Chapter One
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Rapp stood in front of his boss’s desk. He’d been offered a chair but had
declined. The sun was down, it was getting late, he’d rather be at home
with his wife, but he wanted to get this thing taken care of. The file was
an inch thick. It pissed him off. There was no other way to describe it.
He wanted it gone. Off his desk, so he could move on to something
else-something more important, and probably more irritating, but for now
he simply wanted to make this particular problem go away.
His hope was that Kennedy would simply read the summary and hand it back
to him. But that wasn’t how she liked to do things. You didn’t become the
first female director of the CIA by cutting corners. She had a
photographic memory and a hyperanalytical mind. She was like one of those
high-end mainframe computers that sit in the basement of large insurance
companies, churning through data, discerning trends and risks and a
billion other things. Kennedy’s grasp of the overall situation was second
to none. She was the depository of all information, including, and
especially, the stuff that could never be made public. Like the file that
was on her desk right now.
He watched her flip through the pages with great speed and then backtrack
to check on certain inconsistencies that he had no doubt were there.
Preparing these reports was not his specialty. His skill set had more to
do with the other end of the business. There were times when she would
read his work with a pen in hand. She’d make corrections and jot down
notes in the margins, but this was not one of those times. This particular
pile of crap was one of those things that could turn out to be toxic. The
type of thing that would ruin careers like a tornado headed for a trailer
park. Kennedy knew when he came to her office, either early in the morning
or late in the day, and refused to sit, that it was a good idea to keep
the cap on her pen. She knew what he wanted, so she kept reading and said
nothing.
Kennedy wanted final review on things like this. Rapp wasn’t so sure that
was a good idea, but she had a better grasp of the big picture than he
did. She was the boss, and ultimately it was her pretty little neck on the
chopping block. If it blew up, Rapp would jump on
the grenade without hesitation, but the vultures on the Hill would want
her hide too. Rapp respected her, which was no small thing. He was a
loner. He’d been trained to operate independently. To survive in the field
all on his own for months at a time. For some people that type of work
would be unnerving. For Rapp it was Valhalla. No paperwork, no one looking
over his shoulder. No risk-averse bureaucrat second-guessing his every
move. Complete autonomy. They had created him and now they had to deal
with him.
Guys like Rapp didn’t do well taking orders unless it was from someone
they really respected. Fortunately, Kennedy had that respect, and she had
the clout to make things happen or, as in this case, simply look the other
way while he took care of things. That’s all Rapp wanted. What he
preferred, actually. He didn’t need her to sign off or give him the green
light. She just needed to give him the file back, say good night, and that
would be the end of it. Or the beginning, depending on how you wanted to
look at it.
Rapp had the assets in place. He could join them in the morning and be
done with it in twelve hours or less if there weren’t any surprises, and
on this one there wouldn’t be any surprises. The target was a moron of the
highest order. He would never know what hit him. The problem was in the
stir it might create. The aftermath. Personally, Rapp couldn’t care less,
but he knew if Kennedy hesitated that would be the reason.
Kennedy closed the file and removed her reading glasses. She set them down
on her desk and began rubbing her eyes. Rapp watched her. He knew her
well. As well as he knew anyone. The rubbing of the eyes was not a good
sign. That meant her head hurt, and in all likelihood the discomfort was
due to the pile of crap he’d dumped on her desk.
“Let me guess,” she said as she looked up at him with tired eyes, “you
want to eliminate him.”
Rapp nodded.
“Why is it that your solution always involves killing someone?”
Rapp shrugged. “It tends to be more permanent that way.”
The director of the CIA looked disappointed. She shook her head and placed
her hand on the closed file.
“What do you want me to say, Irene? I’m not into rehabilitation. This guy
had his chance. The French had him locked up for almost two years. He’s
been out for six months, and he’s already back to his same old tricks.”
“Have you bothered to think of the fallout?”
“Not really my forte.”
She glared at him.
“I’ve already talked to our French colleagues. They’re as pissed off as we
are. It’s their damn politicians and that goofy judge who let the idiot
go.”
Kennedy couldn’t deny the fact. She’d talked to her counterpart in France
at length about this individual and several others, and he was not happy
with his country’s decision to set the radical Islamic cleric free. The
counterterrorism people in France didn’t like it any more than they did.
“This guy is a known entity,” Kennedy said. “The press has written about
him. They covered his release. If he turns up dead, they’re going to jump
all over it.”
“Let them jump. It’ll last a day or two-maybe a week at the most-and
then they’ll move on to something else. Besides, it’ll serve as a good
message to all of these idiots who think they can operate in the West
without fear.”
She looked back at him, her eyes revealing nothing. “What about the
president? He’s going to want to know if we had a hand in it.”
Rapp shrugged. “Tell him you don’t know anything about it.”
Kennedy frowned. “I don’t like lying to him.”
“Then tell him to ask me about it. He’ll get the picture, and he’ll drop
it. He knows the game.”
Kennedy leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. She looked at the
far wall and said more to herself than Rapp, “He’s a cleric.”
“He’s a radical thug who is perverting the Koran for his own sadistic
needs. He raises money for terrorist groups, he recruits young
impressionable kids to become suicide bombers, and he’s doing it right in
our own backyard.”
“And that’s another problem. Just how do you think the Canadians are going
to react to this?”
“Publicly … I’m sure some of them will be upset, but privately they’ll
want to give us a medal. We’ve already talked to the Mounted Police and
the Security Intelligence Service. They wish they could deport the idiot,
but their solicitor general is hell-bent on proving that he’s Mr. PC. We
even have an intercept where two SIS guys are talking about how they could
make the guy disappear.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Damn straight. Coleman and his team picked it up this week.”
Kennedy studied him. “I have no doubt that our colleagues will privately
applaud this man’s death, but that still doesn’t address the political
fallout.”
Rapp did not want to get involved in the politics of this. He’d lose if
that’s where they ended up going. “Listen, it’s bad enough when these
religious psychos do their thing over in Saudi Arabia and Pakistan, but we
sure as hell can’t let it happen here in North America. To be honest with
you, I hope the press does cover this, and I hope the rest of these
zealots get the message loud and clear that we’re playing for keeps.
Irene, we’re in the middle of a damn war, and we need to start acting like
it.”
She didn’t like it, but she agreed. With a resigned tone she asked, “How
are you going to do it?”
“Coleman’s team has been in place for six days watching him. This guy
operates like clockwork. No real security to worry about. We can either
walk up and pop him on the street, in which case we might have to hit
anyone who’s with him, or we can take him out with a silenced rifle from a
block or two away. I prefer the rifle shot. With the right guy, the odds
are as good and there’s less downside.”
Her index finger traced a number on file and she asked, “Can you make him
disappear?”
“With enough time, money, and manpower I can do anything, but why
complicate things?”
“The impact of it will be significantly reduced if the press doesn’t have
a body to photograph.”
“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll look into it.”
Kennedy began nodding her head slowly. “All right. Number one rule, Mitch,
don’t get caught.”
“Goes without saying. I’m very in to self-preservation.”
“I know. All I’m saying is, if you can come up with a way for him to never
be found, it might help.”
“Understood.” Rapp reached down and grabbed the file. “Anything else?”
“Yes. When you get back I need you to meet with someone. Two people,
actually.”
“Who?”
She shook her head. “When you get back, Mitch. Meanwhile, you have my
consent. Make it happen, and call me as soon as you’re done.”
(Continues…)
Atria
Copyright © 2005
Vince Flynn
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0-7432-7036-3
Excerpted from Consent to Kill
by Vince Flynn
Copyright © 2005 by Vince Flynn .
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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