American Assassin

Chapter 32
THE Mercedes was the same color and model as the one Dorfman drove. Rapp cruised the neighborhood listening to Hurley and Richards with one ear and the police scanner with the other. His German was nonexistent, but as Hurley had pointed out, the only thing he needed to listen for was a car being dispatched to Dorfman's address. No car was dispatched, so Rapp pulled the rented Mercedes into the driveway and turned around in the small car park so it was facing out. Hurley reasoned that if any of the neighbors saw the car they would assume it was Herr Dorfman's.

Rapp walked around the side of the house to the backyard and helped Richards carry the second poodle down to the basement. A small dart with red fins was still stuck in the animal's rib cage. It rose and fell with the animal's heavy breathing. Rapp had been tempted to say something to Hurley two days earlier when he informed them that they were going to use a tranquilizer gun to take out the dogs, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew that Hurley loved his dogs, but still, they were going to kill a man tonight. From a big-picture standpoint, it didn't make a lot of sense to him. Hurley's way was going to take a little more effort and would not silence the dogs as quickly. Hurley knew what Rapp was thinking and noted that the surveillance report said that the dogs usually barked when they were let out of the house. Especially at night. It wasn't as if they were storming a terrorist stronghold. It was just a German couple in their fifties, so Rapp kept his tactical opinion to himself.

Rapp was now looking down at one of the Germans. Frau Dorfman was blindfolded, gagged, hog-tied, and shivering from fright. He glanced at the knots Richards had made. They were well done. Her wrists and ankles were bound and attached with a length of rope. The only reason Rapp knew anything about them was that his little brother had been fascinated by many things as a child, but knots and magic were the two that became his passion. After their father died, Rapp saw it as his duty to take an interest in Steven's various hobbies, even if they weren't his.

The basement had been finished as a rec room with a bar and a small pool table. Richards had been nice enough to deposit the big German woman on an area rug. Rapp saw a blanket on the back of the couch. He grabbed it and paused. On the wall behind the couch was a poster-sized photo of Dorfman and his two dogs. He was holding a trophy and the two dogs were licking his face. Rapp covered the woman with the blanket. It was going to be a long night for her, and an even longer morning, but unlike her husband, she would live. Rapp grabbed the phone next to the couch and yanked the cord from the wall. He quickly coiled the cord around the phone as Richards reappeared from the utility room flashing him the all-clear sign. They were not to speak a word in front of the woman. Rapp climbed the stairs to the first floor, turned off the basement lights, and closed the door.

Per the plan, all of the lights had been turned off on the main floor except for the single light over the kitchen sink, as was the Dorfmans' habit upon going to bed. Rapp walked through the formal living room, past Richards, who was keeping an eye on the front of the house. The French doors that led to the study were cracked an inch. Rapp pulled his black mask down to cover his face, entered, and closed the door behind him. Dorfman was on the floor in his light blue pajamas. His comb-over hair was all askew and his nose was bleeding. A leather reading chair had been tossed to the side and the rug pulled back to reveal a floor safe.

Dorfman looked up at Rapp with tears in his eyes. Again, Rapp didn't understand German beyond a hundred-odd words, but he could tell the whimpering idiot was asking about his dogs and not his wife. Rapp looked around the office and counted no fewer than ten photos of his dogs. There was one five-by-seven of the wife and two kids that had to be fifteen years old. Rapp counted seven trophies and a dozen-plus ribbons.

Dorfman was still desperately asking about his "Hunde." Rapp raised his silenced Beretta and said, "Shut up!"

Hurley squatted down on his haunches and tapped the dial of the safe with the tip of his silencer. His German was perfect. He ordered Dorfman to open the safe. Dorfman closed his eyes and shook his head. They spoke for another twenty seconds, and still he refused. Hurley looked up at Rapp and said, "Go get his wife."

Rapp shook his head.

Hurley frowned.

"Let me take a shot at this. What do you say I grab one of your dogs and put a bullet in his head?" Rapp saw the flicker of recognition in the banker's eyes. "That's right, you idiot. I'm going to get one of your dogs and bring him up here." Rapp reached into his coat and pulled out a tactical knife. He bent over and stuck the tip in front of Dorfman's face. "I'll do you one better. I'm going to lay your hund at your feet and then I'm going to cut out one of his eyes and force-feed it to you."

"Nein ... nein." Dorfman looked truly frightened.

"If you don't open the safe, I'm going to start with your pooch's eyes, and then his tongue, and then his nose, and then his ears, and if you still haven't opened it by then, I'm going to shove all of it down your throat, and then I'll start in on the second dog, and if that doesn't get you to do it, then I'll start in on you."

Dorfman closed his eyes as tight as he could and shook his head in defiance.

Patiently waiting for Dorfman to decide to open the safe wasn't in the cards. Rapp flipped the knife up in the air and caught it, reversing his hold. He then slammed the tip of it down into Dorfman's thigh. The banker's entire body went rigid with pain and he opened his mouth to scream. Hurley gave him a quick backhanded chop to the throat, successfully choking off the shriek of agony.

Ten seconds passed before Dorfman was calm enough to talk to. "Last chance. Open the safe," Rapp said.

Dorfman was now slobbering, muttering something, and shaking his head.

"Fine," Rapp said as he moved to the door. "We'll do it your way." Rapp went back the basement, turned on the light, and stood over the two poodles and the wife. He wasn't sure which one to grab, so he picked the one on the left. Rapp cradled it in his arms and went back to the office. Richards opened the door for him. Rapp gently laid the pooch at his master's feet. The sight of his precious dog in the arms of the masked maniac sent Dorfman into a near-apoplectic state. Hurley slapped him hard and once again pointed at the safe. At least this time Dorfman didn't shake his head.

Rapp retrieved his knife and held the tip in front of the dog's face. "Left eye or right eye? You choose."

Dorfman was now bawling like a child, reaching out for his dog.

Rapp wasn't sure he had the stomach for this, but what the hell else were they going to do? He glanced at Hurley, whose dark eyes, alert with uncertainty, framed by his ski mask, seemed to be pleading with him to stop. Rapp got the impression that Hurley would rather torture the banker than harm the dog. Rapp cradled the dog's head in his arms and slowly started moving the blade toward the poodle's left eye. He was within a centimeter of piercing the outer layer when Dorfman finally relented. He literally threw himself onto the safe and began spinning the dial. Rapp waited until he'd entered the correct combination and then released the dog. Dorfman crawled to his dog and pulled him in, kissing him on the snout and the top of his head.

"What the f*ck," Rapp muttered to himself, and then asked Dorfman, "You care more about that damn dog than you do your wife ... don't you?" Dorfman either didn't hear him or chose to ignore the question. Rapp looked at Hurley, who was emptying the contents of the safe.

"I told you," Hurley said as he pulled out three objects and held them up for Rapp to see. "An SS dagger and insignia. Nazi prick."

"A poodle-loving Nazi who helps terrorists. Great." Rapp started to raise his gun but stopped. "Is it in there?"

Hurley held up some files, computer disks, and an external hard drive. "I think so." He leafed through the files quickly. "Yep ... it's all here. Jackpot!"

"Dorfman," Rapp said as he pointed his gun at the banker's head. "I bet if those damn terrorists were running around killing dogs you would have thought twice about helping them."

"Please," Dorfman said, "I am just a businessman."

"Who helps terrorist move their money around so they can target and kill innocent civilians."

"I knew nothing of such things."

"You're a liar."

"That's for certain," Hurley said as he stood with the bag full of files and disks. He placed the rug back over the closed safe and while moving the chair back said, "You have their names, their accounts." Hurley shook the bag. "You knew exactly who you were dealing with."

"I was doing my job ... for the bank."

"Like a good Nazi." Hurley gave him a big smile and pointed the Beretta at Dorfman's head. "And I'm only doing my job." Hurley squeezed the trigger and sent a single bullet into Dorfman's brain. The man fell back against the hardwood floor with a thump that was louder than the gunshot. A puddle of blood began to seep out in all directions. Hurley looked at Rapp and said, "Let's get the f*ck out of here. We need to be in Zurich by sunrise."

"What's in Zurich?"

"Same thing that's always in Zurich ... money and a*sholes."