Separation of Power

chapter TWENTY-ONE
Outside the bar, Rapp and Donatella fell into stride, Rapp on the left, Donatella on the right. It was an old professional habit. Both could shoot, stab, or punch with either hand but Rapp favored his left and Donatella her right. They walked south on Via Brera. It was nearing eight o'clock in the evening. The streetlights were on. A quick thunderstorm had coated the ground with a film of water that gleamed beneath the numerous restaurant lights and passing cars. There were other people about, but not many. It looked as if the rain had sent almost everyone indoors.

It was obvious that Donatella had been shaken by his words in the bar. Rapp looked over his shoulder; her attitude and his natural instincts were telling him that all was not well. His pistol with the silencer attached was right where it should be in case he needed to get at it quickly. "If you're not going to tell me where we're going, then tell me who hired you."

Donatella's pace did not slow. The collar of her stylish black trench coat was turned up and her chin was set firmly in the downward position like a fullback about to steam roll a linebacker. "I don't think I can answer that question, either."

Rapp didn't like the answer. "You can't or you won't."

"What's the difference?"

"You know what the difference is," replied Rapp in an obviously irritated tone. "Do you know who hired you, or not?"

She laughed bitterly. "Oh, I know who hired me, but I don't know who hired him."

Rapp didn't say anything for a while and then asked, "Who gave you the target profile?"

She shook her head. "I can't answer that."

"Why? Is the person connected to Mossad?"

"Don't ask me any more questions for a while. I need to think."

Rapp could manage to maintain his silence for only a few steps. "Where

are we going?"

"Back to your hotel. I want to meet your girlfriend."

Seeing no humor in the comment, he said, "That's not going to happen. I think you'd better get serious about this, Donny. This problem is not going to go away. This Cameron guy you killed had twenty years with the CIA. Some very important people want to know why he was meddling in an operation and who he was working for."

"I thought you were going to protect me."

"I can't protect you unless you tell me who hired you to make the hit."

"Then we have a problem, because I don't think I can tell you."

Rapp grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to a stop. "Donny, I'm not f*cking around. Irene Kennedy knows you killed Cameron. She can prove you were in the country. She has you on surveillance video leaving Cameron's office at George Washington University and she knows of at least three other people who you've killed by shoving a pick in their ear. She is prepared to take this all the way to the top if need be. I'm over here as a personal courtesy to see if we can keep this thing as quiet as possible "

Donatella pulled her arm from Rapp's grip and started walking again. "Thanks for nothing. If you really want to do me a favor you can go back to Washington and tell Irene that I had nothing to do with this."

Rapp followed a step behind, his temper starting to boil over. "Donny, you'd better get real about this, and you'd better start showing some f*cking gratitude. If it wasn't for me you'd have been snatched off the street and you'd be sitting in a dark basement with psychotropic drugs coursing through your veins and a black bag over your head." Donatella turned around and stuck her finger in his face. "Don't threaten me."

Rapp slapped her hand out of the way, and leaned in close. "What in the f*ck is wrong with you? You know the rules. You a goddamn freelancer. You took a rush job and killed somebody who had been meddling in the business of the CIA, and now the CIA wants some answers."

"Well, they'll have to get them somewhere else, because I'm not talking." Donatella turned and walked across the Via Senate.

Rapp stood with his fists clenched at his side and watched her enter the big park known as the Giardini Pubblici. After a brief moment of indecision he followed. She was headed for her flat and away from the hotel. Rapp jogged across the street and yelled for Donatella to wait for him. She didn't, and kept going at full speed through the park with her head down. A short while later Rapp caught up to her and tried a different tack.

"Donny, I'm sorry I had to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm here to protect you. Whoever you're afraid of I can help."

She gave him a disbelieving sideways glance and kept walking.

"You don't believe me. You don't think I can protect you? Donny, give me the name of the person who got you into this and I swear I will make sure nothing happens to you."

"Just ... don't talk for five minutes. That's all I'm asking for right now. Just don't say another word until we get to the other side of the park."

Rapp was about to hit her with another argument but held back. Donatella was a very headstrong woman. She would have to decide for herself that the best thing would be to tell him who had hired her. After taking a deep breath Rapp grabbed her hand and squeezed it. He did not envy the position she was in. Whoever had hired her had neglected to mention who was looking for Peter Cameron.

Holding hands, they continued across the park in silence. The whole time, Rapp tried to think of ways to get Donatella to give him the information he needed. When they finally reached the other side of the park, Rapp said, "Donny, I'll do whatever it takes to protect you. I can have you on an Agency plane bound for the U. S. by morning. I'll give you my personal guarantee that nothing will happen to you."

She took a second to glance at him, but kept walking. "I can protect myself just fine."

"I didn't say you couldn't, I'm just offering my assistance." "If I were to take you up on that offer, I'd have to give all of this up. I love this city. I love Italy. I don't want to go hide in America."

Rapp thought about her predicament and decided to make a drastic offer. "Donny, you tell me who you're afraid of, and I'll pay them a little visit. One way or another, I'll make sure they're never in a position to do you any harm."

The thought of Mitch Rapp flying to Tel Aviv to threaten Ben Freidman made her laugh. If there was ever a man who would be so bold it would be Rapp.

"You think that's funny?"

"No, I don't think any of this is funny. What I do think, is that you need to slow down for a second. I'm not saying I won't give you what you need, I'm just saying I need a little time to figure out how to do it."

During the silent walk across the park Donatella had tried to figure out a way to give Rapp the info he needed without telling him that Ben Freidman was her handler. She felt an awesome sense of loyalty to Rapp, and if they were talking about anyone other than Ben Freidman, she'd tell him. But they weren't. They were talking about the director general of Mossad If the CIA were to find out that the head of Mossad was arranging hits in their own backyard they would have an absolute conniption. No, she had to find another way to give Rapp what he wanted. She couldn't simply give them Ben's name. He had snatched her from the clutches of heroin addiction and imbued her with a sense of self worth that she would have never found on her own.

Donatella knew Mitch well enough to know that he wouldn't rest until he found out who had hired Cameron to kill him. Somehow she would have to convince Freidman to tell her who had taken the contract out on Cameron's life. It was the only way out. She would send Freidman an encrypted e-mail when she got back to her flat and with any luck she'd have an answer by morning.

Donatella was about to speak when Rapp squeezed her hand in three quick successions. Her eyes immediately began sweeping from left to right, looking for trouble. Mitch had seen something and the hand squeezing was their signal that someone was watching them. They were just around the corner from her flat. As Donatella searched for what Rapp had seen she was slightly irritated that she didn't notice it first.

This was the third time Rapp had noticed the car. The first time was near Donatella's office earlier in the day, the second was when they'd left the bar and then now. Rapp broke into casual conversation. If anyone was listening to them via a directional microphone he didn't want to tip them off. "Are you free for lunch tomorrow?"

"I think so."

"Should we meet at eleven-thirty?" Rapp gave her hand a quick squeeze.

"That sounds fine." Donatella's eyes searched the street. Twelve o'clock was straight ahead. Eleven-thirty would be a click to the left. She could barely make out the form of a man slumped behind the steering wheel. The man was parked in the perfect position to keep an eye on her street and the one they were now walking on.

"That photo shoot you were talking about earlier?"

"Yeah."

"I've run into that photographer three times this week." "Really," said Donatella. Mitch had no idea who the photographer was, so she knew he was telling her this was the third time he'd seen the car.

They took a right onto Donatella's block. Rapp kissed her on the cheek and quietly whispered in her ear, "Are you carrying?"

Donatella smiled at him and said, "Always, darling. How about you?"

"Of course."

When they reached the stoop in front of Donatella's flat Rapp placed his hands on her shoulders and mouthed the words, Who hired you?

"I'll tell you tomorrow. I have to take care of something first."

"I'd rather know now."

"I'm sure you would," replied Donatella with a playful grin. "Maybe you could come upstairs and coax it out of me."

She placed her hands firmly on his hips and gave him a lustful smile that sent a jolt of electricity through his groin. Rapp was in the process of trying to ignore her flirtations and figure out who would be watching them when Donatella planted a passionate kiss on his lips. Rapp's first reaction was to push her away, but caution got the better of him, and he remembered they were being watched.

Donatella's tongue in his mouth brought back a wave of emotion. It was like a slide show of erotic memories flashing before his eyes in an instant, and then suddenly there was a larger than life image of Anna Rielly. The vision of his future wife had the correct effect and Rapp casually extricated his ex-lover's tongue from his mouth.

"Oh, I'm tempted to come up," Rapp said for the benefit of any listeners, "but I've got some things I need to take care of before work tomorrow." He gave a slight head jerk in the direction of the car they had discovered just moments ago.

"I understand. Maybe tomorrow night I can talk you into staying." Knowing she had a captive audience, she pulled Rapp close and playfully planted another passionate kiss on his lips. He went along with it for a moment, and then, when he began to push her away she bit down on his lip just hard enough to cause some pain.

Rapp didn't find it funny at all. He was too busy trying to figure out who was watching them. If they were watching him, if they were watching her, if it was a coincidence, if they'd been sent by the same person who hired Peter Cameron or if Kennedy had sent some people from the Rome station to keep an eye on him. If the last were the case, there would be hell to pay when Rapp got back to Washington. He didn't like people looking over his shoulder while he worked. In typical Rapp fashion he decided he would find out what was going on sooner rather than later. Opening his jacket he grabbed his mobile phone and showed it to Donatella. He mouthed the words, I'll call you in ten seconds. Don't go into your apartment.

This time it was Rapp who delivered the kiss. It was quick and his tongue stayed in his mouth."I had a great time. Have a good night's sleep, and I'll call you in the morning." Rapp turned and walked back in the direction from which they had just come. He only glanced at the car to make sure it was still there. When he got to the corner he took a left and headed away from the car. Instantly he picked up the pace, and took out the small black earpiece for his mobile phone. When he reached the next block he turned right and crossed the street. As soon as he was out of sight of the man watching Donatella's flat he broke into a sprint. While running he dialed Donatella's mobile phone number and counted the rings. When Donatella finally answered he was almost to the end of the next block.

"Don't go into your apartment."

"Why?"

He could tell by her tone that she was intentionally baiting him. "Don't argue with me. Just let me check something out first." Rapp slowed down to make a hard right turn. "I can take care of myself. Don't worry." Rapp's breathing started getting heavier. "Just give me a minute."

"If anyone is dumb enough to be waiting for me in my apartment I feel sorry for them."

"Okay," Rapp crossed the next block. He was halfway there. Two more blocks and he would be behind the man sitting in the car. "I'll make a deal with you. You tell me who hired you, and then you can go into your apartment."

Donatella laughed at him. "You're in no position to be making deals."

Her flat was on the fourth floor. Rapp knew she rarely used the elevator and she surely wouldn't tonight. Not with the possibility that someone was waiting for her. "I'm almost there. Just give me half a minute."

"Too late. I'm at my door."

"Donny, tell me who hired you. Don't do this to me. "The line went dead. "Shit." Rapp commanded his legs to go faster, but there was nothing more. His lungs burning, he rounded the next corner and threw away any pretense of finesse in what he was about to do.

Capitol Hill, Thursday morning

Norbert Steve Ken had decided to leave his car on the street near the Hart Senate Office Building rather than risk finding a new space over by the Rayburn House Office Building. The Senate offices were in three buildings on the north side of the Capitol and the House offices were in four buildings on the south side of the Capitol. As the cold November wind whipped at his tan trench coat he realized that what had looked to be a relatively short jaunt across the Capitol grounds was more like a half-mile trek.

By the time he reached the Rayburn Building his cheeks and ears were bright red. The former FBI special agent checked his weapon with the Capitol Hill police officer in the lobby and proceeded through the metal detector and up the stairs to Congressman Rudin's office.

Steveken was not looking forward to the meeting. If it were anyone other than Hank Clark he would have said no, but he couldn't do that to the senator. The man had done too much for him. If Steveken went through his client list, he'd bet almost two-thirds of it was a direct result of Clark. Steveken told himself he could handle it. He'd keep the meeting short and then he'd get to work doing some research on Brown. The office door was open and Steveken stepped into the tiny waiting area. A plump woman with a massive gray bun of hair looked up over her spectacles and said, "Yes?" Steveken smiled and said, "Hello."

The old battle ax gave him the once-over and said, "May I help you?"

"I'm here to see the congressman."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Nope." Steveken could see where this was going.

"The congressman doesn't take visitors without appointments." The woman looked back down at her work in hopes that the man before her would leave.

"I think he'll see me."

"Is that right," she said with an edge to her voice.

"Yes. We have a mutual friend who asked me to stop by and talk to the congressman."

"And who would that mutual friend be?" The tone was still there.

Steveken bent over and placed both hands on the desk. He'd seen enough career bureaucrats over the years to know how to handle this woman. "That's none of your business. Now I'm a very busy man. So why don't you get off your ass and go tell the congressman that Norbert Steveken is here to see him." He stayed bent over, his face hovering just a foot from the testy receptionist's.

The woman pushed her chair back and stood. In a huff, she walked around her desk, opened the door to Rudin's office and then slammed it behind her. With arms folded Steveken waited alone in the lobby. He listened to the muffled shouts coming from the office and looked around the reception area. The place was a dump compared to Senator Clark's office. Its decor, the level of cleanliness or lack thereof, spoke volumes about the chasm between the two men.

A moment later Congressman Rudin appeared from his office with the old battle ax on his heels. Her face was still flushed with anger. Rudin grabbed his overcoat from a coat tree and shouted over his shoulder. "I'm going to be gone for a while."

"When will you be back?" she demanded.

"I don't know." Rudin looked at Steveken and with a jerk of his hiri-Hilcf head- he signaled for his visitor to follow. Steveken winked at the congressman's assistant and then followed her boss out the door. Out in the hallway he had to pick up the pace to catch up with the craggy old congressman.

"I don't want to talk in my office." Rudin whispered the words over his shoulder.

Like most law enforcement officers, active or retired, Steveken studied people. For better or worse he'd developed the habit of sizing them up in short order. Occasionally, though, he'd meet someone who really piqued his curiosity. As he and Rudin descended the stairs, he thought the congressman might be one of those people.

Steveken reclaimed his weapon from the Capitol Hill police and went outside to catch up. Rudin was already halfway up the block standing impatiently, gesturing for Steveken to hurry. Steveken started toward him and to his irritation, Rudin began to walk again. He quickened the pace and two blocks later he pulled up alongside the congressman from Connecticut. Steveken caught up and asked, "Where are we going?"

"Coffee. There's a little place up the street a ways." A half minute later Rudin said, "I don't like talking in my office."

"Yeah, you said that." Steveken had decided he was going to have to jerk Rudin's chain a bit.

"Its those bastards out at Langley. I don't trust them a bit."

Steveken couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew the CIA was capable of doing some pretty bizarre stuff, but there was no way they were stupid enough to bug a congressman's office. Steveken looked over both shoulders. "It must really freak you out to talk like this out in the open."

Rudin looked around. "Why?"

"Directional microphones. They can pick up everything we say, even whispers."

Rudin mumbled a few things and then pointed ahead saying, "The coffee place is up here. Just past Second Street. "They traveled the rest of the way in silence.

Rudin entered the shop first and approached the counter. A young white woman with dreadlocks and a pierced nose paid little attention to the congressman as he ordered an extra large cup of French Roast. In deference to his bladder Steveken ordered a small cup. Rudin's coffee arrived first. He grabbed his cup and went and sat at a table near the back. Steveken noted that he'd made no effort to pay for his coffee. Steveken gave the woman three dollars and told her to keep the change. He joined the congressman at the table and took off his trench coat.

He gave Rudin a chance to thank him and when he didn't, Steveken said, "You're welcome."

"Huh?"

"For the cup of coffee."

"Oh, yeah ... thanks." Rudin clutched the tall cup with his bony hands and took a sip. "Hank says you're very good at what you do." Steveken said nothing. He just stared at Rudin.

"We don't have much time," said the congressman. "Kennedy starts her confirmation hearing tomorrow."

"What is it that you're looking for?"

"Are you familiar with congressional oversight in terms of the intelligence community?"

"Somewhat."

"Well, Thomas Stansfield, thank God that bastard is finally dead, he didn't much believe in congressional oversight. He tried to keep us in the dark as much as possible, especially when it came to covert operations."

"And what does this have to do with Kennedy?"

"She's one and the same. She's the female version of Stansfield."

"I've heard she's pretty sharp." Steveken blew on his coffee.

"Oh God," grimaced Rudin. "Don't tell me you believe that."

"So what are you telling me? That she's stupid?"

"No, she's not stupid. She's far from stupid."

"So she's pretty sharp."

"I suppose, but that has nothing to do with this. The bottom line is that the CIA needs to be reined in, and the best chance we have of doing it is right now. Before she becomes entrenched."

"What proof do you have that she's broken the law?"

Rudin looked like he was about to jump out of his own skin. "I don't have any, you idiot. That's why I'm talking to you. You supposed to get me the proof."

One of the things Steveken liked most about working for himself was that he could be selective about who he took shit from. If a client was paying him a lot of money, he'd been known to let some stuff slide, but the smaller the fee the less crap he was willing to take. Rudin wasn't paying him a cent, and Steveken doubted the man would ever send a client his way. At least not any he'd want.

"How in the hell did you ever get elected?"

"What?" snarled Rudin, utterly confused by the question. "You and Broom Hilda, your receptionist, you're two of the most socially retarded persons I've ever met."

"What?" Rudin couldn't believe his ears. "I'm doing this as a favor to Senator Clark." Steveken pointed his thick index finger at Rudin. "You're not paying my tab. Hell, you won't even buy me a cup of coffee. I'm the one doing you a favor by meeting with you. You should be buying me the cup of coffee, not the other way around." Before Rudin could react Steveken changed gears. "But I'm not going to cry over a couple bucks, so let's get down to business. If you want me to help, you have to answer my questions. And while you're at it, it might be a good idea to avoid calling me an idiot." Steveken gave Rudin a patronizing smile and said, "So ... tell me how you think Kennedy has broken the law."