. "What do you know about her?"

"Get her out of your mind. I have heard that they are more than just business partners, and trust me…this man is not someone you want to upset."

"I gathered that. Where does he come from?"

"I do not know, and I do not care. I'm telling you for the last time, hire them and be done with it." The Russian hung up on him.

Abel did not like feeling like a fool, but that was exactly the way he felt as he walked the streets of this old city. By the time he reached the river he realized he would probably hire these two, but not yet. Petrov was getting old and the vodka had softened his normally keen intellect. There was too much at stake to simply hire them without having a say in how things would proceed. It was tempting, though. There was another ten million waiting for him as soon as Rapp was dead. Twenty million on the table minus the fee he would have to pay the killers. Abel had a number in his head. There were many variables to consider, but typically the going rate for killing an intelligence officer was in the low-to-mid six figures. This wasn't just any intelligence officer, however, this was Mitch Rapp, a spy's spy, who had the very nasty habit of biting back. They would have to track him. If they got lucky, they might catch him traveling. Getting him off American soil would help greatly. Very few contract killers liked working in America, because of the increased security with facial recognition systems at virtually every port of entry and the finger-printing of certain visitors. The cost of doing business in America would more than likely double the fee.

He turned east and began walking toward the Louvre, racking his brain to come up with his best contacts in France. He needed to send these two a message that they were dealing with a professional, not someone who they could toy around with and scare like an amateur. Unfortunately, he didn't trust the people he knew in France enough to get them involved in this. On the other hand there were some Hungarians he knew who were excellent at surveillance work, and they were cheap. It was a whole family for the price of one-grandparents, parents, children, even some uncles. When he got back to the hotel he would call and see if he could get them here first thing in the morning. He would wait a day to see if the woman contacted him, and if not he would e-mail and request another meeting. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. He did not want to look desperate.

He left the river and started back to the hotel. When he turned on to the Champs-Elysйes he was faced with a cold breeze. Abel turned up his collar and quickened his pace. He decided that by ending the meeting himself, and getting up and walking away, he may have saved enough face to get them to come back to him. They were businesspeople after all, and he had been very clear that there was a large fee to be earned. When they called he would be prepared. He would have the Hungarians in place. They would get photographs for sure and possibly a thumbprint from her coffee cup if they met at a cafй again. The Hungarians could trail her back to an address that would provide more information. The man would be about, undoubtedly, and maybe they would spot him. All he needed was a single thread, and then from there he could begin unraveling. He would learn everything there was to know about the two and then he would shock them into dealing with him from a position of mutual respect.

Abel arrived back at the hotel refreshed and invigorated. He had a plan, and he was hopeful that they would call him back and renew negotiations. He took the elevator up to his suite and after taking off his coat and scarf he went into the bedroom to open the safe and get his PDA. He turned on a table lamp near the closet and punched in his four-digit code. He listened to the whirl of the locking mechanism retracting, and then opened the small, heavy door. The safe was empty.

Abel reached in and felt around to make sure, and then placed his hands on his hips. He was certain he had put the small handheld computer in the safe before he'd gone to dinner, but with the way the day had gone, he was already second-guessing himself. Maybe he'd left it in his briefcase. He turned to head back into the living room, and out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw something in the shadows. Abel froze when he zeroed in on a pair of shoes that he immediately knew were not his. He followed the legs up to the dark, barely discernable outline of a man sitting in a chair. For some inexplicable reason his mind jumped to the conclusion that it was Mitch Rapp himself who had broken into his hotel room. It was the second time in a day that Abel had been surprised and overcome with this dreadful portentous feeling.