Executive Power

Chapter Twenty-Nine
His fingers had just touched the cool black steel of his Beretta when he felt his satellite phone vibrate. Rapp froze for only a second but Moro noticed.

In an attempt to conceal his tension, Rapp smiled, and said, "I'll never get used to these damn vibrating phones." He withdrew his hand from the Beretta and grabbed the phone from his belt.

"Excuse me, General, I've been waiting for this call."

Moro flashed a forced smile and nodded. He was now watching Rapp's movements with greater interest.

"Hello," Rapp answered. He listened for a moment and then replied, "Yes. It's a deal. He's offered to join forces with us." Rapp listened for another few seconds.

"It's going to cost us slightly more than we talked about, but the general convinced me he could make it happen."

Rapp smiled and nodded to the general.

"Yep... O.K...... the ball's in your court. I can fill you in on the rest of the details when I get back." Rapp listened again briefly and then said, "Yep, it's a go... all right, good-bye." He pressed the end button and put the phone away saying, "They are very pleased, General. They're not crazy about you upping the price, but if you follow through on your promises no one's gonna complain."

"Good." Moro seemed to relax a bit.

"Now," Rapp said, getting up, "if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to Manila and take care of some more business. If you need any assistance in carrying out your missions, don't hesitate to ask."

Moro got up and extended his hand across the small desk.

"Do not worry, Mr. Rapp, my men are some of the best in the world." He flashed Rapp a confident smile and pumped his hand.

Rapp forced himself to return the smile and ignore the fact that Moro was squeezing his hand a bit too firmly. He went to retract his hand, but Moro did not let go.

"Tell me, Mr. Rapp," hissed Moro in a conspiratorial tone, "is General Rizal on your payroll?"

Rapp tried once again to retrieve his hand, but Moro tightened his grip. Having absolutely no tolerance for such childish games, Rapp clamped down on Moro's hand with viselike pressure. Pulling the general toward him, he warned, "General, don't f*ck with me."

With a gleam in his eye and a slick smile, Moro replied, "I am the one who you should not f*ck with. I am sickened by your country and your arrogance, and let's be very clear about something, you will never own me. I will meet the agreement we made here today and that is as far as it goes. Tell that to your bosses back in Washington, and tell them if they don't like it the Andersons will never see their home again. Now get out of my camp before I decide to have you shot." Moro released Rapp's hand with a shove.

It took every ounce of restraint Rapp had not to level Moro with a left cross to the jaw. This man had psychological issues that ran much deeper than anything he had been briefed on. The only thing that prevented him from pounding his psychotic ass into the ground was the fact that the best damn sniper in the world was sitting on a mountain-top a mile away ready to bring this little drama to a much more final and beneficial conclusion.

With that thought in mind Rapp simply turned and left the tent.

Just outside he found Colonel Barboza and the general's aide-de-camp conversing. Rapp jerked his head toward the chopper and kept walking.

After several strides he pulled out his satellite phone and hit the speed dial number for Coleman. After a few seconds the connection was made.

"Did you see the tent I just came out of?"

After a brief delay, Coleman's reply came back.

"Affirmative."

Looking ahead to the helicopter, Rapp twirled his finger in the air, signaling the pilots to start the engines.

"That's where he is." Rapp was almost halfway to the chopper when he heard some shouting behind him. He turned to see Moro standing in front of his tent wearing his holster. For a moment he thought the general was yelling at him and then he realized his angry comments were directed at Colonel Barboza.

The colonel, who had already started for the chopper, was now stopped about midway between Rapp and the general. Rapp couldn't hear the specifics of what was being said, but it appeared that the higher ranking of the two officers wanted the junior officer to ask permission to leave the camp.

Rapp, fed up with Moro's behavior, studied the situation pensively, and then made a quick decision. Clutching the satellite phone, he asked Coleman one simple question.

Coleman relayed rape's question to Wicker and waited. Wicker lay in the prone position, completely motionless. His left eye peered through the coated glass of his Unertl scope. He'd already lasered the range to the target and made the adjustments for windage and elevation. He was in a near trancelike state and his heart had already slowed to a meager thirty-two beats a minute. Wicker pulled the trigger back one notch and said, "Say the word."

Coleman took a quick look through his binoculars to make sure someone wasn't about to enter the line of fire. Satisfied that no one other than the target was at risk he said, "Take the shot."

Wicker inhaled a slow steady breath and then stopped all movement.

Gently, evenly, his left index finger increased its pressure on the metal trigger. There was the gentlest of clicks and then a thunderous report as the massive fifty-seven-inch rifle let loose its Raufoss grade A round. The crack of the. 50-caliber round shattered the calm of dawn and sent every bird in the valley screeching into the air.

One second the general was standing there, yelling at his subordinate, and then in the blink of an eye, he was yanked, as if by some unseen force, off his feet. There was a full second or two of confused inaction as brains tried to process the strange thing their eyes had just witnessed. Only Rapp knew what had happened. He was already moving, not toward the chopper, but in the opposite direction. The force with which the general's body was propelled to the ground suggested that Wicker's shot had done the job, but Rapp wanted to make sure, and he also wanted to have a word with Colonel Barboza before things got really ugly. The original plan was to be in the air when the shot was taken, but Rapp had seen an opportunity and taken it.

He reached Barboza just as the general's aide-de-camp began to realize what had happened. The lieutenant, after all, had the best view of the general's body. Rapp had his eyes on him as he reached Barboza's side. He could tell by the look of absolute shock on the young Filipino's face that it was likely his commanding officer had suffered a mortal wound.

Rapp grabbed Barboza by the arm, pulling him toward the fallen general. In a low voice he urged, "You have to take charge. There are enemy snipers in the hills. Get these men moving and then start chewing some ass." Rapp propelled him forward and the two men broke into a run.

Barboza's mind was moving fast, already wondering if this mysterious American knew more than he was letting on. Those questions would have to wait until later, for indeed it did appear that there was a sniper about. And nothing made a professional soldier's skin crawl more than the specter of an enemy sniper lurking nearby. Barboza had seen enough live combat to know a moving target was harder to hit than a stationary one, so he set a course for the shocked soldier in his path. Gathering speed he literally tackled the general's aide-de-camp and sent him sprawling across the dew-laden grass.

"Take cover, you fool. There is a sniper shooting at us."

Rapp ran past the fallen body of Moro, taking a quick look to make sure the job was done. The evidence was stark; the entire back half of the general's head was missing. As Rapp continued along the side of the general's tent he felt nothing but satisfaction. Moro was a traitor to his country, his uniform and to the best ally his country had ever known. He had spilled American blood to suit his own selfish desires, and now he was lying in an expanding pool of his own. He alone had chosen his treacherous path.