Consent To Kill

Chapter 30-31
30

WASHINGTON, DC

The day did not go exactly as planned. Right after Anna Rielly finished her first live shot, Claudia was hit with another wave of nausea. Louie barely got her across the street before her breakfast came back up, literally at the feet of the great Jean-Baptiste-Donatien de Vimeur Rochambeau. Gould's father would have been very disappointed that she had not made it to the statue of Andrew Jackson. Louie cared only that they got away from the myriad of surveillance cameras around the White House. When Claudia was done heaving, Louie helped her back to the hotel. She almost made it without having to stop but she was overcome again just a half a block from the hotel. Louie stood guard while she placed one hand on a light post and the other on a newspaper box. He rubbed her back and smiled sheepishly at concerned passersby. One older woman actually stopped. Louie explained that Claudia was pregnant, and she'd just been hit with a wave of nausea. The woman understood completely and went on to tell Louie how she'd had it something awful with all four of her kids. Every morning without exception she'd get hit with two or three waves of it. She would have had a fifth, but she couldn't bear the thought of going through the morning sickness again. She told Louie he needed to keep her in bed. Make sure she got plenty of rest. There was nothing the little darling could do but ride it out.

Louie thanked the older woman for her sage advice and helped Claudia up to the room. This time they took the elevator. She sat on the edge of the bed while he took off her shoes. She didn't bother with the rest of her clothes, electing instead to crawl under the covers and clutch the blanket around her neck. She began shivering and her normally beautiful skin had taken on a pasty pallor. Louie stood there helplessly, wondering what he should do. He did not want to seem insensitive, but there was a lot of work to be done and he honestly didn't know if she needed him to stay by her side. Almost as if she could read his mind Claudia told him to leave. She would be fine on her own. All she wanted was sleep.

Gould changed out of his walking clothes and put on a white shirt, tie, and dark gray suit. After unlocking his suitcase he carefully pried his fingers between the liner and the hard outer shell. Slowly, the layers began to separate. Gould retrieved a new set of credentials and put them in his breast pocket. A small clock radio sat on the desk. He flipped it upside down and removed the false bottom. Two items roughly the size of a pack of playing cards fell out, as well as a tiny circular object the size of two stacked nickels. All three items were black. He stuffed them in his pockets and checked on Claudia one more time before leaving. She was fast asleep. He took the stairs down to the lobby and donned his sunglasses as he stepped out into the bright sunlight. Gould walked west along the north edge of Farragut Square. At Connecticut he took a right and two blocks later he found what he was looking for. He perused the display window from the street and looked to see if any surveillance cameras were visible inside. There was one behind the clerk. Gould hesitated briefly. It was unlikely that he would find a store like this without cameras.

He cinched up his tie, adjusted his sunglasses, and entered.

The kid behind the counter looked up at him and smiled. "What's up?"

"I need to get a phone for my teenage daughter."

"All right. Do you have a preference...Motorola...Nokia..."

Gould shook his head.

"Does she need a camera?" the young man asked.

"I suppose."

"How many minutes a month are you willing to get her?"

Gould thought about it. He'd probably put five or ten minutes on the thing at the most, and then he'd chuck it. "It's mostly for emergencies, so probably one of the smaller plans."

"Are you already a customer?"

"No."

"Do you want to be? We've got some great friends and family plans."

Gould shook his head. "I'm under a government contract."

"Okay." The young man reached under the glass and grabbed one of the phones. "I'd put you into this one right here. It's got a two-mega pixel camera, she can download ringtones and..."

The clerk went on and on about the phone's features, but Gould had already stopped listening. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a credit card. "How much?"

"It's twenty-four ninety-five a month plus tax and fees, and if you sign a one-year contract, the phone is free."

"Can you bill it automatically to my credit card?"

"Absolutely."

"I'll take it."

Gould left the store with the phone in his pocket and a block later he chucked the bag and packaging in a garbage can. He turned down 18th Street and started working his way back to the White House. He had a good idea where to start his search. He'd studied a map and earlier in the morning, before Claudia got sick, he'd checked out the immediate area around the White House. The street that ran along the west side of the White House was West Executive Drive. It was blocked off at both ends by a heavy gate and manned by the Secret Service. There were a limited number of spaces, probably reserved for people who worked directly for the president. Gould checked the area anyway and did not see any BMWs. This did not deter him. Convenience and logic were on his side. Rapp's wife got to work early, which meant she would have her pick of garages and at the same time, she would not want to walk far.

The first ramp on his list was just off the corner of 17th and H. An attendant dressed in black pants and a red windbreaker stood at the top of the underground entrance next to a sign that announced how much it cost per hour and for the day. Gould walked right up to the guy and fished out his new credentials. He held them in his left hand to the side of his face like he did it countless times every week.

"I'm Agent Johnson with the IRS." Gould snapped shut the case and continued, "You guys park any blue BMWs this morning?"

The attendant shrugged and looked down the concrete ramp to one of his coworkers. The two spoke briefly in a language Gould did not understand. The other man hustled up the ramp.

"You are looking for a blue BMW?"

Gould guessed the man was probably Somalian. "Yeah. Series Five. Do you know which make that is?"

The man nodded. "I parked a silver one thirty minutes ago, but no blue ones." The man studied him warily. "What is this about?"

"I'm investigating a tax cheat who works in the area. We're looking to seize her vehicle." Gould had taken the story right from the IRS's Web site.

"Is there a reward?" the first man asked.

"Hundred bucks."

"How do we get ahold of you?"

"I'll be back by before lunch. Anyone else parking cars with you guys this morning?"

"No."

"Any chance you missed a blue BMW?"

Both men shook their heads confidently.

"All right. Thanks for your time. I'll see you later."

The next garage went pretty much the same except there were three attendants. One of them couldn't remember if he'd parked a blue or black BMW, but that it had been about an hour ago. Man or woman, Gould asked him. The attendant said it was a man. Gould thanked them for their time and told them he might be back later. The third garage was the one that he thought she'd probably used and he was right. This time he didn't ask about a specific car. He just flashed his credentials and told them he needed to look for a vehicle that might be involved in an investigation. They asked if they could help, and he politely told them no. Gould descended into the concrete cavern and found a blue BMW Series Five on the first level. He looked around, a bit surprised to see that there were no surveillance cameras until he realized customers weren't allowed down here. The attendants met people on the sidewalk and parked their cars for them. Gould knew luck was shining on him when he spied the keys in the ignition of the car.

He went and stood by another car in case one of the attendants showed up, and pulled out the new cell phone. From memory he punched in a number. Two rings later a woman answered.

"Comm Center."

"This is Detective Johnson from Five D," Gould said in a tired voice. "I need a 1028 on District plate echo, echo, foxtrot, one, eight, three."

Police departments were the same the world over. The woman sitting at the Communications Center for the Metropolitan Police Department was supposed to ask for his badge number, but she didn't because she was overworked and underpaid and the guy on the phone sounded like all of the other cops who called her hundreds of times each day to access the Washington Area Law Enforcement System. The database they all referred to as WALS.

"The vehicle is registered to an Anna Rielly."

"BMW Series Five?"

"Yep."

"Do you have a 1029 filed on the car?"

"Nope."

"Okay...thanks." Gould closed the phone and put it back in his pocket.

He walked slowly back to the ramp and checked on the attendants. Both men were standing at the top talking. As Gould hustled back to the car he put on a pair of latex gloves. He opened the driver's door and fished the smallest device from his pocket. There was a thin plastic film on the back of the miniature listening device. Gould peeled it off exposing a tacky adhesive surface. He stuck the device under the dashboard and hit the trunk release button. Gould slid a blanket and a shopping bag to the side and pulled the small lever that opened the compartment where the spare tire was kept. He checked to make sure both of the larger devices were working and then placed them in the well of the compartment. He closed the door carefully and put the shopping bag and blanket back where he'd found them, before closing the trunk. The gloves came off with a snap, and Gould dumped them in the garbage can right before he started up the ramp. He thanked the attendants for their time and started back to the hotel with a smile on his face. So far things were going exactly as planned.

31

WASHINGTON, DC

The day was drawing to an end, and they were getting ready to pull out. Gould had returned the rental car he'd picked up in Montreal and grabbed a new one from a different company using yet another identity. The vehicle, a black Ford Explorer, was packed and parked on a ramp less than a block away. The transponder Gould had placed in Rapp's wife's car contained miniaturized GPS technology. Gould had checked every thirty minutes or so to see if the car had moved. It hadn't. Even if it had, he would have only been mildly interested. He doubted she was going to go home in the middle of the work-day, and home was what he wanted. That was where Rapp would be most comfortable.

Claudia was feeling much better. She'd even managed to keep down a late lunch. While Gould was out switching cars she had gone online and checked out NBC's Web site. In addition to reporting up-to-the- minute news, the Web site promoted the evening news. It mentioned three key stories they would be covering, and one of them was a controversy brewing over the president's nominee for Secretary of Education. It was the same thing they'd watched Anna Rielly report on that morning. They were running on the assumption that she would do the evening news and then head home.

While online Claudia took care of some banking and checked their various e-mail accounts. There were really only two messages of any concern. The first was an offer for a job. She was tempted to reply that they were getting out of the business, but Claudia realized that might attract undue attention. People would wonder why they had so suddenly decided to drop out. When the news broke of the great Mitch Rapp's death, people would begin to speculate. It was better to tell former clients that they were too busy to accept new contracts at the moment. The second e-mail of consequence was from the German. Abel was offering them an additional million dollars if they could fulfill the contract in such a way as to make it look natural. Like it was an accident. He didn't want this to compromise the job, however. The priority was to make sure they succeeded on the first order of business. If a readily available solution presented itself, however, it would be preferred. It did not have to be overly convincing. Just leave the door open for interpretation.

Claudia had stared at the message for a long time. She wasn't sure she should show it to Louie, but in the end she did. When he got back she let him read the e-mail and then she asked him what he thought. Louie simply said, "We'll see." Later he surprised her by saying that he was already considering doing just what the German had suggested. He reasoned that the CIA would make it a top priority to catch the people responsible for Rapp's murder. If they could make it look like an accident, they could retire without having to look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives. The idea sounded great, but implementing it would be difficult. Gone were the days of running people off the road at night, or hitting them in a head-on collision. They were in America, where airbags were common. Gould told her to remain flexible. If an opportunity presented itself they would discuss it. Otherwise, he would take him out at a safe distance with the silenced rifle.

They ordered room service at 5:00. It arrived at 5:34. Louie devoured a California burger with french fries. Claudia ate a light salad and bread. She felt good but didn't want to push it. She drank water and he drank water and coffee. He was worried about her but didn't say anything. He hoped this morning sickness thing was a onetime occurrence, but he doubted it. At 6:00 they watched the local news and sanitized the room, wiping down common surfaces where they may have left prints. They had absolutely no reason to think they were being followed, or that they would be discovered once the job was complete, but that didn't matter. They were professionals, and professionals were thorough. The room service cart was pushed out into the hallway and Claudia called for it to be picked up. At 6:30 they sat on the edge of the bed and watched the start of the NBC Nightly News.

Rapp's wife came on in the first five minutes. She was standing in the same spot she had been in the morning and wearing the same outfit. She spoke for maybe ten seconds and then they rolled some footage. When the footage was done, the anchor asked her a question, she answered it, and they went to a commercial. Gould stood and turned off the TV. They each grabbed a bag. All of the other stuff was already loaded in the new rental car. They were paid for one more night and depending on how things went they might need to come back here and sleep.

It took six minutes to leave the hotel and reach the car. By the time they pulled out of the ramp Claudia had the GPS device hooked up to her laptop. She waited a few seconds for the software to load and give her an overlay of the streets. Right now it was set for a two-square-mile overview, but she could narrow it down to a block-by-block look or bring it all the way back to an overview of North America. They had no idea where Rapp and his wife lived. The credit report listed a P.O. box in DC, and Rielly's last known address was an apartment in Georgetown.

Gould drove the Explorer over to 19th and H and waited. The parking ramp where he'd found her car was two blocks away. They didn't have to wait long. Claudia announced that the target was moving. Louie waited patiently while she relayed the direction the BMW was headed. Louie didn't need to look at the map on the computer screen. He had the map of downtown memorized. H was a one-way street heading east.

"The car is heading north on Seventeenth Street." Claudia stared intently at the screen. "She crossed H...no, forget that. She just turned east on H."

Louie pulled the gear lever out of park and took his foot off the brake. He hit the turn signal and eased out into traffic. They continued east on H until they hit New York Avenue. They missed the light and had to wait almost a minute. Claudia gave him constant updates. The car was on New York Avenue heading northeast. Louie was nowhere near panicking, but he did want to at least get a visual to make sure it was Rapp's wife who was in the car. Due to the lights, she maintained a one-mile lead until they were out of the District. Then New York Avenue opened up to a three-lane highway. Gould stepped on the gas and started passing cars. Nothing too crazy, but he was steadily gaining. At some point the road changed from New York Avenue to John Hansen Highway and U.S. Route 50. By the time they reached the Beltway they had a visual on the car. In the failing light they could barely make it out a hundred yards ahead. They passed under Interstate 495 and Gould closed the distance. At Lottsford Vista Road he eased up beside her. It was now past seven and the traffic was moderate. Both he and Claudia agreed it was her. She was talking on her cell phone so her face was partially obscured, but she gave them a glance like she was thinking about changing lanes.

Gould eased off the gas and fell back several cars. He retrieved an earpiece from his pocket and stuck it in his right ear. It was plugged into a small receiver that was tuned to the frequency of the miniature listening device he'd placed under the dashboard of the BMW. A voice came over the small speaker. There was a fair amount of background noise, but even so it was unmistakably her voice. Gould listened to the one-sided conversation with a critical ear, hoping to gain any information that might involve their schedule. They continued on U.S. Route 50 for another five minutes, then took U.S. Route 301 south for approximately six minutes and then started turning down a series of county roads. They were a decent ways from the city. Gould did not know what to think. Did they live way out here? Was she going to visit someone? Was she working on a story?

"How far are we from the Chesapeake Bay?" Gould asked.

Claudia pecked a few keys on the computer. "About four miles."

Gould nodded and watched his distance. He did not want her to notice she was being followed, but it was getting harder. Sooner rather than later they were going to run out of land. He was right. They ran out of land. Claudia told Gould that the car had just turned onto a dead end road. He pulled over and watched on the computer screen as the BMW inched closer and closer to the Chesapeake Bay. It finally stopped as if it had pulled right up to the water's edge. They waited several minutes to make sure the car didn't start moving again and then Gould continued on. He turned down the dead end road and set his speed five miles an hour above the posted speed. On the right were farm fields and woods and a few scattered houses. On the left were houses every couple of hundred feet. In the failing light he could glimpse the water of the big bay as they passed between houses.

"We're close," Claudia announced. "Less than a hundred meters."

Gould was already scanning ahead, looking for the car.

"Fifty meters."

He approached a white house and saw the car. There was a second car parked next to it. Gould tensed ever so slightly. "I see it."

"Try to get an address off the mailbox if you can."

Gould took his foot off the gas but did not hit the brakes. They were on a straight, narrow road. As they passed the house he read off the numbers on the mailbox. She checked the map to make sure they were still in Anne Arundel County. They were. She accessed the county's Web site and clicked on the property information tab. She punched in the address and five seconds later the corresponding information came up on the screen.

"The house was purchased in 1997 for two hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars by Bay View Shores LLC. No officer listed under the company."

"It's him." Gould looked back over his shoulder.

"How can you be so sure?"

"He would never put it under his own name."

"What if she is merely stopping by to visit a friend?"

"It's him." Gould gripped the steering wheel and then flexed his fingers. "I can feel it. He's in there right now."