Transfer of Power

chapter 54
President Hayes stood in front of the White House, bathed in the early morning sunlight. Reporters shouted questions from beyond the fence line, and he ignored them. The important thing was that the nation see he was alive and well. He would make a formal speech in the evening and explain the tragic events of the last four days.

Special Agent Jack Warch stood at his side along with a half dozen other Secret Service agents, all of them wearing sunglasses. President Hayes held his hand over his eyes and gazed up at the proud, old building, amazed she was still standing. FBI agents were sifting through the carnage collecting evidence. Virtually all of the windows were blown out, and there were holes punched in the stone exterior where the bombs had exploded. Fortunately the fire had not burned uncontrolled. Between the heavy downpour and the firefighters, the blaze had been kept in check and was prevented from engulfing the structure. Priceless national treasures had been damaged beyond repair and lost forever, but the important thing was that the hostages were alive.

Jack Warch reached out and tapped the president on the arm. President Hayes looked down at his watch and nodded. The troop then moved out across the lawn for the northwest gate.

The president looked to Warch and said, "I bet your wife and kids were happy to see your this morning."

Warch smiled. "Yep. Lots of hugs and kisses."

Hayes grinned and slapped Warch on the back as they crossed Pennsylvania Avenue. Several large limousines were parked in the street. One of them, Hayes recognized, belonging to the vice president. The entourage walked up the steps of Blair House, where a U.S. marine opened the door for the president and saluted. Hayes returned the salute and entered the foyer of his new home. Several reporters from the White House press pool were inside with their notepads ready.

The president paused to take a look around and pronounced, "If it was good enough for Harry Truman, it's good enough for me." The reporters laughed and wrote down the quote.

The president's chief of staff appeared from the parlor and said, "Everybody's here, Mr. President."

Hayes tugged on his white shirtsleeves and entered the room with Warch and Jones. All of the attendees stood, some more enthusiastically than others. The president had called the meeting several hours earlier and had put together the list carefully. Stansfield, Kennedy, Flood, and Campbell were all seated on one of of the room's two large couches. Sitting across from them was Vice President Baxter and Dallas King. Despite the extra room on the couch, Anna Rielly and Milt Adams had chosen to stand.

The president walked to the front of the room and looked at the only two people he didn't know. "I'm looking forward to meeting both of you, but we have some business to take care of first." Hayes looked around the room for a second and then to Director Stansfield. "We're missing someone."

"He'll be along shortly, Mr. President."

Hayes nodded and brought his hands together in a tight grip. "All right, let's get down to business. First things first." Hayes's gaze fell on Dallas King. "We are going to set the record straight, and we're going to make things right. Dallas, I've been told you made quite an ass out of yourself over the last several days." Hayes paused. "Anything you would like to say in your defense?"

King shifted uncomfortably on the couch and was rapidly trying to think of a defense when the parlor doors opened and in stepped Mitch Rapp. Rapp walked across the room to where Rielly and Adams were standing.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Mr. President."

"That's quite all right, Mr. Kruse. We were just getting ready to hear Dallas King explain his behavior over the last several days."

King was sweating bullets.

The president extended his hand and Valerie Jones deposited a copy of The Washington Post in it. Hayes held it up for everyone to see. The headlines read, "President Hayes Orders Failed Raid." Hayes handed the copy back to Jones and said, "The Post rushed to press with this story last night and wound up with a lot of egg of their face this morning. I won't even get into the specifics of the article, other than to say that almost all of it is false." Hayes watched King for a moment. "Dallas, do you have any idea how the Post came up with a headline like this?"

At first King only shrugged and then muttered some unintelligible words. Inside, he was relieved. For a moment he had thought Hayes had found out about his late-night tour of the White House.

"Let me see if I can refresh your memory." Hayes extended his hand, and this time Stansfield placed several documents I it. "I have phone records here showing that someone called the Post last night from the vice president's house. I have other records showing that over the last several days someone has been calling a reporter at the Post from your mobile phone and your home phone." Hayes held the phone records up for all to see.

King squirmed on the couch and looked to his boss for support. He got none. Afraid to look the president in the eye, he answered with great discomfort. "Ah . . . I made them."

"I thought so." Hayes handed the phone records back to Stansfield and turned to Jones. She handed him a folder and a pen. Hayes crossed over to King and dropped the pen and folder in his lap. "We took the liberty of typing your resignation for you. Sign both copies, and keep one for yourself."

Hayes watched King sign the two sheets and took one of them back. "You may leave now."

It was silent as the vice president's chief of staff got up to leave. King was more relieved than any of the others in the room could know. He could handle a quiet resignation. The truth, however, would ruin him.

Hayes turned his attention next to Vice President Baxter. "How do you like foreign travel, Sherman?"

Baxter looked up at Hayes and said nothing.

Hayes went on. "I hope you like it a lot because for the next three years I'm going to send you to every third-world country I can think of." The president turned and walked to the front of the room. It was obvious to all that he was trying to keep his temper in check. "You have set our foreign policy and national security back a decade. I would fire you if I could, but the harsh truth is that I can't. So I'm stuck with you for the ret of the term, and then, Sherman, as everyone in this room is my witness, you will choose not to run." Hayes's cheeks were flushed. For good measure, he added, "Don't press me on this, or I swear to God, I'll have Director Stansfield start leaking your CIA file to the media. Now get out of here, and keep your mouth shut." Hayes pointed to the door.

When the door was closed, Director Stansfield looked around and said, "Mr. President, I don't have a file on the vice president."

Hayes winked and said, "I know that, but he doesn't."

The president grabbed a glass of water and took a sip. Turning back to the group, he said, "I can't thank all of you enough for the job you did. It was truly unbelievable. I'm going to start with you, Mr. Adams." Hayes walked over and shook his hand. "I am indebted to you for what you did. The risks you took, when you clearly didn't have to get involved, speak volumes about your character."

Adams was uncomfortable with all of the praise. "I was just doing my duty, Mr. President."

Hayes grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. "We need more people like you, Milt. If there is anything I can do for you, just let me know and I will take care of it."

"There is one thing that I can think of, sir."

"What's that?"

"This retirement thing isn't all it's cracked up to be, and I was thinking that since your house is in dire need of repair, I could come back and help supervise the rebuilding."

"Absolutely. That's a great idea, Milt. I will have it taken care of immediately. Anything else?"

"Nope."

"Well then, Valerie will walk you to the door and get all of the information. I can't thank you enough."

Adams finished shaking the president's hand and turned to Rielly. Milt reached out and kissed her on the cheek. "Watch out for this guy here." Adams let go and shook Rapp's hand. "Well, Mr. Secret Agent Man, I suppose this is the last I'll see of you."

"You never know." Rapp pulled Adams over and gave him a hug. "I'll make it a point to stop by and see you."

"Yeah, you do that. Just don't come asking me to join you for any more crazy missions. I'm too old for this stuff."

Adams started for the door and turned back. "You two make a cute couple. Maybe you should stop by some night, and I'll make you dinner."

"We'll have to do that." Rapp turned to Rielly and laughed.

After Adams left, the president focused his attention on Rielly. "Young lady, your first day at the White House turned out to be a doozy."

"Yes, you could say that."

"Are you going to stay on, or has this experience soured you?"

"Stay on?"

"At the White House."

"Of course."

"Good." Hayes smiled. "I asked you here this morning for two reasons. The first was to thank you for all of your help. I've been told you played a crucial role in helping Mr. Kruse here pull this thing off."

"A very small one." Rielly blushed.

"Well, thank you. Your sacrifice is very much appreciated." Hayes looked over at Rapp for a second and then back to Rielly. "Can you guess what the second reason is?"

Rielly folded her arms across her chest. "You wanted to talk to me about how much of my story I plan on telling." She intentionally chose the word "my."

"Precisely." Hayes backed up a bit. "How many reporters do you think have witnessed an exchanged between the president and the vice president like the one you just witnessed here this morning?"

"Probably none."

"That's right." Hayes gestured to the four people sitting on the couch. "These four fine individuals think I should pressure you into signing a bunch of documents that will bind you legally from publishing anything we think a threat to certain security interests. But I have assured them there is a better way to handle this."

Hayes paused to give Rielly a moment to reflect on the first option. Walking back to the front of the room, he continued. "The other way, the better way, is for you and I to make a deal." Hayes raised his eyebrows. "In exchange for your voluntary cooperation in regard to keeping certain aspects of the most recent events secret, I will give you a head start on certain events of importance."

Rielly could barely believe she was even in this meeting let alone receiving such an offer from the president. She told herself to play it cool and asked, "What types of things will you want to censor from my story?"

Hayes looked to the four on the couch. Kennedy spoke first. "If you leave out Mr. Kruse and any direct involvement by the CIA, we're fine."

"Am I right if I say you were involved in intelligence gathering and planning?"

"As long as you stay vague, we won't have a problem."

Rielly raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Define vague.' "

Hayes stepped forward and waved his hands in the air. "Hold on. I have a better idea. Ms. Rielly, how would you like to get the scoop on a huge part of this story?" Hayes looked her in the eye. "At noon FBI Director Roach is going to hold a press conference, and the cat will be out of the bag. I can give you that story right now, and you can head out to NBC and break it to the world. You will scoop everybody."

Rielly was interested. Very interested. This could turn out to be a nice arrangement. She nodded and said, "I'll play ball."

"Good. Here's the deal. The FBI has searched the White House, and they can't find one of the terrorists. We have reports that last night after the explosion someone from the FBI carried a wounded woman out of the Treasury tunnel. That woman turned out to be my secretary. She was found in a ditch in rural Maryland at six this morning, barely conscious. She was last seen with Aziz right before the explosions took place outside of my bunker." The president paused, giving Rielly a second to pull it together. "Oh, and one other thing. There were no FBI agents in the building when the bombs went off."

Rielly's eyes got big. "So you're saying Aziz escaped."

"It looks that way."

Rielly looked to Rapp, who reluctantly nodded. After shaking her head, she said, "Wow."

Hayes walked over and placed his hand on her shoulder. "I'm serious about our arrangement." The president turned her toward the door and started walking with her. "You've earned this, Anna. Thank you for everything you've done."

Rielly didn't know what to say. She didn't feel as if she had done all that much, "Thank you, sir."

"No   thank you." Smiling, Hayes squeezed both of her shoulders. "I almost forgot. I have one other thing for you. Director Tracy of the Secret Service is expecting a call from you. It appears he has some information on Dallas King that you might interesting. Now, if you'll excuse us, we need to discuss certain things involving Mr. Aziz. Stop by next week, and we'll talk more." Hayes turned Rielly toward the door and opened it for her.

Rapp sat watching the exchange, and as Rielly left the room, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He wanted to talk to her. With a frown Rapp looked back across the room.

President Hayes came walking back toward the fireplace saying, "I don't care who we have to bribe, who we have to threaten   I want Aziz's head on a silver platter. I want him taken out, and I want us to seriously explore our options for dealing with Saddam Hussein."

Hayes turned to Rapp. "I can't thank you enough; this country can't thank you enough." The president shook his head. "It's a shame they'll never know the contributions and sacrifices you've made."

Rapp grinned. "That's all right, sir. I didn't exactly get into this line of work for accolades and recognition."

"I know you didn't, but I wish there was a better way to repay you and properly show our gratitude."

"Just let me be the one to punch Aziz's ticket, and that'll be payment enough."

"I plan on it. Which brings me to my next point." Hayes looked away from Rapp for a second and focused on the others. "I want every intelligence asset we can spare focusing on tracking down Aziz. Call in every marker we have. As I said a second ago, we are not going to play by the rules on this one. I want him caught." Hayes turned back to Rapp. "I want you to go home, and I want you to get some rest." The president began to walk Rapp toward the door. "If we find him, I want you fresh."

"Yes, sir." Rapp shook the president's hand and left the room. He walked out onto the front stoop of Blair House. Bringing his hand up over his eyes, he shielded them from the light and searched the crowd. Nothing. He turned to his right and left but came up empty again.

"Can I help you find something, Mr. Kruse?"

Rapp looked down. Directly in front of him, leaning against the president's limo, was the beautiful Anna Rielly.

Rapp walked down the steps and said, "I thought you'd be hustling off to your station to break the story."

Rielly pushed herself away from the limo. With a grin she said, "I have some time." Reachign her hand out, she added, "Besides, I wanted to say good-bye." She grabbed Rapp's hand and squeezed it tight. Pointing down the street, she said, "Why don't you walk me down to the corner so I can catch a cab."

"Sure." The two of them started walking toward Seventeenth Street hand in hand.

Rielly leaned away from him and asked, "So, are you ever going to tell me your real name?"

"Maybe." Rapp took a couple more steps and smiled. "Someday after you earn my trust."

They walked in silence for a while, and then Rielly asked, "So about this life story of yours, when am I going to get a chance to hear it?"

"Whenever you want."

"I'd imagine you're going to be pretty busy for a while."

"Who knows." They reached the corner and stopped. "I'm thinking of taking some time off."

"Really?"

"Why do sound so surprised?"

Rielly studied him for a second. "You don't seem like the type of person that takes time off."

Rapp shrugged his shoulders. "You'd be surprised."

"I think there are probably a lot of things about you that might surprise me."

Rapp shook his head. "I doubt it. I'm pretty boring when it comes down to it."

Rielly looked down at their hands and rubbed her thumb and along his finger. Peeking up at him, she said, "We need to set our dinner date."

Her thumb rubbing up and down on his finger made his heart race. "Any time you can fit me into your schedule."

"How about sometime next week."

"I was thinking about something a little earlier."

Rielly looked up with her green eyes, a soft smile spreading across her face. Rapp reached down and grabbed her shin. Pulling his mouth to hers, he kissed her and said, "How about tonight?"
EPILOGUE
The old man shuffled down the busy street. It was almost midnight, and the crowds were thinning. He picked his way through the people, his posture hunched, his eyes scanning their faces. He wore a pair of dirty, cracked tennis shoes, and his jeans were several inches too short. Matted clumps of dirty gray and black hair adorned his head and a film of dirt covered every inch of exposed skin. In some cities he might have stood out, but not in Sao Paulo, Brazil. With over twenty million people, five million of whom lived in utter poverty, he was just another lost soul.

He stepped past a fellow homeless person who had curled up in a storefront doorway for the night. He was in Bom Retiro, the ethnic enclave of the massive city that was home to almost a million Palestinian, Lebanese, Iranian, and Arab immigrants. His arrival in this city, of all the cities in the world, was a feat in and of itself. It had been prompted by one small piece of information.

Muttering in semiconscious delirium, Fara Harut had unwittingly given them their clue. Within minutes, a massive electronic gathering operation by the National Security Agency was under way. A KH-12 Keyhole Satellite was moved into geosynchronous orbit over the city of Sao Paulo and began recording phone conversations from the Bom Retiro neighborhood. The NSA's supercomputers at Fort Mead, Maryland, sifted through the thousands of calls and kicked out the ones that matched pre-assigned profiles for content, tone, and voice signature. It had taken three weeks and a day, but the analysts finally found what they were looking for.

The old man continued weaving his way through the crowd, his dirty canvas bag draped over his shoulder. He marked the faces of the people he had seen on his previous visits. He looked at their eyes and checked their waists for the telltale bulge of a weapon. That was how he had found this street the night before last. It started with one man standing in a doorway smoking a cigarette. he had shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and when his unzipped leather jacket opened, it revealed the black steel of a pistol.

Rafique Aziz was near. Rapp could feel it. When he passed the man standing guard in the doorway, he kept his head down and looked the man over closely. A few steps later, Rapp stopped and bent over to pick up a bottle cap he had dropped on a previous pass. When he stood, he looked through the small crack at the bottom of the window shade and spied two men sitting on a couch watching TV. Twenty minutes earlier, Rapp had watched a sedan pull up in front of the row house and deposit a prostitute.

Rapp continued down the street and turned into the alley. He pulled the top off a garbage can and pretended to go through it. Fifty feet away in the darkness of the alley, the hot red tip of a cigarette glowed. Rapp had been adamant about one thing: he would go in alone. No contact with the Brazilian authorities, no electronic-surveillance vans, and no hit squads. Nothing to spook Aziz into running. Commander Harris and twelve of his SEALs were n station   waiting in two sedans a mile to the east and two more to the west. Rapp had convinced his bosses and the president to give him a week. it had taken just three days for his trained eyes to discover what all the expensive surveillance equipment in the CIA's arsenal would have missed. The simple bulge on a man's hip.

With each passing garbage can, the alley grew darker and the rats more plentiful. Rapp threw a bottle in his canvas bag and looked up at the second story of the house. The shade glowed a soft yellow as a candle flickered behind it. A figure briefly moved in front of the shade. Rapp licked away the dryness on his lips and felt his heart quicken as he neared the back door.

The bodyguard was only twenty feet away, and Rapp could feel the man watching him. Glancing to the side, he looked for the guard's hands. One was resting on his right hip and the other on the butt end of the cigarette. Rapp stepped carefully. He was close now, just under ten feet away. He heard the guard's pistol slide out of its holster and kept about his business. The guard spoke to him in Arabic, telling him to move on. Rapp looked up and acted as if he didn't understand the man. His hand was still in the worn canvas bag, a firm grasp on the familiar grip of his silenced Beretta 9-mm pistol.

Rapp looked at the barrel of the guard's pistol. It was pointed at the far end of the alley. Wrong move, Rapp thought to himself, as he squeezed the trigger of the Beretta. A single bullet spat from the end of the gun and hit the guard between his thick black eyebrows.

Rapp rushed the next three steps, grabbed onto the falling man, and eased him to the ground. From his bag, he pulled out a small radio and said, "I'm entering the house." Leaving the bag next to the body, he slowly stepped into the kitchen. There was laughter from down the hall and voices could be heard from the TV. Rapp closed the door behind him and crossed the kitchen. Straight ahead and down the hall was the front door. To his left, the stairs that led to the second floor, and to his right the two men watching TV with their back to him.

Every second counted. Rapp stepped into the room and leveled his Beretta. The man on the left sensed something and spun around. Rapp immediately connected the face with a name. it was Salim Rusan, the man who had stood on the roof of the Washington Hotel a month earlier and killed a dozen Secret Service officers. Rapp put a bullet in the back of the second man's head, then hit a surprised Rusan between the eyes. The silencer barely made a noise. Rapp stepped to the dead man on the right and took the remote control from his hand. After turning up the volume on the TV, he started for the stairs. Into his radio, he whispered, "Three Tangos down. Proceeding to second floor." He checked the stairs quickly and then started up them two at a time. Stopping just short of the top, he listened. From the door straight ahead and to the left came the passionate purrs of a young woman moaning. Rapp took a deep breath; it had come down to this. He grabbed the doorknob with his right hand and pushed.

Rapp rushed the room, his gun sweeping from left to right. To the right was motion. Two bodies intertwined, lying flat. An arm extended above both heads, reaching for something. Rapp took aim and fired. The bullet slammed into Aziz's elbow, shattering the joint.

Rapp did not hesitate. He moved his gun in an effort to find a more vital target. The woman was in the way, and Aziz was rolling to use her as a shield. Rapp round Aziz's hip, fired his weapon, and started to close. The second arm was now reaching for the pillow. Rapp hit him in the other elbow. Blood geysered from the flesh wound, and Aziz let out a low, guttural moan.

Rapp yanked the woman off the bed. He took off his wig and spat out his fake teeth. He looked down at Aziz, lying on the bed and bleeding in three places, his arms useless. With the silencer pointed at Aziz's forehead, Rapp asked, "Do you remember me?"

Aziz looked up in pain, no recognition on his face.

Rapp turned his head to the side. "You cut me in Paris, remember?"

Aziz's face froze as he searched his memory. After a moment a thin smile creased his lips.

Rapp back up a step. With great satisfaction he squeezed the trigger one more time, closing a very bad chapter in his life.

"Four Tangos down. I'm on my way out," Rapp muttered into his radio. He herded the prostitute down the hall and to the first floor. At the back door he told her to get lost and watched her stumbled into the darkness. Rapp reached into his bag and grabbed a block of C-4 plastique, setting the timer for twenty seconds. He threw it into the kitchen and closed the door.

Rapp walked casually to the end of the alley, where a four-door Mercedes sedan skidded to a halt. The back door flew open, and Rapp got in next to Commander Harris.

AS the driver hit the gas, there was a loud explosion and the dark alley erupted into a fiery ball.