The Last Man

Chapter 26
NASH had followed Kennedy's orders to the letter. She wanted Gould treated with respect until she said otherwise. The injury to his shoulder wasn't too bad. The bullet had gone clean through and left a dime-sized pucker on entry and a quarter-sized one on the back end. It was easy to pass Gould off as one of the CIA's hired guns that they used for security. The medical officials at the base hospital had worked on people from every NATO country multiple times, and the CIA had a reputation for outsourcing. The doctors had learned to not probe too deeply with men who wouldn't even admit they worked for the CIA, and instead threw out the generic acronym OGA, which stood for Other Government Agency.

The doctor cleaned and patched up Gould's wound, gave him some blood, put him on some antibiotics, and at the urging of Nash sent him on his way. After leaving the hospital the previous evening, Nash and Schneeman brought Gould to the air hangar where they had a suite of rooms that doubled as an interrogation facility. It was nothing more than two soundproof rooms, one of them wired for sound and video and the other to receive and monitor.

The initial interrogation produced nothing more than the same story Gould had told from the beginning. He'd taken a contract and was instructed to fly to Kabul and await further instructions. He spent one night at the Grand Marriott and then received a text and was told to go to the office building across the street from the veterinary clinic. While waiting to take the shot, he received for the first time the photo of the man he was supposed to kill. That was when he discovered it was Mitch Rapp.

"Do you understand our history?" Gould asked Nash.

Nash was tired and his nerves were frayed. He probably should have played dumb, but Gould was giving him so little to work with he said, "You mean the fact that you killed his pregnant wife? Yeah, I'm well aware that next to child rapists, you're probably the biggest piece of shit on the planet. So you'll have to excuse me if I don't believe a single word that comes out of your mouth."

Gould sighed as if this man was so predictable and said, "I am telling you the truth."

"Do you want to hear the actual truth?" Nash said, leaning across the table, his jaw rip tight with anger. "The truth is I don't understand why Mitch spared your life. I get why he couldn't kill your wife and your kid, but you . . ." Nash shook his head. "It makes no sense, and I'm beyond trying to figure it out. He's my friend, you caused him a shitload of pain, so I figure I should do him a favor and toss you in a Black Hawk, fly up to one of the remote ranges, and toss your ass out the door. No one would even know you're gone. Your wife and kid would probably thank me."

It was the only time Gould showed any emotion, but it lasted for only a split second. "You don't want to do that," Gould said, regaining his composure.

"And why not?"

"Because I can help you."

Nash laughed at him. "We've been talking half the night and you haven't said a single thing that has helped me."

"I told you, I need to talk to Mitch."

"He doesn't want to talk to you, so you're going to have to deal with me."

And so it went round and round for most of the night, with Nash and Schneeman taking turns, neither of them getting any useful information out of the assassin. At four in the morning Nash called Kennedy midair and gave her a vague report covering what they had learned, which was pretty much nothing. Kennedy told Nash that she wanted all of them to get some sleep, and that included Gould. Despite his anger at the man, Nash didn't stop Schneeman from giving Gould a bedroll, pillow, and blanket. The door locked from the outside and they put one guard in the hallway and another one in the observation room to keep an eye on the prisoner.

They let Gould sleep until almost noon and then fed him and started again. Again Nash failed to learn anything of value. Gould refused to speak to anyone other than Rapp. With everything this clown had done, Nash could not understand why they weren't taking off the gloves and slapping him around. He was thinking about what kind of rough stuff he'd like to try, when the door opened.

"Time for a break," Schneeman announced.

"This is not personal," Gould said to Nash. "I need to speak to Mr. Rapp."

Nash pushed his chair back and stood. Schneeman closed the door and led Nash into the observation room, where Kennedy was waiting.

"How's it going?" Kennedy asked the question even though she knew they hadn't learned a thing.

"Horseshit."

Kennedy digested his coarse answer with a nod, then looked at the surveillance monitors. "So we've learned nothing of value."

"That about sums it up," Schneeman said.

"Erase everything."

"Excuse me?"

"Erase everything you have of Gould. I don't want a shred of proof that he was here." When she noticed that they were hesitating, she said, "It's of no value. Erase all the recordings and then turn off all the equipment."

"What's your plan?" Nash asked.

"I'm going to go in there and he's going to tell me what I want to know."

"Really." Nash flashed a crooked grin. "You're just going to ask him."

"That's right," she said without undue confidence. "Now, if you'd please open the door for me I'd like to talk to him."

Kennedy followed Nash back to the interrogation room, where he punched in the four-digit code on the cipher lock. Nash held the door open for his boss and then tried to follow her in.

Kennedy held up a hand. "I've got this." Leaving a stunned Nash in the hallway she closed the door and turned to face Louie Gould. Kennedy took a seat and studied the man she had spent more time thinking of than even she realized. He had a nice face. Nothing too sharp, and his mouth had an almost perpetual soft smile. He was an interesting contrast to Rapp, whose face was composed of sharp lines. Rapp knew how to blend in and hide the fact that he was a killer, but he had to put some effort into it. Gould was a natural. His soft eyes had a sadness in them that she was sure he'd used to get past more than a few bodyguards.

"You know who I am?" Kennedy asked.

Gould shook his head.

"You sure?" Kennedy said as she offered him a faint smile.

"Sorry."

"Mr. Gould, I know more about you than you could possibly imagine."

"I need to speak to Mr. Rapp."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen."

"Why?"

"Because if I let him in here I'm pretty sure he'll kill you."

Gould let out a deep sigh and let his sad eyes drop to the tabletop. "I want to try to help him. I know I owe him."

"Then why don't you stop lying?"

"I am not lying." Gould looked exasperated. "Why won't anyone believe me?"

"You can't be serious?" Kennedy asked, more amused than upset. "I ask you a simple question . . . do you know who I am, and you can't even answer that?"

"I did. I told you I didn't know who you were."

"And you are lying. As I said, Mr. Gould, I know everything there is to know about you. Where you grew up, the units you served in when you were with the French Foreign Legion, and a good number of the people you have killed over the last fifteen-odd years."

Gould shrugged. "I'm not impressed."

Kennedy flashed one of those confident smiles that only a person who is holding all the cards can carry off. "I'm not trying to impress you, Mr. Gould. I'm simply trying to speed along this process and get you to drop your charade."

Showing a hint of anger, Gould leaned forward and said, "If it wasn't for me, Rapp and the rest of your men would be dead. Is there anyone around here who knows how to show some gratitude?"

"And if you don't know who I am, how is it that you know they are my men?"

Gould shook off her question. "It was a lucky guess."

"No, it wasn't," Kennedy said with absolute confidence. "We both know that you know who I am. What I'm trying to figure out is why you think denying that you know me will somehow help your cause."

"This is a waste of time. Get Rapp in here. Until you do that, I'm not saying a word. I have done nothing wrong. I've helped you guys," Gould said while poking himself in the chest.

"Maybe we could get your wife on the phone and you could try to explain to her what you were doing in Kabul?"

"Nice try."

"Claudia and I spoke yesterday."

"You're full of shit. You think because you have a name you can scare me into thinking you've got something on me."

Kennedy paused. She wasn't sure if she admired the way he was sticking to his story or thought him a fool. She would have her answer in the next few minutes.