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“No one in particular,” he said a little too emphatically. “I’m just following the itinerary set up by the State Department.”
Kennedy considered revealing more of what she knew about his activities, but it seemed unnecessary at this juncture. Her point had been made. Maybe including Mitch Rapp in the meeting had been beneficial after all.
“You’ve had a long and illustrious career, Senator. But continuing to escalate your vendetta against the CIA is dangerous to both the country’s security and to you personally.”
He gave a contrite nod.
“Then I can look forward to an improved relationship with your office?”
“Of course. My only concern is the safety and prosperity of America and my constituents.”
Rapp laughed out loud but she remained serene. “Then enjoy your trip to Islamabad, Senator.”
He was unaccustomed to being dismissed and just sat there with a confused expression until Rapp spoke.
“She means get the fuck out, dipshit.”
That set him into motion. He stood, took one last look at the file on the desk, and then hurried to the door. Rapp waited until it was closed to speak again.
“I looked at the official schedule for his trip. Just another excuse for a bunch of congressmen to ride around in limos and go shopping.”
“Maybe.”
“You think it’s more?”
“He’s a man used to power, Mitch. Is his ego really going to allow him to subordinate himself? To admit that he’s lost this battle?”
“If he’s smart it will.”
“But he’s not—he’s a good politician. Like you’re fond of pointing out, there’s a difference.”
“If we’re going to make a play for him, we should do it while he’s over there. It’ll be easier to cover up. We could make it look like a heart attack.” He paused and smiled in a way that made even her feel a little uncomfortable. “Or we could go for irony. Make him the victim of a phony terrorist attack.”
“I didn’t hear any of that.”
“No? Well, hear this, Irene. If you want to watch him and try to turn him into your lapdog, fine. Right now Carl Ferris is just a pathetic joke to me. But when I stop laughing, he stops breathing.”
CHAPTER 9
THE FARM
NEAR HARPERS FERRY
WEST VIRGINIA
U.S.A.
ONCE again, Mitch Rapp found himself standing in front of the cell holding Louis-Philippe Gould. And once again, Stan Hurley was watching.
“Want me to hold on to your gun?”
It was a noticeable change in his friend’s attitude. A few days ago, he’d have paid money to walk in there and execute the Frenchman. Now they needed him. Hurley perhaps more than anyone.
“Turn off the cameras, Stan.”
“Irene was pretty specific about that. She says they stay on.”
“Don’t make me repeat myself, old man.”
