Chapter 39
ZURICH, SWITZERLAND
RAPP entered the study a few minutes before six and found Hurley alone, a phone in his left hand and a drink in his right, staring out the French doors at the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Hurley glanced casually over his shoulder, the phone pressed against his left ear, to see who it was, and then went back to what he was doing. Rapp glided across the room, stepping from the hardwood floor onto a large Persian rug. The library was on two levels. The second floor consisted of a catwalk that accessed the stacks of books lining the four walls. There wasn’t a dust jacket on a single book.
A large wood-paneled door to Rapp’s left opened with a click. Herr Ohlmeyer appeared, a warm smile on his face. He held up one of his long fingers and silently motioned for Rapp to join him. Rapp glanced at Hurley to see if the man wanted to discuss anything, but he was still on the phone, so he followed Ohlmeyer into a much smaller windowless office.
Something about the room felt different. Off in some way. When Ohlmeyer closed the door, there was a click of finality and then near total silence. Only the faint hum of a CPU. Rapp became aware of his own breathing and then realized the room was soundproof. The floor was elevated a few inches, and the walls and ceiling were built-in and covered in fabric. Behind the desk with the triple screens was a bank of black-and-white security monitors three high and five across. In front of the desk was a small conference table maybe forty-eight inches across. It had four bland wood chairs. The room was such a stark contrast to the rest of the house that Rapp couldn’t help but take notice.
Ohlmeyer could see the younger man’s interest and said, “In my business one must take certain precautions.” He pulled out one of the chairs, told Rapp to sit, and then grabbed a file from his desk. Placing it on the conference table, he said, “I admire what you are doing. This is not an easy life you have chosen.”
Rapp nodded in a noncommittal way, but other than that did not respond.
“Do you have any regrets so far?”
Without hesitation, Rapp said, “No.”
“No problems sleeping … no second thoughts?”
“I’m not a big sleeper.”
Ohlmeyer smiled and scratched the dimple on his chin. “Your type rarely is.”
“My type?”
“Yes. The hunter. It is imprinted in your genetic code. Almost everyone has it, dormant for thousands of years. In many there isn’t enough of it left to do them any good. They spend their days in sedentary jobs that challenge them neither physically or mentally. They do not have your abilities and your drive, of course.”
Rapp supposed there was a good deal of truth in his words; he simply had not put a lot of time into thinking about it.
“I have some documents here,” Ohlmeyer said as he tapped the file. “Stan knows about this, but he does not want to know the details.”
“Details?” Rapp asked, wondering what Hurley was up to now.
“You are in a very dangerous line of work. You are but a small vessel in a harbor packed with giant supertankers. Those supertankers bump up against each other sometimes, causing little harm to themselves, but to you it is the end.” He clapped his hands together, signifying the destruction of Rapp’s boat. “In your work, you need a special kind of insurance, and do you know why?”
Rapp could hazard a guess but he got the idea Ohlmeyer would prefer to do the talking. “Not really.”
“Because those supertankers don’t really care about you. They may lament your misfortune, but only briefly. The tanker, the ego of the captain, all comes before you. Think of it as the ship of state, if you will. You are young, and if you are lucky your career will last for another four decades. During that time your handlers will come and go and the political winds of change will reverse directions more times than you will be able to count, and sooner or later it is likely that someone within your own government will begin to think of you as a problem. Ships of state do not like to be embarrassed, and if that means sinking a small vessel every once in a while … well, that is a price they are willing to pay.”
Rapp had a bad feeling. He looked at the file and said, “What’s that all about?”
“It is your insurance policy.” Ohlmeyer opened the file and clipped to the first sheaf of documents was a Swiss passport. “Stan has assured me that your French is perfect.”
Rapp nodded.
“And your Italian, German, and Arabic?”
“My Italian is good, my German is weak, and my Arabic is pretty good.”
Ohlmeyer nodded. That matched with what Hurley had told him. “I have prepared three separate legends for you. Swiss”—he slid the set of documents out of the file, followed by two more. “French, and Italian. You will need to memorize everything in these files and, most important, you will need to visit Paris and Milan in the coming weeks.”
“Why?”
“You now own a safety deposit box in each city, and one in Zurich, but I will take care of that one for you. You will want to place certain things in these safety deposit boxes. Things that will help you survive should you need to go underground, as they say.”
Rapp frowned. “Does Stan know about this?”
“It was his idea. Mine as well, but we did the same thing for him years ago.” He slid over a blank sheet of paper with three names on it. The first two were French and the third was Italian. “Please practice signing each of these a few times before I have you sign the signature cards.”
Rapp took the pen and began practicing the name Paul Girard. “Why isn’t Stan handling this?”
“He does not want to know the details.”
“Why?”
“Because every man in your profession needs a few secrets.”
“Even from his own boss and government?”
“Especially from your boss and your government.”
Rapp was wondering how he was going to keep all of these different aliases straight. Hurley had already given him two, and here were three more. He practiced a few times on the other names and then signed the cards.
“In each box,” Ohlmeyer said, “will be twenty thousand dollars in cash, various documents, such as birth certificates, in case you lose the passport, and a matching set of credit cards and driver’s license. As I said, you will want to add certain things to each box, but you should talk to Stan about that. There is also a numbered account here in Switzerland that I will be administering.”
“A numbered account,” Rapp said, barely able to conceal his surprise.
“Yes, Stan has requested that as well, and told me that it is up to my discretion to release the funds.”
Rapp was tempted to ask the size of the account, but instead said, “May I ask you a personal question?”
Ohlmeyer nodded, with a smile, as if he already knew the question.
“Why are you doing this … helping us?”
“We will discuss it over dinner tonight, but the short answer is that I believe in freedom.”
“Freedom,” Rapp said as he turned the word over in his mind for a second. “That’s a pretty vague term.”
“Not really, but if it helps you understand my motivation, you’ll need to understand that I grew up in East Germany. I saw what the Soviets were really like.”
Rapp’s mind was filled with a menagerie of black-and-white atrocities, courtesy of the World at War shows he saw as a kid. “So you hate the Russians.”
Ohlmeyer gave a little laugh and said, “Let’s just say I believe in good guys and bad guys.”