Protect And Defend

chapter 7
PUERTO GOLFITO, COSTA RICA

Rapp kept the cool steel of his knife pressed against Garret's bare skin as a reminder that his mortality was very much in question.

In a voice tinged more with amusement than disdain Rapp whispered, "You thought you'd gotten away with it, didn't you?"

Garret made a lame effort to break free.

"Easy, Stu. If you want to live, you'll do exactly as I say."

Giving Garret hope that he might survive was as important as the obvious threat of force. The right balance had to be struck. Rapp was more than capable of subduing the paunchy political kingmaker, but tonight, brute force would be a last resort. Even the position of the knife had been considered. Rapp held the blade flat against Garret's skin so as to not leave a thin laceration that would be discovered during his autopsy. This was about deception, and to pull it off, he needed Garret to hold on to the idea that he might survive the next few minutes.

With his mouth mere inches from Garret's ear, Rapp said, "I wanted to come down here, slit your throat, and dump your worthless ass in the drink, but my boss, for some reason, thinks you might be useful." Rapp paused to give Garret a moment to realize the false hope. "The only problem for you is, I have a history of disregarding orders."

Rapp moved to his right and cranked Garret's head around so he could look him in the face. Rapp could see Garret's eyelids narrow as he tried to place the face of his assailant. They stayed that way for several seconds and then suddenly grew wide with fear.

Rapp smiled. "That's right, Stu, you know who I am. You tried to screw me over last year by feeding Tom Rich that bullshit story that the Times ran. It ended up blowing up in your face, didn't it?"

Garret tried shaking his head.

"I'm only going to say this one time. I want to kill you, and I'm pretty sure if I do, Director Kennedy, despite telling me not to, will find it in her heart to forgive me since you are one of the biggest pieces-of-shit political operators in American history. So if you want to save your own ass, you'll stop lying to me. Are we clear?"

Garret closed his eyes and nodded.

"All right, get down on your knees, and then I'll take my hand off your mouth so we can talk." Without giving him time to think, Rapp started lowering Garret to the teak deck. When he had him kneeling at the edge of the platform, he brought the knife around and placed the dull edge of the blade against Garret's throat. "I'm going to take my hand off your mouth. If you make any noise louder than a whisper, I'll stick this blade straight through your voice box and shove it all the way back to your spine. You'll end up drowning in your own blood, and trust me, it won't be enjoyable." Rapp gave Garret a long moment to consider the agonizing death and then slowly took his hand off Garret's mouth.

The political consultant and former presidential chief of staff took in a deep breath and whispered, "Please, don't kill me. None of it was my idea." His voice grew louder. "It was that idiot Mark Ross."

"Quiet," Rapp hissed.

"Sorry," Garret said, much softer now.

"It may not have been your idea, but you went along with it."

Garret hesitated and then nodded.

"You did more than go along with it. You helped carry it out."

"I was only following orders."

"Bullshit. You weren't some private on the front line following orders. You're a political whore who doesn't give a rat's ass about anything other than seeing your guy win. You ran that campaign, and you wanted to see Jillian Rautbort dead just as bad as Ross did."

"That woman was not without fault."

"Why, because she cheated on her husband?"

"I'm just saying, if she would have kept her legs crossed, none of it would have happened."

Rapp grabbed Garret's hair with his left hand and pulled his head back. "Why don't you join the Taliban? You're going to sit here and tell me because a woman cheated on her husband, she deserved to die?"

"No," Garret struggled, "I'm just saying, if she would have kept her dress on, none of this would have been set into motion."

"And the fourteen other people who died?"

"That was unfortunate."

"Unfortunate," Rapp hissed. "You stole a presidential election by blowing up a motorcade and killing fifteen people, and the only word you can come up with is unfortunate?"

Garret could sense the anger in Rapp's voice. "It was bad. It was wrong. I should have stopped him."

"You're damn right you should have, you f*cking sociopath." Rapp withdrew the blade from Garret's throat and put it back in its scabbard. With his left hand still holding on to Garret's hair, he said, "And that's why I'm going to kill you."

Before Garret could react, Rapp yanked him to the left. Garret's reaction was to lurch his body to the right so he wouldn't fall in the water. This was what Rapp wanted. Using Garret's own momentum, Rapp reversed direction and yanked Garret's head back toward the port stern corner of the boat. Garret's temple struck the hard fiberglass with a thud, leaving him dazed and barely conscious, his arms limp at his sides.

Rapp let go of Garret's hair and wrapped his arms around the man's chest in a bear hug. He took a deep breath and propelled himself and Garret over the edge of the swim platform headfirst. When they hit the dark cool water, Rapp began calmly kicking his legs, driving them away from the surface. The water seemed to have shocked Garret back to alertness. He began struggling, but it was no good. Rapp had his fists locked around Garret's chest. As he drove them deeper, Garret tried to claw at Rapp's gloved hands. Not having any luck, he reached for Rapp's face, the only part of his body other than his feet that wasn't covered.

Rapp responded by lowering his fists a few inches to restrict Garret's ability to move his arms. He then gave him a quick Heimlich, forcing more air from his lungs. All the while, Rapp's legs kept them under steady propulsion, moving them farther away from what Garret needed most-oxygen. Garret began twisting his body and moving his legs violently. Rapp kept his eyes shut and drove them deeper. Based on the number of kicks, he guessed they were around twenty-five feet beneath the surface. It was more than enough. Garret's lungs would be on fire. He would feel like his chest was going to explode.

Rapp stopped, allowing them to level out and then exhaled a little air from his lungs. They'd been underwater for less than half a minute, but Rapp knew Garret was near the end. His movements were diminishing in both frequency and force. Rapp loosened his grip a bit to see if Garret was playing possum. His arms stayed limp at his sides. Rapp opened his eyes and looked up toward the ever-so-faint light on the surface. He released his hold on Garret and grabbed him by the hair. If the man was still alive, this was when he would make his break for the surface. He didn't, however. He simply floated in front of Rapp, a dark silhouette against a slightly lighter backdrop. Rapp put his hands on Garret's shoulders, pushed him farther down, and then started for the surface.

Rapp could see the dark underbelly of the boat and headed for the narrow bow, exhaling small amounts of air as he went. Ten seconds later he quietly broke the surface and finished exhaling before taking in a short breath followed by two deeper ones. His heart was moving at a pretty good clip. Between his pounding heart and with the water in his ears it was difficult to hear anything. He hovered quietly, taking deeper and deeper breaths. His head was the only thing out of the water. His heart rate quickly recovered and he shook the water from his ears. He listened for any sign that Garret's wife had woken up, but there was nothing. After another minute he gathered his swim bag from the anchor line and started for shore. With any luck, he'd be back in Washington by noon.