Oath of Loyalty (Mitch Rapp #21)(93)

He installed a battery in the phone and powered it up. There was barely time for it to acquire a satellite before a proprietary app created by Legion prompted him to join a call.

“Go ahead,” he said, picking up.

“It’s not going to be easy.”

Cyrah Jafari sounded natural, but not like herself. In addition to the secure sat link and encryption, there was also a voice-altering algorithm built into both ends. Where anonymity was concerned, Legion believed there was no such thing as overkill. It was a philosophy he wholeheartedly agreed with.

“You thought it would be?”

“No. But with you gone to ground, he’s not going to be doing many events. And to the degree he does, they’ll be like the last one but even more secure and with an audience that’s even more loyal.”

“Your point?”

“If you stay hidden, it’s likely he won’t win the next time. After that, things become quite a bit easier.”

Rapp shook his head. Anna would be ten by the time Cook lost the White House—assuming he even did. There was only so much of her childhood he was willing to steal from her.

“That’s what you’re charging ten million for? Unacceptable. And it doesn’t get you what you want, either. Not much glory in taking out a civilian with minimal security.”

There was a long pause over the phone before she spoke again. “I assumed that would be your reaction. And we actually do have an idea.”

“I’m listening.”

“Like I said, it looks like he’ll still be doing the mixed virtual events—”

“With a limited and well-vetted audience.”

“Correct. But a lot of the people he chose for the last event were more than followers. They were more like disciples. Based on social media accounts we’ve been able to access, some seem borderline unbalanced. They speak about him like he’s a kind of messiah.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Rapp said, unsure where she was going with this. “Those kinds of followers make for good optics, particularly when you’re limiting crowd size.”

“Exactly. But unbalanced people tend to be easily knocked off course. They want desperately to be part of something but aren’t really that particular about what it is. After some cursory research, we’ve already found four candidates that fit the psychological profile we’ve developed. Men who are angry, lonely, and desperate for belonging.”

He smiled. “In other words, men who might be easily swayed by a beautiful young Persian woman who suddenly starts paying attention to them.”

“Exactly. Love and hate are just two sides of the same coin. If their energy could be redirected, they might do our job for us.”

Difficult but plausible. Turn Cook from saint to demon in the eyes of some basement dweller, get him into an event with an undetectable weapon, and let the sparks fly. Rapp had to hand it to her. She was one sneaky bitch. Sadie Hansen was lucky to be alive.

“That’s a lot of art and not much science,” Rapp commented. “Do you think you can do it?”

“I’m not looking forward to spending my foreseeable future sleeping with multiple…” Her voice faded for a moment. “What’s the word I’m looking for?”

“I’m going with basement dweller.”

“Yes. Basement dwellers. But based on what we’ve learned so far, it’s a promising plan.”

“But not a short-term one.”

“No. And that’s what I want to make clear. We’re probably looking at a year. Maybe a bit more.”

He glanced over at Claudia, held up a single finger, and mouthed one year.

Her brow furrowed for a moment, but the number wouldn’t come as a surprise. She’d been the brains behind some pretty convoluted assassinations herself. Still, it was a hard thing to face—a year slinking around the edges of the world with a seven-year-old. Despite that reality, she gave a resolute nod.

Rapp returned his attention to the phone. “You continue to live up to your reputation. Keep me posted.”

After disconnecting the call, he smashed the handset on the Land Cruiser’s bumper.

“Can she do it?” Claudia asked as Rapp picked up his board in order to chase down Anna.

“It’s hard to say for sure, but I can tell you this: I wouldn’t want to be Anthony Cook right now.”





CHAPTER 46


GREENBELT

MARYLAND

USA

IRENE Kennedy sat watching the rain accumulate on her windshield. Beyond was a sparsely populated parking lot surrounding a series of office buildings. There was a strange serenity to the scene that she couldn’t draw from. To the contrary, it seemed to mock her.

The situation had gotten so bad that her only course of action was to risk everything. And even if she came out on top, it was uncertain that anything would be resolved. Democracy was a messy, frustrating compromise that never seemed to last. The American people did it better than anyone, but would that continue? If they stayed on their current trajectory, probably not. But perhaps she could provide the nudge necessary to put them back on track. Back on the path that had made the United States the most successful country in modern history.

If she failed, the consequences would be unimaginably dire. She’d find herself in a very similar position to the one that had killed Mike Nash: cornered, alone, and with the blood of those closest to her on her hands.