Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(40)
Flores kept his weapon trained on the drug runner’s head as his team started moving cautiously toward the vehicle.
Holy shit. I’m a total badass.
CHAPTER 19
LOS ANGELES
CALIFORNIA
USA
RAPP’S limousine eased beneath the hotel portico behind a lemon yellow Lamborghini and an SUV adorned with an improbable amount of chrome. He watched a woman struggle from the low-slung sports car with the help of the doorman and then teeter toward the entrance tugging at a miniskirt that seemed to be half-missing.
“I’ll get out here,” he said, reaching for the handle.
“It’ll just be another moment,” his driver responded. “I can get you under cover and to the doors.”
He appreciated the man’s professionalism, but it was eighty-three degrees beneath a clear dark sky and the doors he was talking about were less than twenty yards away.
“I think I can make it.”
Rapp stepped out under the watchful eye of a group of young people standing at the edge of the parking lot. He was wearing the new suit he’d found hanging in his closet and a clip-on tie that was signed on the back by some Italian guy. His hair was tied back and his beard trimmed, but that still left enough of his features obscured that they initially thought he might be a celebrity trying to fly under the radar.
By the time he made it to the sidewalk they seemed to have concluded that he was nobody and were turning their attention to an approaching Ferrari. Rapp entered the lobby and found a similarly well-groomed Scott Coleman motioning him toward a private elevator near the back.
“Thanks for bailing me out at the last minute, Mitch. The job offer in Iraq came out of nowhere. It’s going to be really good for the company’s profile but I need to be there personally and we’re stretched a little thin.”
Everything he was saying was complete bullshit, Rapp knew. This was almost certainly part of a plot by Claudia to convince him of the benefits of the private sector and to get his mind off the Agency, anthrax, and Sayid Halabi.
His initial reaction wasn’t just to say no, but to say hell no. Then he’d remembered that those words had never come out of Coleman’s mouth in their entire relationship. Even when the job description ended with “and then we’ll probably all die,” the former SEAL charged in without question. How could Rapp do any less?
“Why don’t I just go with you to Iraq,” Rapp suggested. “Mas or Bruno can handle this.”
Coleman smiled as he used a key to access the elevator. “I can’t put you on a protection detail, Mitch. My client would end up getting killed by someone trying to get to you.”
“Uh huh,” Rapp said, following his friend into the elevator and resigning himself to the fact that there was no escape.
“Trust me, you don’t want to go to Iraq. I guarantee you this is going to be the best job you’ve ever had. KatyDid bought up the entire top floor and they’ve locked themselves in the presidential suite.”
“A venereal disease bought up a hotel floor?”
“That’s chlamydia. Katydids are grassh—” He fell silent before finishing his sentence. “For God’s sake, Mitch. It’s what the press call Didier Martin and Katy Foster.”
“Who?”
Coleman looked at him sideways as they began to rise. “Martin is pretty much the biggest singer in the world. He’s been a household name since he was, what? Fourteen? His girlfriend Katy is an actress and model. Probably the most popular person on social media for two years running. I mean, I know you spend a lot of time in caves, man. But come on.”
“What’s this to me?”
“That’s the best part. All you have to do is sit in a comfortable chair outside their door. They never leave the room. Basically, they eat, screw, get high, and watch TV. Almost always in that order. Two days from now, he’s doing a concert and once he leaves the hotel, the venue’s security takes over. And for this—wait for it—I’m jacking him for fifty grand a day.”
“Visitors?”
“Not unless Martin calls you and tells you they’re coming. Oh, and don’t go inside unless he specifically tells you to. And if he does, don’t talk to either one of them unless they ask you a question. Also, it’s better if you don’t look at them directly.”
“Seriously?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Coleman said as the elevator opened and they stepped out. “He’s not going to call, and the only time you’re going to lay eyes on them is when you turn them over to stadium security. No one’s going to try to kill them. No one’s going to shoot at you. Just sit in the comfy chair, play Angry Birds on your phone, and collect twenty grand a day.”
“I thought you said you were charging him fifty.”
“I gotta cover my overhead,” Coleman said and pointed to a chair set up next to a set of opulent double doors. Rapp lowered himself into it.
“What do you think?”
“It actually is pretty comfortable.”
“Here’s the key to the elevator and a key to the room that you won’t need. Enjoy and don’t forget to remind Claudia to water my plants. I’ll see you when I get back in a couple weeks.”
? ? ?
“So that’s the chef’s salad to start, the filet with french fries instead of baked potato, and a Coke.” The room service guy lifted a silver cover off the plate and snapped out a napkin before dropping it in Rapp’s lap.