Oath of Loyalty (Mitch Rapp #21)(47)
“But they’re fresh enough in your mind to be prepared for them. South African homes are known for their security, but yours takes that to another level.”
“Hope for the best but prepare for the worst.”
“I live by the same adage, Mr. Burhan, but this still seems extreme for a retired soldier and bodyguard. A mix of bulletproof and non-bulletproof walls, at least twelve hidden weapons, Kevlar in various pieces of furniture. A safe room with overlapping video coverage and remote-controlled door locks. Impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“But even with all that…” Gumede continued. “Defeating ten men like you did. It seems extraordinary even for a Green Beret.”
“A little skill. A little luck. A couple of damn fine dogs. And, frankly, opponents who weren’t exactly the cream of the crop.”
Gumede changed the subject with a suddenness designed to disorient him. “Have you read the reports about Gustavo Marroqui’s assassination? Apparently by some kind of high explosive. Possibly dropped from a plane.”
“I think I might have seen something about it on CNN,” Rapp said in a tone meant to make it clear that he’d personally gone down to Guatemala and blown that motherfucker into the stratosphere.
“I see,” Gumede said, making it equally clear that he’d picked up the subtext. “I understand that men like you often go to work for other types of government agencies after you retire from special forces. Ones that have”—his voice faded for a moment—“broader missions.”
“Sometimes.”
Again, the African nodded thoughtfully, clearly considering how far he wanted to insert himself into this. “I’ve made a number of official inquiries about you to the American government and they’ve been very forthcoming with superficial information. But when I try to dig deeper, I run into an extremely polite wall of red tape.”
“Bureaucrats,” Rapp said sympathetically. “What are you gonna do?”
“What indeed. And the bureaucrats here don’t seem to want to make any more of this unfortunate incident than necessary. They see it as a clear example of self-defense and believe the courts would do the same.”
“Very sensible on their part.”
“More cowardly than sensible, I think. In the end, though, pursuing this further is bad for their reputations, bad for tourism, and has the potential to cause diplomatic headaches they don’t want to deal with.”
“Problem solved, then.”
“May I speak plainly, Mr. Burhan?”
“I’d prefer you did.”
“I think you’re a sociopath and cold-blooded killer. And while I believe you used those traits in the service of your government, I also think that at some point you got involved in the drug trade. Now, whether that was for the benefit of your Central Intelligence Agency or for your own bank account, I can’t say. And it doesn’t matter, because I’m wise enough to know there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Rapp leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. He couldn’t help liking this asshole. If the world had about a billion more of him, Rapp would have had a lot quieter career.
“I appreciate your honesty, Officer. So let me return the courtesy. I am not, nor have I ever been, involved in the drug trade for my own account. Further, whatever I’ve done in the past is just that: in the past. My goal now is to live out a peaceful retirement. And as inconvenient as this kind of thing is to you, it’s a hell of a lot more inconvenient to me. But, as you’ve noticed, it’s being taken care of.”
CHAPTER 22
A SECTION of ceiling completely gave way and Rapp barely managed to avoid it coming down on his head. He dropped the pry bar he’d been using and caught what he could in a strategically placed wheelbarrow. Despite having turned off the water to most of the house, some of the plaster was still wet enough to stick to the antique tile floor Claudia loved so much. The rest enveloped him in a cloud that he could smell through the mask that wouldn’t fully seal against his beard.
He pushed the wheelbarrow through the haze to the front door. An improvised ramp allowed him to avoid the porch steps and he continued across the grass to a large dumpster near the perimeter wall. Once there, he pulled off his mask and used a shovel to begin transferring the debris.
Finally, he stepped back, shading his eyes against the sun and taking a moment to survey his progress. The gate was unrepaired and still covered with corrugated metal that was pretty effective in deterring press photographers and general curiosity seekers. Of course, they could still use drones, but he hadn’t seen any yet. If that changed, he had a twelve-gauge by the door.
The freezer was cleaned out, as was the damage to the sewage line, which had taken care of the worst of the odors. An electrician had tested as much of the wiring as was practical and cut off any questionable circuits at the breaker box. That had left much of the ground floor without power, but with the creative use of extension cords, he could run the refrigerator, microwave, work lights, and basic power tools. Though not all at the same time.
Most of the furniture and artwork from the first floor had found a new home at the dump. Later that week, a moving van was scheduled to take the rest of their belongings to a secure storage unit outside of Cape Town. Then the place would be ready to hand over to the architect Claudia had coming to meet with him.