Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(53)
“Fine,” Gray started. “But laying the groundwork is very different than acting on it. We’ve got a lead in the primary that’s looking unassailable and your numbers against your likely opponents in the general are just about as good.”
“Don’t start resting on your laurels, Kevin. We need to stay on the offensive.”
“Are you sure? Risk and return, Senator. What we don’t need right now is an unforced error.”
“Hell yes, I’m sure!” she said, the volume of her voice rising. “Those poll numbers aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on. People will say they’ll vote for a woman, but when they actually get in the booth, will they? Or will I go into the general with a twenty-point lead and come out giving a concession speech? When Election Day comes, Alexander, his party, and whatever idiot they run against me have to have been destroyed. Do you understand me? When we’re done with them, their own mothers are going to question voting for them. And if you’re willing to do what it takes to get me there, then you’ve got a very bright future ahead of you. If you’re not, then not only will I replace you, but I’ll make sure you never work in politics again. Am I being clear?”
“Senator, we—”
“Am I being clear?”
Gray stared back at her for a couple of seconds, but finally diverted his gaze and stood. “Crystal.”
CHAPTER 25
SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
USA
A FEW hard kicks got the sticky rubber doorstop free and Rapp pulled the door open. Thomas Braman and Holden Flores spun toward him, along with another man who hadn’t been in evidence when Rapp arrived. All had donned bulletproof vests and the new man was holding a Remington 870 shotgun. Flores immediately put his hand on his sidearm but didn’t draw it, instead leaning left to get a look at the blood-splattered room and the two corpses. For a second it looked like he might throw up.
Braman’s eyes remained locked on Rapp, but most of his attention seemed to be focused on the phone plastered to his ear. It wasn’t hard to guess what was happening on the other end: absolutely nothing. His bosses in Washington would be hiding in their offices while their assistants provided excuses and transferred him to another unavailable executive.
And Braman, while a pain in the ass, wasn’t an idiot. He knew that the music was winding down and that he was going to be the only one left without a chair. If he stopped Rapp and that created a backlash from the White House, he’d be crucified for not following orders to hand over authority. On the other hand, if he let Rapp walk, he could be charged as an accessory to the murder of two Mexican nationals.
Welcome to the current state of American politics, Rapp thought. Everyone who didn’t have a place at the very top of the political food chain was expendable. No loyalty. No gratitude. No courage. Braman was an arrogant prick looking to move up in the world, but there was nothing in his record that suggested he’d ever screwed his men in pursuit of that goal. He probably figured he’d been an honorable soldier in the war on drugs and didn’t deserve to be hung out to dry for something that wasn’t his fault.
And he was right.
Rapp passed silently by them, leaving bloody footprints on the concrete floor. He pushed through the door and felt the morning heat hit him. The sky was devoid of clouds and bleached yellow by the dust and the sun. Despite the situation, he had a sudden craving for an icy beer. Something to help him contemplate a future that was now so dark he couldn’t even penetrate its edges.
The DEA men spread out behind him, and for the better part of a minute he stood there listening to Thomas Braman desperately try to get someone to take his call. The man’s voice rose to a shout, dominating the small enclosure as Rapp watched the cartel’s surveillance drone circle overhead. Whoever was operating that plane had already been taking particular interest in this situation and now he had a blood-splattered man staring up at his cameras.
“Don’t even think about transferring me again,” Braman said. “If he’s in a meeting, get him out!”
This wasn’t how this was supposed to go down. He’d figured on waiting until they were on the dirt road leading out. There was a dry wash that he’d identified as being a perfect spot for what had to be done. He’d purposely bog the truck down, and then when the DEA men were gathered in a tight group looking at the buried tires, he’d make his move. It would be about as controllable a scenario as he could create.
Now, though, he had the drone overhead and the three DEA men standing right behind him. Braman, the most experienced, had a phone instead of a gun in his hand. A glance back confirmed that Holden Flores had his hands at his sides instead of on his weapon. The other DEA man still had the shotgun but was holding it across his chest aimed at the sky.
Bird in the hand.
“Don’t hang—!” Braman fell silent for a moment. “Shit!”
Rapp waited until the man was consumed with redialing before he turned, walked a few steps, and slammed a fist into Flores’s jaw. The kid crumpled, but before he even hit the ground, Rapp had drawn his Glock and pumped a round into the sternum of the man holding the shotgun. He jerked back and fell, his weapon bouncing from his hands and spinning through the dirt.
Braman dropped his phone and went for his pistol, but then went down when he took a bullet to the chest.