Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(58)
The question was why? Rapp had very little interest in money and was already worth millions—as was Claudia Gould. Why had he created a phony financial crisis and then purposely told the DEA that he was stealing the drugs to deal with that crisis? The answer was as obvious as it was dangerous. He was trying to make contact with the cartel that had smuggled the anthrax and infiltrate them.
“As I said, Senator, we’re looking into the allegations. But I’d urge caution. That file gives every impression of having been compiled by a hostile foreign government.”
Of course, that was completely nonsense. The faint whiffs of Russia and Iran were much more likely Claudia’s doing. She was an extremely clever woman.
“An ad hominem attack, Dr. Kennedy? I would have thought that was beneath you. It doesn’t matter where the information came from, only whether or not it’s true. And even if it isn’t, Mitch Rapp murdered two drug trafficking suspects in cold blood as well as—”
“They weren’t drug trafficking suspects, Senator. They were transporting a bioweapon across the U.S. border. The rules of engagement are different for men like that.”
Barnett laughed. “Ah, yes. That’s the comic book, isn’t it? Mitch Rapp, the great patriot, desperately interrogating two hardened terrorists in order to save us all. Don’t insult my intelligence, Doctor. The questions Rapp was asking those men had nothing to do with America. More likely he wanted to know how to get top dollar for the coke he stole and how to stay ahead of the cartel he stole it from. And now while you sit there trying to spin the situation, he’s using the skills you taught him to disappear.”
She didn’t respond, prompting Woodman to speak up.
“We have two separate informants saying that an unknown party has put word out on the street that he’s got a couple hundred kilos of quality product and he’s looking to unload it fast. There’s no question in my mind that this is your man, Irene. There’s a possibility that we can track—”
Barnett put a hand on his arm, silencing him. Clearly, she believed that any information Kennedy gained in this meeting would be passed on to Rapp. The human species’ ability to believe whatever it wanted was truly incredible. Barnett would overlook everything Rapp had done for America and believe any attack on him—no matter how far-fetched—without question.
“I think we’ve said enough on that subject, Bob.”
And then something completely unexpected happened. Woodman glanced at Barnett and moved his hand to scratch his left temple. When he was sure the senator wasn’t looking, he raised his middle finger.
Kennedy barely managed to suppress her smile. The DEA chief would be fully aware of what went into creating an undercover legend sufficient to get close to a major cartel. At a minimum, he would keep his mouth shut. With a little luck, he could be counted on for some minor assistance if it could be kept under the table. Kennedy gave him a nearly imperceptible nod as Barnett started into one of her infamously indignant speeches.
“It’s hard for even me to believe that this is happening, Dr. Kennedy. The two men that Mitch Rapp murdered were our only lead in finding Sayid Halabi and intercepting the next package of anthrax that’s probably already on it’s way. This is your fault and the fault of your agency. The fact that for twenty years you haven’t noticed that you have a psychotic working for you is hard to believe. That you didn’t notice the multimillion-dollar house of cards he’d built, though, frankly suggests more than incompetence.”
And there it was. Barnett was going to play this as complicity. She was going to drag Kennedy in front of an endless string of congressional hearings in an effort to find something that could be used to prosecute her criminally. And to send a message to anyone else who might be feeling defiant.
Barnett let the accusation hang in the air, hoping to coerce Kennedy into responding to it. Instead the CIA director reached for her briefcase and stood.
“If there’s nothing more, I obviously have a lot of work to do.”
She turned and went for the door, barely getting her hand around the knob before Barnett spoke again.
“Have you heard about Rapp’s partner Claudia? Apparently she left him for Scott Coleman and they’re now in hiding because they’re afraid that he’ll kill them.”
The malignant glee in Barnett’s voice was clearly audible and Kennedy took comfort in it. The senator wasn’t as calculating as she was given credit for. At her core, she was at the mercy of her infinite greed for power.
This was going to get ugly and no one was going to escape without getting bloody. But, as Stan Hurley had been fond of saying, it’s not how you play the game, it’s whether or not your opponent ends up dismembered in the woods.
CHAPTER 29
SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
USA
WHERE were these assholes?
It was Rapp’s second night sleeping in a foxhole stacked with five hundred pounds of coke. And while the drugs themselves were surprisingly comfortable, the impermeable tape wrapped around them left him wallowing in a shallow pond of sweat.
Even worse was the tree above him. Coleman had undoubtedly chosen that location for the additional cover the foliage provided, but hadn’t considered the sizable spines that constantly dropped from it. So while he was all but invisible and had a good line of sight to the house, his back and ass were covered with tiny, infuriatingly itchy wounds.