Oath of Loyalty (Mitch Rapp #21)(71)

“You should talk to her, not me,” Claudia said, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Whose side are you on here?”

“The side that ends with you alive, Mitch. This is a big step. Sometimes you just have to put your trust in someone else. Seriously, tell me another person in the world you’d rather have working on this. Me? No. Scott? No. You? God, no. As you’re fond of saying, take the win. For now, just take the win.”

“I don’t know, Claudia. Irene has a strong bias here. Are we missing an opportunity? With the right preparation, anyone can be killed.”

“Maybe you should put Sadie on it.”

He let out a long breath, but not so loud that she’d hear. He didn’t want to talk about Sadie. He wanted to spend a few minutes with his mind clear of her soufflé, the fact that she got off on cutting herself, her increasing despondency over her separation from Anna—a girl she’d never met…

“She’s nuts, Claudia. And I don’t mean a little bit off. I mean bat-shit insane. But she’s convincing. And that’s what we need.”

“Talented, dangerous, and beautiful. What did Liz Dawson call her?”

Here it came.

“Victoria’s Secret Agent?”

“Please tell me we’re not having this conversation,” Rapp said.

There was a long pause over the line. “We’re not.”

“Then can we return to my other problem?”

“So, you’re not just going to take the win?”

“I’m considering it.”

“Fine. Cook is doing a hybrid physical-virtual event in two days. It seems like this is the direction they’re going in to give him maximum exposure to his constituents while at the same time giving him minimum exposure to you.”

“So, you are paying attention.”

“Of course I am. I’m not trying to take options off the table, Mitch. I’m just trying to manage them.”

“And?”

“What I’m seeing isn’t encouraging. There are three potential sites, all heavily secured. The audience will be brought in on buses, but which venue is being used will only be known less than an hour before.”

“But he’s actually going to be at one of them personally. He’s leaving the White House.”

“Yes. But we don’t know when or how or where exactly. Also—and I’m not exaggerating when I say it—this could literally be the most secure event in history. What we need to do here is sit back, watch, and get some insight into where their security protocols are headed.”

“You said you don’t know exactly where he’s going to appear. That there are three possible venues.”

“Correct.”

“Are all of them in the DC area?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re telling me that all our guys are being watched.”

“Physical, electronic, drone… They’re completely locked down. Why?”

He smiled. “No reason.”





CHAPTER 33


BEBE Kincaid looked down sadly at the towel in her hand, knowing it was the last dry one in the house. The night before, a nicked pipe had given way and by the time they’d woken, a minor disaster was in the offing. Mitch had shut off the water and cleared most of it using a huge squeegee attached to a rake handle. After he’d left for the plumbing supply store, she’d attacked the problem with rags and now the floor was dry. The problem was that the grout was coated with a pasty haze of plaster.

The haphazard staining thwarted her every effort at cleaning and distorted the perfect grid effect created by the tile. Nothing lined up anymore. Nothing was consistent. What if it was permanent? What would they do then?

She knelt and began scrubbing again, ignoring the arthritis in her shoulder until it became intense enough to overshadow her panic about the floor. Finally, she sat back on her heels and counted the way her therapist had taught her.

One, two, three… It doesn’t matter. Four, five, six. It’s just a floor. Seven, eight, nine. I could buy grout cleaner and a stiffer brush. Ten, eleven, twelve. That would do it. That would fix it.

It was 10:44 a.m., sixteen minutes before her scheduled departure time. She went back to her room and cleaned up, changing into newly pressed clothing and then walking back down the stairs on rubber-soled shoes. Grocery bags were hung by the front door, making it possible for her to escape without having to go anywhere near Sadie’s kitchen.

At eleven sharp, she was behind the wheel of Claudia’s armored SUV, engine started and bags folded neatly in the passenger seat. The sense of relief she felt once outside the gate was always welcome. The house became more oppressive every day. More hopeless. She wondered if this was what it had been like centuries ago when a castle came under siege. Knowing that time was on your opponent’s side and that eventually yours would run out.

She glanced at the speedometer, confirming that she was traveling at exactly forty kilometers per hour, before squinting into the rearview mirror. Instead of the house’s perimeter wall receding into the distance, though, she saw someone rising from the SUV’s cargo area. Panic seized her and she slammed a foot on the brake pedal, causing the vehicle to fishtail despite its sophisticated antilock system.

“It’s me!” she heard the woman shout. Her French accent was unmistakable.