Consent To Kill

Chapter 18-19

18

WASHINGTON, DC

Traffic was light, but Rapp nonetheless drove aggressively. It was a little after six in the morning and they were making good time. There was no reason to rush, but Anna wasn't about to tell him to slow down. They'd been down that road before, and he had been characteristically inflexible. Whenever possible Mitch liked to drive her to work. The thirty-minute commute without traffic was a nice way for them to spend time together and since they were both headed in the same direction, it made sense. They had settled into a routine. Mitch drove fast, his head on a swivel, checking his mirrors constantly, noting the faces of drivers as he passed them, and trying as much as possible to vary the route they took. It was all second nature to him, ingrained from years of living in hostile environments.

Anna, for her part, kept her face buried in the New York Times and the Washington Post. Her job required a heavy dose of reading. As a White House correspondent she had to not just follow the goings-on at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, but keep an eye on all things Executive Branch. In addition to that she had to at a bare minimum be aware of what the president's opposition was up to. There was a lot to keep up with and the dirty secret of most TV journalists in DC was that they relied heavily on print reporters to do their work for them. The Post and the Times were a must. Read both, encapsulate, and take to the air with a thirty-second blurb about whatever scandal was brewing at the White House. In theory, if there was time, and if you could get anyone at the White House to talk to you, you would ask a few questions. In reality, however, the "stay on message" attitude of the White House and time constraints meant that more often than not you encapsulated and regurgitated. So while her husband drove like a bank robber fleeing the feds, she tried her best to ignore everything that was going on outside the armored vehicle that was their family sedan.

The customized silver Audi A8 weighed approximately thirty percent more than the factory model. Almost all of the increase in weight came from the bulletproof Kevlar fabric that lined the doors, floor, and ceiling of the vehicle. The bulletproof windows added a bit as did the run-flat tires, but it was the bullet-stopping density of the double layer of Kevlar that added an additional fourteen hundred pounds to the vehicle's gross weight. The sedan had more than enough horsepower to handle the extra weight. The only noticeable difference was in the gas mileage.

"There's a good article in the Post about your new boss," she said without looking up. "You should check it out."

With a frown on his face Rapp accelerated and changed lanes. "What are you talking about?"

"Ross...the new director of National Intelligence."

"I wouldn't call him my boss."

Anna glanced over at the speedometer and resisted the impulse to look beyond the dashboard. They were on Highway 50 and to be honest she didn't know if the speed limit was fifty, fifty-five, or sixty-five, but she knew it wasn't eighty, which was what the speedometer read. Such was life with Mitchell Rapp. It had taken some time, but she was finally learning to sit back, trust, and relax.

"According to the article he's your boss," she said.

Rapp hadn't thought of it that way, but he supposed if he ever bothered to pay attention to those worthless organizational charts that came across his desk from time to time they would indicate that Ross probably was his boss. "He's a paper pusher, honey. Just another layer of bureaucracy to add to the top of the inverted pyramid."

This time she looked up at him with her stunning green eyes, smiled, and said, "And you're Atlas, right, honey?" She reached out to put her hand on the back of his neck. He blinked, but didn't flinch, which was good. It had taken many months to get him to trust her. Like a dog that was beaten as a puppy, Mitch did not like people touching him.

"Why are you trying to be hurtful?" This was his new ploy with her. Throw the PC mantra back in her face and act like a victim. "I thought we were on the same team."

She rubbed his neck. "We are, honey. I just like teasing you. So have you met him yet?"

"Who?"

"Ross."

Rapp was paranoid for a variety of reasons, but he tried to limit it to his professional life. There were times, though, when his very nosy wife liked to blur the line between their personal life and their jobs. He glanced over at his Anna to see if she knew more than she was letting on. "I've met him a few times."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What's your impression of the guy?"

"I don't know." Rapp shrugged unconvincingly.

"Do I sense dissension in the ranks?" Her index finger had found a curl and she began wrapping it around her finger.

"Easy, Lois Lane."

"Do tell," she pressed. "The article makes it sound like everybody likes the guy. Republicans and Democrats alike."

"And you believe everything you read in the paper?"

"Until I have proof otherwise...yes." She turned a little more in her seat so she could face him. "Are you mad because Irene didn't get the new top job?"

"No." He frowned. "I like Irene right where she is. She keeps people off my back and makes sure I get what I need. Besides...it remains to be seen how much of the new job is just window dressing."

Anna raised one of her thin eyebrows. "Is Irene going to be able to keep Ross off your back?"

Rapp glanced over at his wife and smiled. "Not bad for a talking head. I'm very proud of you."

They passed the National Arboretum on their left and entered a rundown part of the city. Anna gave his hair a quick yank. "Why did I ever marry you?"

Rapp kept his eyes fixed on the road. "Because you have serious control issues and you like a challenge. I'm your Mount Everest and you want to summit me." He smiled to himself and looked mischievously at his wife. "I like the sound of that. How would you like to summit me tonight?"

"Not with that line."

"Honey, I think our love is a beautiful thing, and when I express that love I'd appreciate a little reciprocation. You know...I have feelings too."

"You're unbelievable." She laughed. "I have no doubt that I have a few issues, but you saying that I have control issues is like Donald Trump telling someone they have a big ego."

"Darling," Rapp's voice took on a softer, decidedly NPR-esque tone, "remember, any comment that isn't a positive comment is a cry for help." He reached over and patted her knee. "When you're ready to talk, I'm here for you."

Anna had three brothers and she was no wilting flower. She wound up and punched him on the shoulder.

Rapp began laughing uncontrollably. "Spousal abuse...help!"

She hit him twice more in the arm and was about to hit him for a fourth time when she had a flashback to playing slug bug with her brothers when they were kids. She was in her early thirties, for Christ's sake. "Oh...Mitchell, why do I let you get to me?"

Rapp was still laughing. "Because you love me."

"I swear sometimes I think I'm married to a child." She sat back in her seat and folded her arms stubbornly across her chest.

He was still laughing, and reached over to place his right hand on her thigh. "I'm sorry, honey." Even as he said this, though, he was planning to torment her further. He slid his hand down to her knee, where she was deathly ticklish, and clamped down hard enough to send her through the roof.

She slapped his hand twice and then began clawing at his fingers, while alternating between cries of laughter and pain. Her husband finally relented and she sat there in her seat giggling, her shoulder length, auburn hair covering her face. After a good ten seconds she sat up and flung her hair over her shoulder. "I'm going to get you. You know that...don't you?"

Rapp nodded. "I'm sure you will."

Just when he was congratulating himself for getting her off a subject that he didn't want to talk about, she said, "And don't think I don't know what you were doing back there."

"Back where?"

"When you decided you didn't want to talk about your new boss, so you turned everything back onto me. Would you like to tell me why you don't like him, or should I spend the day on the phone asking other people why they think you don't like him?"

"See...there you go again."

They were nearing the White House. "Slow down, and don't change the subject. You know I'll spend the whole day working the phones if you don't answer me honestly."

He knew she was dead serious. "Fine, you big bully. I'm not sure how I feel about the guy. I don't know a lot about him, but I have some reservations."

"Like what?"

"I think he's screwing around with someone I know." Rapp was thinking of Coleman's IRS troubles.

"How so?"

He looked at her. "I'll know more by the end of the day...I hope."

They pulled up to the northwest vehicle checkpoint a block away from the White House. Rapp put the car in park.

She leaned over, her emerald eyes locking onto his dark brown ones. "You'll fill me in tonight."

Rapp pointed to himself. "Right after you summit me."

She tried not to smile, but couldn't help it. "Maybe."

He leaned in and kissed her. "I love you, honey."

"I love you too." Anna got out of the car with her purse and shoulder bag. She walked around the front of the car and gave him a final wave and the million-dollar smile that made her so perfect for TV.

Rapp rolled down his window. "Be safe."

"I will. You too." She waved to the uniformed Secret Service officer behind the greenish bulletproof Plexiglas. She would have to show her credentials at the next checkpoint.

Rapp sat there, one hand on the gearshift, the other on the steering wheel, admiring the view of his wife's slender yet curvaceous figure. She turned around and gave him one more smile. Rapp waved and yanked the gearshift into drive. He pulled away with a smile of absolute contentment on his face. Things just kept getting better between them. They were hitting their stride, and to be honest he'd never been happier.

19

RIYADH, SAUDI ARABIA

Abel stepped from the terminal and paused to take in a full breath of the hot dry air. He had mixed feelings about coming back to the Kingdom so soon and hoped the prince would not require more than a few days of his time. He understood, however, that the delicate nature of this business meant talking on the phone, no matter how secure they might think the line, was not wise. As much as he didn't want to leave the Alps, he knew he must.

The fall colors would be blazing near his mountain retreat, and the air would grow crisper with each day. This was the best time of the year to hike. The summer months were still a bit too humid for his asthma, and heavy exercise could be a problem. Now that everything had been set in motion he had a second reason to long for his tiny Alpine village. His survival instincts were kicking in. Sequestered in his mountain retreat he could think clearly and plan for the proper contingencies should things go wrong. So, he would as politely as possible tell Prince Muhammad that he had pressing business to attend to in Zurich, and with any luck, the sociopath would grant him leave.

Prince Muhammad bin Rashid had sent his minions to whisk the German through customs. A white limousine was waiting for him just outside the door with a security detail of two. Another man was placing his carry-on bag in the trunk as if it was a fine piece of art. The fourth and final man was holding the door open for him, gesturing with an upturned palm for him to enter the air-conditioned chamber. For a fleeting moment Abel had the ominous feeling he was being invited to his own funeral. He hesitated briefly and then got in the vehicle.

Why he didn't turn around and take the first plane back to Europe he did not know. It was not because he trusted Prince Muhammad. He did not. It probably had more to do with the difficulties that would have been caused by not getting in the car. It was quite possible he would have been forcibly removed from the airport. And there were also the inherent risks, occupational hazards if you will, that came with the territory. Things he had grown callous to after two decades of deceit, subterfuge, and murder. He doubted Rashid would kill him, but it was not out of the question. In Abel's astute opinion the man was a narcissistic sociopath. He lived literally behind fortress walls, surrounded by bodyguards and the opulent wealth that his billions provided. His contact with the real world was severely limited. The royal family had a schism running through its heart. One side looked to the future while the other clung to the past. It was pitting brother against brother and before it was over there would be a bloodletting.

Rashid was a thorough man. A man who liked to cover his tracks. What was it that the assassin had said to Abel in Paris?

I am very aware of the kind of person who pays for this type of work. A few are practical, but many have serious psychological problems. They are often sociopaths who must have their way in everything they do in life. They like all the loose ends tied up and everything tucked away neatly in a box. And for some of them that means getting rid of the man who pulled the trigger.

That pretty much summed up Prince Muhammad. The assassin was a smart man. He still had been given no name by which to call him, but the woman had told him to call her Marie. She had done that right before she told him they were backing out of the deal unless he raised the fee from seven to an even ten million. Abel had begun to argue and she hung up on him without bothering to reply. He waited frantically for the next three hours for her to call back. When she finally did, he was forced to use every ounce of restraint he could muster to keep his cool. He'd never dealt with anyone like these two before. They were like a beautiful woman who told you no and slapped you in the face. For some inexplicable reason he kept coming back for more.

Rather than start the search over, he acquiesced to the new number, and just like that, three million dollars was yanked from his pocket. They had kept him off balance every step of the way and in the process had proven to him that they were more than up to the task. Now he just had to sit back, and let them do the heavy lifting. That was of course unless Rashid planned on having him killed. Abel looked out the heavily tinted window and decided he would have to subtly indicate to the prince that his death would be a mutually disastrous event.

The palace was massive and looked strikingly similar to a five-star resort Abel had once visited in Arizona. It occupied 225 acres and contained thoroughbred stables, six outdoor pools, three indoor pools, a nine-hole golf course, and a small amusement park. All four of Rashid's wives lived on the property, in separate mansions, as well as many of his twenty-one children and his quickly growing brood of grandchildren. The large metal gate opened and the limousine rolled up the palm tree-lined cobblestone path past a colossal fountain and pulled under the huge portico of the main palace. It wasn't always easy keeping Rashid's dwellings straight. There was the one in Mecca, one in Jeddah on the Red Sea, a home in Zurich, and an amazing villa outside Granada, Spain.

The prince did not like to travel abroad very much, but his villa in Spain was his pride. It was one of his stated goals to see Islam once again take its rightful place on the shores of Spain. Abel was often amused by this. Spain was an overwhelmingly Catholic country, and Islam's reign in the southern part of the country was very short lived by historical standards. Prince Muhammad and his cabal saw no inconsistency in their position on Spain and their desire that Israel be wiped off the map. Abel, being German, felt he was in a unique position to understand the Zionist movement and the desire of the Jewish people to have a state in their historic homeland. By any fair historical standard the Jews had a far better case in their quest for a secure homeland than the crazy Wahhabis had in their desire to reimport Islam to Spain. For obvious reasons, Abel chose to keep his mouth shut rather than point out this flawed line of thinking to Rashid.

PRINCE MUHAMMAD WAS waiting for him near his main pool which was built in the shape of a camel. Every time Abel came here he got the feeling that the place had been decorated by a ten-year-old boy. The prince was situated under a large khaki-colored tent dressed in full tribal regalia, which was his custom. Two of his ever present bodyguards hovered nearby.

Abel stepped under the tent and bent slightly at the waist. "Good afternoon, Prince Muhammad. How may I be of service to you?"

"Come sit, Erich. We have much to discuss. I hope you are hungry."

"Yes, I am."

A servant stepped forward and held a chair for Abel. The German noted the chair was situated right next to the prince, which was unusual. Rashid must be in an extra-conspiratorial mood. They made small talk while they drank-Rashid coffee and Abel iced tea. After about five minutes the prince dismissed his bodyguards, and Abel immediately relaxed. If Rashid had any thought of killing him, he would never dismiss the two bookends.

Rashid offered his visitor a bowl of fruit. "How are things going with my old friend?"

Abel assumed he was talking about Saeed Ahmed Abdullah. "I met with him, as you asked, and I am in the process of helping him solve his problem."

The prince nodded thoughtfully. "You understand he is not well?"

"In what way is he ill?"

"His heart aches for his son, and I'm afraid it has made him crazy."

Abel nodded that he understood.

"My friend is not stable, but he is someone to whom I owe a great deal."

Abel was at a loss for words.

"I appreciate you helping him with his problem," continued Rashid. "I do not know who he wants killed, but I have my suspicions."

"You know I will tell you if you'd like, Prince Muhammad."

Rashid held up his hand and shook his head slowly. "No. I do not want to know such things."

"I would agree that it is very important that as few people as possible know about this. I instructed your friend to speak to no one."

"I stressed the same point with him, but still I worry." The prince fingered a grape and regarded it while he tried to decide what to say next. "The man Abdullah wants you to kill...if it is who I am thinking of, you must be extremely careful. He is not just any man. If you fail, he will come after you, and he won't stop until he has your head on a spit."

Abel had considered this. "The person I have hired is exceptionally good."

"You have seen him in action?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. He is very capable, and I suspect the perfect man for the job."

The prince popped a grape into his mouth. "How well do you know this person?"

Abel regarded the question cautiously. "In my line of work, we try not to get to know each other too well."

The prince stared off in the distance for a moment. "There is much at stake here. I cannot be associated with any of this, and neither can you. You are far too valuable to me."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I would like you to make sure there is no way you can be linked to any of this. If this man you have hired succeeds, there will be some very upset, very powerful people...and they will want to find out who was behind it."

Abel considered himself an expert at risk assessment. "The man who your friend wants killed...he has many enemies. Without any hard evidence the U.S. will have a very hard time tracking down who was behind this."

"And if they get evidence, if this man you have hired makes a mistake, or even worse, if he fails and gets captured..."

"There are no guarantees, Prince Muhammad. All of that is possible, but unlikely. The man I have hired is very good. The odds are in our favor that he will succeed, and no one will ever link him to us." Abel noticed the doubtful look in Rashid's eyes. In an effort to further assure him he said, "I have covered my tracks. Even if my man fails it would be exceptionally difficult for them to trace it back to me."

"I do not share your confidence."

Abel exhaled a tired sigh. He did not know what else to say.

"If the man you have hired is captured, the U.S. authorities will find out it was you who hired him."

"The man has no idea who I am, other than a vague description of me and an alias I used." Abel could tell where this was going and felt it necessary to lie to the prince.

"The U.S. has gotten much better with their interrogation techniques. I assume this man has a way of contacting you."

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."