“Can you be more specific?”
“I could slap the harshest economic sanctions in history on their country and you know what those royal assholes would do? Fly to Paris and drown their sorrows in ten-thousand-dollar bottles of wine while their people starved. The only way we’re going to get them to fall into line is by creating a penalty that they feel. From now on, I want them to know that it’s their asses on the line.”
“And how would you propose we do that?”
Alexander looked like he was going to make a move for the chair behind his desk, but chose the one next to Rapp instead. “I think you need to have a talk with Prince bin Musaid and at the end of that talk I think he needs to be dead.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
“I’m not sure I did.”
“I want you to find out if this goes any further and I want you to make the point that no one is off-limits.”
“And how would I make that point?”
“By killing those people, too. It was suggested to another prince once that it’s better to be feared than loved. When the new Saudi administration comes in, I want it to be clear that when America says jump, the only appropriate response is to ask how high.”
Spent, Alexander leaned back in his chair. “You’re surprised.”
“That’s a lot of plain talk coming from a politician.”
“Then, while I’m on a roll, let me give you some more. This conversation never happened. The CIA can’t be involved in any way. If you decide to do this and you get caught, I’ll abandon you so fast, it’ll make your head spin. The Saudis need to know I’m responsible, but they can’t be able to prove it.”
“Understood.”
“So what do you think?”
Rapp shrugged noncommittally. “Obviously, you’re playing my tune. But then, you know that or you wouldn’t have called me.”
Alexander smiled, the storm apparently over. “Let me give you a piece of advice, Mitch. You should tell me to go fuck myself. Then we can forget this conversation ever happened and talk about the Redskins’ chances this season.”
*
When Rapp exited the building, he discovered that Claudia’s car was gone. The White House wasn’t exactly a high-crime area and that could mean only one thing.
His suspicions were confirmed when a Lincoln Navigator glided up in front of him. He opened the back door and slid inside.
“You’re up early, Irene.”
As always, she looked impeccable—gray suit, dark hair pulled back, and shoes meticulously polished. “I couldn’t sleep.”
The silence stretched out between them as they pulled onto a quiet Pennsylvania Avenue. Finally, she broke it.
“The president’s angry about bin Musaid and the Saudi government.”
“Really?”
“The subject didn’t come up?”
Rapp shook his head. “He just wanted my thoughts on the White House football pool.”
It was a statement that would make the discussion he’d just had completely clear without making her complicit.
“Alexander’s a good man. I’ve been lucky in my career. We both have. We’ve worked for smart, reasonable administrations.”
“Yeah.”
“But he’s still a politician.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, Irene.”
“He won’t just turn his back on you,” she continued. “Neutrality won’t play well on the international stage. He’ll do everything in his power to track you down. And capturing you won’t be the goal. America can’t risk you being questioned.”
“Uh-huh.”
She looked out the window, watching the buildings pass by for a few moments. “I understand that things are going well with Claudia.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant by that. Could she know? The woman had an intuition that inspired confidence when it was working for you but was infuriating when it was turned against you. He remained silent.
“You have the beginnings of a good life, Mitch. And while I’m not here to suggest that you slow down, I’d recommend that you avoid running off any cliffs. Just for a while, until you figure out what you want for yourself and for the people around you.”
“Then tell me he’s wrong, Irene. Tell me that I’m wrong. I’ve always listened to you.”
She just kept looking out the window. Finally, Rapp saw Claudia’s Q5 parallel parked at the edge of the street. The driver stopped beside it and, in an unusual gesture, Kennedy held out a hand to Rapp. “Whatever you decide, Mitch, good luck with it.”
*
By the time Rapp pulled up in front of his house, the sun had cleared the horizon. He hadn’t driven directly home, taking the long way to give himself time to think. What conclusions he’d come to, though, he wasn’t sure.
Anna met him in the entry, still wearing her pajamas and rubbing at her eyes. “Did you get me my oatmeal?”
He held up a grocery bag. “Go get ready for school. I’ll make it for you.”
“No,” she protested. “Let Mom do it.”
“Fine. But put it in gear. You’re going to be late.”
She disappeared up the hallway, and he crossed through the interior courtyard to the kitchen. Claudia was standing by the refrigerator, carefully extracting coffee from a machine that looked like it had been designed by NASA.
“How was your meeting?” she asked.
“What meeting? I just went to the store.”
“Ah,” she said, sliding a cup of Peruvian dark roast toward him. As always, it was spectacular.
“There are some things I need to deal with,” he said as she began the elaborate process of filling her own cup.
“The problems you learned about at the Food Lion?”
“Yeah. Those.”
“How long will you be gone?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer. This job was unlike anything he’d ever taken on. He worked at the extreme edges of the U.S. intelligence apparatus but he was still part of it. Disregarding orders was very different from not having any orders.
“Awhile.”
She slid onto a stool and stared at him, picking up on his unusual reticence. “Off the books?”
“Worse.”
“Completely black?”
He took a sip of his coffee. Fuck. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this.
“Keep going.”
She clapped her hands together excitedly. “A rogue operation?”
He gave a hesitant nod.
“So, a criminal enterprise,” she said, not bothering to hide her glee. “And only one of the people at this table knows how to be a criminal.”
CHAPTER 17
Nouakchott
Mauritania
AALI Nassar glanced at his watch. Four in the morning.