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“There’s information on you and the others inside the church, Mitch. I don’t think anyone would be able to find it, but I didn’t want to take chances.”
“I asked you about this a few days ago. You told me the place was clean.”
“That wasn’t entirely accurate.”
“What kind of information?”
Black didn’t answer.
“You have one chance to convince me you’re just an idiot, Kent. Because if I start thinking that you’re playing both—”
“It’s an entire dossier on everyone involved and what we’re doing,” Black blurted. “I’m sorry, Mitch. I told an old friend that if I were to disappear, he should come get it and release it on the Internet.”
“Why would you think that you were going to disappear?”
“I don’t know, man . . . Because why would someone like you give a shit about someone like me? Particularly when you’ve got Donatella and the fucking Russian terminator to watch your back. I’m pretty sure that next to the word ‘expendable’ in the dictionary, there’s a picture of me.”
“No one on any of my teams has ever been expendable, Kent.”
“I understand that now. That’s why I’m here. I was going to get the stuff and destroy it. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think . . . you know . . .”
“That you’re an idiot?”
“Yeah. That.”
As much as Rapp wanted to put a bullet in this little dipshit, there was no point. When he’d started out, he’d made similarly boneheaded moves that Stan Hurley would have been justified in burying him for.
“What exactly are we talking about?”
“A single eleven-by-fourteen envelope.”
“No electronic files? Nothing on a server somewhere?”
“No way, man. I swear. That shit’s too hard to control.”
He lowered his weapon. “Okay.”
“What do you mean, ‘Okay’? That’s it?”
Rapp didn’t answer. The ringer on his phone was turned off, but he’d felt it vibrate three separate times over the last few minutes. When he pulled it out, he found multiple messages from Claudia. Not a great sign. She wasn’t a woman prone to calling repeatedly to deliver good news.
He dialed and, not surprisingly, she picked up immediately.
“Mitch! Where are you? I’ve been trying to get in touch.”
“I’m at the church. What’s up?”
“I found Joel Wilson.”
“Where?”
“I’m sorry, Mitch. My man at the airport let me down. Wilson’s on the ground and bearing down on your position with four cars.
“ETA?”
“Call it five minutes.”
“Can you slow him down?”
