Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(65)
“Gracias,” Rapp said, accepting it with a disarming smile. Esparza’s desperation to escape seemed to wane as Rapp poured himself a glass of juice and downed it in a few gulps.
“I see you’re making yourself at home,” he said, examining the clothes Rapp was wearing.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind,” Rapp responded, testing the coffee. Not surprisingly, it was top-notch. “What have you been able to figure out?”
Esparza remained silent for a few seconds before finally speaking. “That it’s possible you’re who you say you are. There’s a surprising amount of information available on the recent activities of Mitch Rapp but getting confirmation is difficult. My assistant is supposed to have a more thorough report for me this morning.”
María returned with the huevos rancheros and Rapp dug in as the cartel leader looked on.
“It appears that you stole a fair amount of money over your career.”
“Stole, my ass.”
“So you deny the accusations your government is making?”
“I took money from terrorists and the people who funded them. I’ve been hanging it out there for America for twenty fucking years and my annual salary wouldn’t cover the clothes I found in your guest bedroom. And what if one of my enemies came after me and I had to run? You think the politicians would help me out? I sure as hell wouldn’t bet my life on it. So, sure. I had a few rainy day funds.”
“Invested stupidly, apparently.”
“I got some bad advice. Not really my area of expertise.”
“A man with friends like yours could make these kinds of problems go away with the snap of a finger.”
Rapp shoveled another forkful of María’s amazing eggs in his mouth and shook his head. “Could is the operative word there, Carlos. Past tense. President Alexander isn’t going to get anywhere near a scandal during this clusterfuck of an election. And Christine Barnett wants nothing more than to hang me up by my balls.”
“An uncomfortable position.”
“You think?” Rapp said, letting the volume of his voice rise. “I’ve been shot, stabbed, set on fire, and blown up. Twice. All in the defense of the Stars and Stripes. And all I asked in return was enough money to survive my retirement.” He was almost shouting now, demonstrating the kind of passion that a man like Esparza would appreciate, but not so much that it would worry the guards. “But what am I looking at instead? A jail cell and a piece-of-shit president who’s never lifted a finger for anyone but herself.”
It was pretty much a retread of all the things Claudia had been telling him, but there was no reason it wouldn’t work as well on Esparza as it had on him.
“And your woman? My people tell me she left you for a friend of yours.”
“Her boss and my backup man Scott Coleman,” Rapp spat out. “Who knows how long that’s been going on? Turns out that when the money and power goes away, so do they.”
“It seems you’d want to kill them,” Esparza said, interested enough to keep probing, trying to find a crack in Rapp’s story.
“I wouldn’t mind. Believe me. But Scott’s a dangerous son of a bitch and the Agency’s going to be looking for me to make a move like that. For now, I’m just going to have to let it go. When all this dies down and I get my feet under me, though, you can bet your ass I’m going to be paying them a visit.”
Esparza fell silent, watching the man in front of him. As insane as it seemed, all indications were that he really was Mitch Rapp. And that created both opportunities and dangers that he never thought he’d be contemplating. Over the years, he’d managed to put many important people on his payroll. But Mitch Rapp? None of his competitors—even those with revenues that would get them on a Forbes list—had anyone who could compare.
Vicente Rossi appeared, took a few steps across the terrace, and stopped dead. It was an understandable reaction, but one that Esparza couldn’t be seen sharing. Instead, he cut a slice of the pineapple on his plate and casually waved his business advisor over.
“I don’t think formal introductions have been made. This is Vicente.”
Rapp nodded in the man’s direction but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him.
“What do you have for me?” Esparza said, taking a bite of fruit to cover his nervousness. He had killed countless men. Tortured them and their families. Built a cartel that commanded fear and respect that far outstripped the scope of its operation. He refused to allow his fear of this unarmed American to show.
Rossi, still standing, had no similar qualms. “Perhaps this is something that would be better done in private?”
Had he discovered something that would cause the CIA man to go for the knife still within his reach? Esparza met Rapp’s dead gaze, refusing to turn away. “Now.”
Rossi gave a reluctant nod. “I’m satisfied that this is indeed Mitch Rapp.”
It wasn’t a surprising conclusion at this point, but still the cartel leader felt a surge of adrenaline. “And the DEA men?”
“We were able to get people into the hospital where they’re being treated. There’s no question that they were shot, but because of their body armor, their injuries are relatively minor.” He paused. “Unlike our men, who are dead.”
Esparza leaned back in his chair, gazing up at the younger man. The reason the DEA men had survived was obvious. There would have been no reason for Rapp to antagonize the Americans any more than necessary. And the reason so many of his men were dead was equally obvious.