Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(85)

“Mr. Rapp!” he shouted through the door. “It’s Vicente. We just read the news about the anthrax. This is the first we heard of it. You must know that’s true. Why would we get involved in an attack on America? All we want to do is provide a safe, high-quality product to people who want it. No different than your alcohol, tobacco, and pharmaceutical companies. We’re in the business of making money. We talked about this. It’s the only reason we’re working with the Arabs.”

“Open the fucking door,” Esparza said, continuing to aim the pistol at Rossi. “Do it now.”

The younger man complied, sliding back the bolt and letting the door drift back a few centimeters. When nothing happened, he pulled it fully open and took a hesitant step into the hallway.

“This is terrible for our business and we want to help you. We can—”

The sound of automatic fire erupted, drowning him out. Esparza jerked back with the pistol held out in front of him, but immediately recognized that Rapp wasn’t responsible. If he’d wanted Rossi dead, it would have been a single shot between the eyes. More likely a guard who had glimpsed the American when he broke cover to make contact.

Rossi threw himself toward the door but missed and slammed into the jamb instead. The collision caused him to lurch back into the middle of the hallway, where he was hit by at least two rounds. The force of them spun him around and he landed flat on his back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

Esparza sprinted to the door, slamming it shut and throwing the bolt again. It wouldn’t hold for long if Rapp got to it, but with the guard covering the hallway it would be enough. He retreated down the steps and cut left, feeling for a hidden switch behind a bookcase. Once toggled, the entire shelf assembly swung away. The hidden passage was something he’d insisted on not because he thought he’d ever need it, but because he’d always wanted one. Now it was going to be the thing that saved his life.

Esparza turned sideways, slipping inside and pulling the shelf back into position. The sensation of claustrophobia quickly took hold as he inched through the dim light sandwiched between concrete walls. The architect had insisted on shrinking the size of the passageway to provide a more elegant shape to the library and Esparza silently cursed himself for agreeing.

The sharp corner near the middle almost stopped him. His stomach had expanded over the past few years but panic and a lubricating film of sweat got him through.

Then the lights went out.

Esparza froze, the blood pounding in his ears interfering with his ability to pick something out of the silence. But there was nothing. No gunshots. No shouts. Just the labored rhythm of his own breathing.

In the end, it wasn’t his ears that discerned something, but his nose. Smoke. A burst of adrenaline surged through him and he felt his mouth go dry. Had Rapp set fire to the house to flush him out?

He started moving again, panic starting to take hold. Finally, he reached the end of the corridor and searched blindly for the latch. Where was the fire? Where was Rapp? Had he gained access to the library and found the passage? Was he moving silently down it at that very moment? Maybe only a few meters away?

The latch! Where was it?

On the other side of that wall was freedom, Esparza told himself. Rapp, for all his skill, was just one man and the compound was enormous. He couldn’t kill what he couldn’t find.

His fingers finally grazed a recessed metal handle and he twisted it. The muted click seemed dangerously loud as he twisted his body into a position that would allow him to push the panel open a few centimeters. He was rewarded with a rush of humid, smoky air and the flickering glow of flames. Rapp was a formidable killer, but he wasn’t a magician. There would be no way for him to know the passage was there. No way for him to find the exit behind the cascade of vines camouflaging it.

The truth was that while the CIA man had been admittedly good in the jungle, he was out of his element. He didn’t speak the language, he wasn’t familiar with the territory, and he had no backup or communications. Esparza, on the other hand, suffered from none of these disadvantages. All he had to do was get to his vehicle. Once out of immediate danger, he could call in reinforcements. This time Rapp wouldn’t be up against a handful of men. He’d be hunted by military, police, and even local farmers. There would be no escape for him.

The cartel leader inched along the wall with his Desert Eagle held out in front of him. When he came to the edge of the vines, he was finally able to pinpoint the source of the smoke. It wasn’t the house that was on fire, it was the shed where the Arabs had been housed.

Esparza finally broke cover near the east side of the building, weaving through widely spaced trees toward a freestanding garage fifty meters away. When he reached the side door, he pressed his back against the wall next to it. His hand was shaking and slick with sweat, but he finally managed to turn the knob. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges and he slipped inside. The dim outline of his Humvee was only a few meters away.

It was heavily armored, with bullet-resistant glass, run-flat tires, and a supercharged engine. There were no weapons Rapp could get his hands on that would be capable of stopping it and no vehicles in the compound that could chase it down.

He crossed the concrete floor in a crouch, peering through the SUV’s windows to ensure that Rapp wasn’t waiting for him inside.

Empty.

The wave of elation felt similar to the one he’d experience when he’d escaped the hidden passage. Maybe Rapp wasn’t even hunting him. Or, better yet, maybe the traitorous piece of shit had been shot by one of the guards. Anything was possible.