Vince Flynn - Consent To Kill

Abel nodded.

"All they need is a phone number, an e-mail address. You have paid the man, undoubtedly through electronic transfer?"

"Yes."

"They will get it out of him and they will trace the money all the way back to Abdullah."

Abel disagreed. "I used a network of banks that are known for honoring the confidentiality of their clients. Even with the new terrorist banking laws I am protected."

A cynical smile formed on Rashid's lips. "I have heard rumors. The U.S. no longer bothers going through the Swiss courts. They simply hack into the banking networks and get the information they need. They come and go with impunity and the banks never even know they are there."

"With all due respect, Prince Muhammad, those rumors are grossly exaggerated."

"You have your sources, and I have mine," the prince said with a mischievous smile.

They were at a stalemate. Abel did not know what else he could say to assuage the prince's concerns so he gave in to the inevitable. "What would you like me to do?"

"I want you to cover your tracks."

"I told you…I have already done that."

Prince Muhammad looked at the German with the stern look of a wise father who had grown tired of debating a point. "I will say this only once more. I want you to make sure there is no possible way for the Americans to trace any of this back to you or Abdullah."

Abel looked away from the prince and let his eyes settle on the shimmering surface of the ridiculous camel-shaped pool. He knew all too well that Prince Muhammad really meant he didn't want the Americans tracing any of this back to him. Abel was in a tough position. If he continued to resist the prince on this issue he might find himself at the bottom of the camel-shaped pool staring up at the surface with a couple of lungs filled with heavily chlorinated water. There was no other option at the moment other than submitting. Once out of Saudi Arabia he would have to sort things out. For now he would have to make the best of a bad situation.

He looked back at the prince. "It can be done, but it will not be cheap."

"How much?"

The truth was, he was not so sure it could be done, but Rashid would not be satisfied with that answer. He had no idea who the man was, and there was so little to go on where the girl was concerned. Add to that the explicit warning from the assassin that he would kill him in a second if he caught him trying to find out who they were. Maybe Petrov knew more about them. Maybe he could bribe the old communist into setting them up. Abel thought about what that would take and said, "Five million…maybe more."

Rashid looked at him with his best poker face. Unlike Abdullah, whose judgment was clouded by the murder of his son, Rashid was not going to simply open the vault and hand him over a mound of cash. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"No."

"Five million is far too much."

"With all due respect, Prince Muhammad, it might not be enough. I will need to hire a small army to go after this man, and I will have to bribe many officials to get the information I need to find him. Five million is the minimum."

Rashid did not speak for a long time. His brown, almost black eyes stayed locked on the German. Abel for his part held his ground. He did not look directly at the prince, for that would have only provoked him, but he kept his mouth shut, which was the number one rule of negotiating.

After a full minute Rashid relented. "Not a penny more."

"I will do my best," replied Abel in a voice void of any sign of victory.

"Yes, you will." Rashid fingered another grape. "You always do."

"I expect you wish me to get started on this immediately."

"Yes. I have a plane waiting to take you wherever you need to go."

Abel thought about it for a second and then said to the prince, "Moscow."

The prince smiled cynically. "So you are working with your old friends the Russians? That is good. They will do anything for money. They are like whores that way."

Abel decided not to comment. He wondered if Prince Muhammad had any idea how the Russians felt about the Saudis. It was tempting to tell him, but then again he had no desire to end up in the pool. He stood and gave the prince a curt bow. "Thank you for your hospitality, Prince Muhammad. I will keep you informed of my progress."

"I will have your money waiting for you on the plane. No more wire transfers."

"However you wish to handle it."

A member of the prince's vast staff appeared as if out of nowhere and gestured for Abel to follow him. As soon as the two were out of sight, a stern man dressed in white robes stepped from behind a curtain and joined Prince Muhammad. He remained standing with his arms folded across his broad chest.

"What do you think?" asked the prince.

The man sneered and said, "I do not trust him. I have never trusted him."

The prince smiled. Colonel Nawaf Tayyib had served under Muhammad when he'd been the secretary of the interior. Tayyib worked for the Saudi Intelligence Service, and had been one of the prince's most trusted officers. He was an extremely efficient man who was not afraid to use force to get results.

"What should I do with him?" asked Muhammad.

"I think you should let me deal with him."

Muhammad nodded. This was the answer he had expected. "Keep a discreet eye on him. When the time is right you will know."

Rapp pulled into the underground parking garage beneath the Old Headquarters building at Langley, and parked next to Kennedy's armored Lincoln Town Car. The spaces in this relatively small underground garage were highly prized. One of the misfits in the Counterterrorism Center had informed Rapp of this a few years ago. Apparently there was some recently promoted deputy director over in Science and Technology who was furious that Rapp was using his executive parking spot. Rapp couldn't care less-about the parking space or the upset bureaucrat for that matter. He did care, however, about the private elevator that allowed him to bypass the main lobby and people who might want to bend his ear. That was one of the first things Rapp had noticed when he was brought in from the field. People worked at a different pace at headquarters. They had a lot of time to talk, attend meetings, and surf the Internet. Rapp's loner attitude was directly at odds with anything that involved socializing. He prided himself on spending as little time as possible at headquarters and when he was there he did his best to avoid conversation.

The private elevator that went directly from the garage to the director's office suite helped significantly. Rapp got in and slid his ID into the card reader. No buttons needed to be pressed. The elevator either went all the way up to the seventh floor or all the way back down to the garage. The elevator started to move, and Rapp looked up at the tiny camera mounted in the corner. He held his right hand up in front of his face and flipped the bird. Just before the elevator stopped, Rapp stepped to one side and grabbed the butt of his shoulder-holstered pistol. The doors slid open and Rapp was confronted with a mirror image of what he might look like in another fifteen years. The man was even standing like him with one hand resting on his own holstered pistol. His name was Vince Delgado. He was the head of Kennedy's security detail, and he and Rapp loved to give each other crap.

"Good morning, Vanessa," Rapp said crisply.

"Good morning, Michelle."

"Is she in her office?"

"No, she's up on the roof having tea and crumpets, ya dumb ass."

"Cranky this morning, you old codger? Still not getting any?"

The fifty-two-year-old Italian American from Philadelphia laughed loudly. "Now that's not true, Mitch." He stepped closer to Rapp, and after looking over both shoulders said, "You should have seen me last night. There's this new gal I met at the club. I was like a rock star. I'm amazed I can walk this morning, because I'll tell you right now she's in traction." He looked once again toward Kennedy's office door and stepped even closer to Rapp. "Listen to this."