Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(93)

“Great,” Coleman said. “So you’re saying we should just handle this on our own with a handful of people and a minivan with a few guns in it. And if we make the slightest mistake, no big deal. Only a few hundred million people will die.”

“I’m doing everything I can, Scott. Alexander’s a good man and he’s been a good president. But politicians aren’t built for these kinds of all-or-nothing decisions.”

“What about going around him?”

This time the pause was long enough that Coleman thought they might have lost the satellite link. Finally she came back on.

“I had an informal conversation about that with a few highly placed people I won’t name. What I can tell you is that no one has the stomach for what would essentially be a coup. In a way, it’s comforting that our institutions are holding strong even in the face of something like this.”

“It doesn’t feel comforting from where I’m sitting, Irene.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. Claudia? Are you there? How are you holding up?”

The question was understandable. While Claudia Gould was a logistics genius, she’d spent most of her career supporting her private contractor husband. Her definition of failure had involved things like missing the target, getting arrested, and not being paid. Now she was getting a crash course in the difference between that world and the one inhabited by Mitch Rapp.

Her eyes narrowed and the expression on her youthful face hardened. She had a daughter to protect and, at thirty-six, a life left to live.

“If you say we’re the only people who can deal with this, then that’s what we’re going to do. Deal with it.”





CHAPTER 48


OUTSIDE OF SAN LUIS POTOSí

MEXICO

RAPP stopped and examined the chain link gate illuminated in the Humvee’s headlights. The sign on it was badly faded, but he could still make out the cheerful logo of a company that had once offered sightseeing flights over a nearby national park.

He dug a couple of antibiotic pills from his pocket and popped them in his mouth. A couple hours into his drive he’d spotted a pharmacy and made a quick stop. The man behind the counter had been oddly unfazed by Rapp’s demand for an anthrax remedy, but in retrospect it wasn’t so surprising. The American people were panicked over Halabi’s threats and loved buying cheap pharmaceuticals in foreign countries. There was a good chance that he wasn’t the first gringo to stop at that drugstore on his way home.

The bitter taste of the pills was strangely comforting. He had no idea if he’d inhaled any spores while emptying that bag into his bathtub, but chances were high. There was probably a reason the CDC didn’t issue kitchen gloves and tourist bandannas as standard protective gear.

He spotted movement out of the corner of his eye and inched a hand closer to his Glock before registering the blond hair of Scott Coleman. The gate opened and he pulled through, idling while the former SEAL relocked the barrier and slipped into the passenger seat.

“I haven’t talked to Irene in more than two hours,” Rapp said, accelerating. “Give me a sit rep.”

“We got here about a half hour ago and I have a chopper inbound. The tarmac’s in worse condition than we thought so we can’t land planes. We should be able to get two private ones in the air from the local airport, though. Irene’s scrambling basically everyone the Agency has in-country—including a few people who retired down here. Not the most organized or well-trained force we’ve ever worked with, but at least we have warm bodies.”

“And your team?”

“I left them closer to the border to form a defensive line. If we get a target, they’ll be in a position to intercept from the north. But so far we’ve got nada.”

A dark, wooden crate of a building appeared in the headlights and Rapp pulled around behind it, parking next to a minivan with a “Baby on Board” decal. There was a generator humming outside and a couple of extension cords running through the wall.

“What about Esparza?” Coleman asked, glancing at the empty backseat before jumping out.

“He didn’t make it.”

Technically accurate, but not the entire story. In truth, the man had stopped bleeding and was doing pretty well by the time he’d finished his conversation with Kennedy. When Rapp reached pavement, though, he’d decided that driving around with a bound cartel leader in the backseat was all risk and no reward. He’d pulled off into the trees and left Esparza there with his head twisted backward. With a little luck, his bones were already being picked clean by scavengers.

Coleman just shrugged and went for the building’s only door.

The interior was painted in the same colors as the logo on the gate, but much of it was peeling or stained from leaks in the roof. Two windows had been covered in a mix of plywood and canvas to keep light from bleeding through and a bathroom with a collapsed sink was visible in the corner. Other than that there wasn’t much—not even a table. The operation was being run from the floor.

Claudia was at the far end of the building, staring at a map and talking excitedly into the phone. “Where? Yes, I understand. And how good is this information? Fine. Yes. Get back to me as soon as you can.”

She hung up and spun, fixing her almond-shaped eyes on him. The relief was clear in them but she let it show for only a moment. “We may have a functional lead. One of the coyote organizations Esparza gave us runs their operation out of a warehouse in Córdoba, southeast of Mexico City. That warehouse burned down three hours ago.”