American Assassin

Chapter 3

RAPP watched Kennedy drive away, his heavy, oversized lacrosse duffel bag hanging at his side. The scene was a bit surreal. It brought back memories of being dropped off at summer camp when he was nine and watching his mom drive off. Just like today, he had gone of his own free will, but this time there were no tears in his eyes. Back then he'd been a boy afraid of the unknown. Today he was a twenty-three-year-old man ready to take on the world.

As the car drove down the lane, Rapp could feel the weight of his decision. A door was closing. He had picked one path over another and this one was undoubtedly the one less traveled. It was overgrown and more treacherous than his imagination could do justice to, but then again his youthful self felt invincible and was filled with schemes to cheat death. He would undoubtedly be pushed to quit, but he was confident that would not happen. He'd never quit anything in his life, and he'd never wanted anything anywhere near as bad as he wanted this. Rapp knew the score. He knew how his chain would be yanked and jerked every which way and he would be forced to endure all of it. The prize at the end was what it was all about, though, and he was willing to endure all of it for his chance.

Rapp could feel the man's eyes on him. He let his heavy bag fall to the ground and watched him come closer. The man with the 'stache and the sunglasses blocked his view of the long driveway. Rapp instantly smelled the acid mix of coffee and cigarettes on his breath. He wanted to take a step back, but didn't want to appear to be backing down, so he stayed put and breathed through his mouth.

"Take a good look at that car," Hurley said sourly.

Rapp tilted his head to the side and watched the sedan disappear around the corner.

"She ain't coming back," Hurley added in a taunting voice.

Rapp nodded in agreement.

"Eyes front and center," Hurley snapped.

Rapp stared at his own reflection in the polarized lenses and remained silent.

"I don't know what kind of f*cking bullshit you pulled on her. I don't know how you managed to con her into thinking you had what it takes to make it through my selection process, but I can promise you that every day you're here, you will curse her a thousand times for walking into your life. But you better do it silently, because if I hear you utter one single unkind word about her, I will make you feel pain you never thought possible. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Yes!" Hurley barked. "Do I look like one of your faggot college professors?"

"No," Rapp said without twitching.

"No," Hurley howled with a veiny throat. "You call me sir when you talk to me, or I'll stick my boot so far up your ass you'll be chewing leather."

A fleck of spit hit Rapp in the face, but he ignored it. He'd figured something like this would happen. He'd already taken a look around and hadn't seen any others, so this was probably his best chance. "Sir, permission to speak?"

"I should have figured," Hurley said with a sigh. He placed his hands on his hips and said, "All right, Ivy League. I'll give you this one chance to say your piece. I can only pray you're going to tell me this was a bad idea and you'd like to go home. And I've got no problem with that," he added quickly. "Hell, I'll drive you myself."

Rapp grinned and shook his head.

"Shiiiiit!" Hurley drew out the word as he shook his head in disgust. "You actually think you can do this?"

"I do, sir."

"So you're really going to waste my time."

"It appears so, sir. Although, if I may ... I suggest we speed things up a bit."

"Speed things up?" Hurley asked.

"Yes, sir. My guess is once you step in the ring with a man you can probably figure out inside about twenty seconds if a guy has enough talent to make it through your selection process."

Hurley nodded. "That's right."

"I don't want to waste your time, so I say we find out if I have the goods."

Hurley smiled for the first time. "You want to take a run at me?"

"Yes, sir ... so we can speed things up."

Hurley laughed. "You think you can take me?"

"From what I've heard ... not a chance in hell."

"Then why are in you such a hurry to get your ass kicked?"

"I figure you'll do it sooner or later. I'd rather do it sooner."

"And why's that?"

"So we can get on with the important stuff."

"And what would that be?"

"Like you teaching me how to kill terrorists."

This was a first. Hurley took a step back and studied the new recruit. He was six-one and looked to be in perfect shape, but at twenty-three that was expected. He had thick, jet-black hair and dark bronzed skin. He had the right look. Hurley sensed the first glimmer of what Kennedy had alluded to. More amused than worried, Hurley nodded his consent and said, "All right. We'll have a go at it. You see that barn over there?"

Rapp nodded.

"There's an open cot in there. It's yours for as long as you can last. Throw your crap in the footlocker and put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. If you're not ready and standing in the middle of the mat in two minutes I'm sending you home."

Rapp took it as an order. He grabbed his bag and took off at a trot for the barn. Hurley watched him duck inside, noted the time on his digital watch, and walked back to the porch where he set down his coffee mug on the edge of the glossy white floorboards. Without so much as glancing over his shoulder he unzipped his pants and began to urinate on the bushes.