Oath of Loyalty (Mitch Rapp #21)(99)

“Interesting woman,” Cook continued, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. “Not only does she seem to be completely unafraid, but she actually wants to talk with you. I don’t know if it’s to suggest that you tell me everything you know so she doesn’t have to turn your brain into Jell-O or if it’s because she’s excited about the challenge of breaking a man like you. If I had to guess, though, I’d say it was the latter.”

Rapp agreed. This was a woman who had twice been accused of torturing animals in her basement when they finally cut her loose. The truth was that with the right amount of drugs, suffering, and electrical probes drilled into his brain, she could probably get whatever she wanted.

Cook pulled a phone from his pocket. “No reason to speculate. Let’s see what she has to say.”

He seemed to be enjoying himself as he scrolled through his contacts. And why not? The way he saw it, the tide of their meeting had just turned violently in his favor.

Cook put his cell on speaker and the superior acoustics of the room carried the ringtone with near-perfect clarity. When the call was picked up, though, it wasn’t by a woman.

“You still alive, asshole?”

“Afraid so, Mas.”

“Dammit! I had a hundred bucks on sixteen minutes, fifteen seconds.”

“Can’t win ’em all.”

While it was true that Rapp had forgotten about Hornig, Irene Kennedy’s memory was a bit sharper. Joe Maslick had snatched the woman from her Fairfax Station home just before Rapp landed in the United States. Cook was probably regretting releasing the man from jail about now.

“How’ve you been, Jane?” Rapp said.

“I’ve been fine.”

It had been a long time since he’d heard that voice, but it still made him want to take a shower.

“We’re playing Scrabble,” Maslick said. “Should we finish the game?”

An unspoken second clause hung in the air. Or should I put a plastic bag over her head and bury her in the woods?

“Sure. I think you’ve got time.”

The call disconnected but Cook just kept staring down at the screen. Not surprisingly, the smugness in his expression had disappeared.

“If I ran for president,” Rapp said, “do you think I could beat you?”

Cook looked up, dazed. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Beat me? No… Of course not.”

“Would you even give me a second thought?”

His confusion deepened. “Why would I?”

“Exactly. Why would you? You’re the best in the world at what you do. The very idea that I could beat you and your team at the thing you’ve dedicated your lives to is a joke. Politics is your wheelhouse, and you could destroy me in a thousand different ways that I’ve never even thought about.” Rapp paused for a moment. “Welcome to my wheelhouse, Tony.”





CHAPTER 49


CATHERINE Cook stopped in front of the closed door to the study. Her husband was inside, but beyond that she knew almost nothing. Only that Rapp had arrived as agreed and that she’d been excluded from the meeting at the last minute.

Why? While her husband no longer seemed to trust her, surely he still understood that he needed her. They were still far greater than the sum of their parts and he was free to ignore whatever advice she offered if he chose to do so. In fact, it was his disregard for her counsel that had gotten them in this situation in the first place.

What had he and Rapp discussed? What had been conserved and what had been negotiated away? But most of all, had they been able to create a framework of assurances that could lead to a lasting détente?

If so, her husband would return to the world and almost certainly walk away with the next election. After that, she would follow for another two terms. At the end of that sixteen-year reign, they would have an unbreakable grip on the country. Everything they’d dreamed of, everything they’d worked for, would fall into place.

If, on the other hand, Rapp was simply trying to lure her husband out from behind his security, the calculus changed. While the White House would be well within her reach, the time and skills required to take permanent control would be lacking. Not quite the prize she’d sought, but a very attractive consolation.

Catherine recognized that she should feel more deeply about her husband’s predicament, but it wasn’t her nature. Particularly when the wounds in question were entirely self-inflicted. The truth was that he appealed to the fools who worshipped him because, in many ways, he was one of them.

Finally, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. He was sitting at a small table with a lunch tray in front of him. It was untouched, and instead he was focused on the glass of whiskey in his hand. The image was enough to make sweat break across her forehead.

“Your meeting went well?” she said, managing to conjure a little optimism.

No answer. Instead, he continued to stare into the glass with an expression that was a subtle mix of rage, fear, and impotence.

“Tony? What happened?”

He turned slowly in her direction but seemed to look through her. “Rapp told me that if I resigned, he’d call off Legion and back away.”

“What?” she said, confused. That wasn’t what she and Kennedy had spoken about. Catherine stood frozen. Or had they? What exactly was said in their short time together? Only that the truce needed to be rebuilt. Not its terms.