Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(66)

“Did my men talk?” Esparza asked.

Rapp shook his head. “That’s why I didn’t know the shipment was yours. My compliments on your management style. I took off one of their hands with a set of bolt cutters and they were still more afraid of you than they were of me.”

Esparza smiled at that. In the end, he and Rapp were much alike. Two predators who got what they wanted. “Go on, Vicente.”

“Mr. Rapp seems to have left his official capacity at the CIA some time ago to pursue what appears to be a vendetta in Saudi Arabia, though it’s impossible to know how much Agency involvement there was. Irene Kennedy is quite clever at covering her tracks. He was recently in Yemen, most likely working as a private contractor in her employment.”

“And now?” Esparza said.

Rossi seemed reluctant to continue but understood that he had no choice. “The allegations of long-term financial impropriety combined with the shooting of the DEA agents and the murder of two Mexican nationals has very much changed his status. Not surprisingly, everyone is backing away from him as quickly as they can.”

“Including Kennedy?”

“Unclear. But her ability to support him at this point is nonexistent. People are abandoning her almost as quickly as they are Rapp. If Senator Barnett wins the presidency it’s hard to see how she’ll escape being indicted.”

“So you can see my problem,” Rapp interjected. “And why your organization is an interesting solution. Half those politicians would be dead if it weren’t for me. But now they’re turning on me without a second thought. You, on the other hand, have a reputation for loyalty and rewarding competence.”

Esparza watched María approach and begin collecting their empty plates. “I think you’d find working for drug traffickers much more predictable than working for politicians.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Why don’t you go with María. Since my men can’t perform the simple task of keeping you in a cage, you might as well stay in the house.”

Rapp stood and Esparza studied his confident gait as he retreated across the flagstone patio.

“Thoughts?” he said when the CIA man had disappeared through the glass doors.

“Kill him now.”

The cartel leader laughed.

“I’m serious, Carlos. You can’t trust this man.”

“Didn’t you just tell me that you confirmed his story?”

“He and Irene Kennedy have the capacity to create any illusion they want.”

“But why? I think your lack of balls might be clouding your vision, Vicente. The CIA doesn’t give a shit about drugs, other than maybe to sell them to finance their black ops. And I think it’s unlikely that the rise of Christine Barnett is just a trick to allow Mitch Rapp to infiltrate a medium-sized Mexican drug operation. And then there’s the matter of the DEA agents. Even with the vests, one could have easily been killed. The Americans don’t take those kinds of risks. And they don’t torture drug traffickers to death.”

“But—”

“The timing of this couldn’t be better for us, Vicente. We’re in a dangerous position because of the loss of the San Ysidro mall, and there’s no question that someone like Rapp could help with the Arabs. He speaks their language. He understands how they do business and what scares them. . . .”

“The timing of this couldn’t be better for us,” Rossi repeated. “You don’t find this at all suspicious? That a man dedicated to fighting Middle Eastern terrorists arrived on our doorstep right after we sent through our first shipment of Middle Eastern heroin?”

Esparza frowned and took a sip of his coffee. “Heroin has been flooding out of the Middle East for years. Between that and Saudi oil, the Americans finance virtually every terrorist operation in the world. And even if they did care, why would they come after us? There are cartels with longer-standing relationships with the Arabs.”

“What about our exposure to American retaliation?” Rossi countered. “Mitch Rapp probably has more ugly secrets in his head than anyone but Irene Kennedy herself. You say the CIA doesn’t care about us and you may be right. But the day they find out we’ve taken on Mitch Rapp, we move directly into their crosshairs.”

Esparza nodded thoughtfully. This was perhaps the most compelling argument for killing Rapp. The risks of having him there were incredibly high. Probably too high.

Rossi sensed that he’d gained an advantage in their discussion and decided to press. “I can figure out how to deal with heroin, Carlos. There are a lot of Arab immigrants in Mexico, some of whom are already involved in the drug trade. We can hire as many as we need.”

Esparza tapped his index finger absently on the tabletop. Summarily executing Mitch Rapp seemed like an incredible waste. Both of talent and opportunity for sport.

Everyone he hired into a position of authority had to pass a test. Depending on the specific demands of the job, that test might relate to skill, toughness, loyalty, or intelligence. Some were relatively easy. María had been hired based on her ability to make food indistinguishable from Esparza’s own mother’s. For others, failure had meant death.

“We’ll test him,” Esparza said, finally.

“Carlos, I don’t—”

“Relax, Vicente. We’ll create a test that’s impossible for him to survive. Do you have no curiosity at all? No interest in seeing Mitch Rapp in action? In seeing what he would do and how long he could last against impossible odds?”