As Kennedy looked out the window she knew which senators and congressmen would take to the airwaves. There were a handful from each party that couldn’t resist. Their vanity made it impossible for them to ever pass up an opportunity to show their faces to millions of potential voters. There were a few others who knew TV time meant increased campaign contributions, and increased contributions meant reelection. Within those two groups there were those who would try to blame the president, there were those who would try to blame the previous president, and there were those who would try to blame the State Department for being a bastion of lefties who cared more about the UN than the national security of America. There were also those who would demand justice, when justice was the furthest thing from what they wanted. And finally there were those who would demand justice and really mean it.
All of this would be a side show to the main event, though. What Kennedy really wanted to do was remind everyone in Washington with a security clearance that this was serious business. It was not up to any given individual to decide what secrets they could and couldn’t discuss. These were not just bureaucratic rules, they were laws. And to break those laws would mean public embarrassment, prosecution, and if a judge and jury saw fit, jail time.
The other file was going to be handled more subtly, and in a much more final way. Kennedy knew just the man to take care of both problems. She had been tempted to recall him from his honeymoon, but decided it could wait another twenty-four hours. Things were about to change in Washington, and Mitch Rapp was going to play a crucial role.
Kennedy knew Rapp better than anyone. She had recruited him, she oversaw his training and she had been his handler through the most stressful of times and delicate of situations. Over the years she had grown to love him like a brother. His sense of commitment and honor was of the highest order. When he got back from his honeymoon and found out what had happened he would need no direction, no prodding, no explanation of the bigger picture. The only thing he might need was restraint, and Kennedy had yet to decide if she would even attempt to calm him when he heard the news. There would be those at the White House who would want to keep this entire mess out of the papers. They would want to sweep it under the rug and have the offenders in question transferred to different jobs. That could not be allowed to happen this time, and Kennedy knew Rapp was the one man in Washington who would tell the president in the roughest and most graphic terms that heads needed to roll.
5
David took a sip of orange juice and looked out upon the vista of Monte Carlo. It was a place of serene beauty. With the warm sun beating down on him and the peaceful sounds of the harbor he could almost allow himself to fall asleep, but there was too much to be done. He checked his watch. In front of him only a few scraps of his exquisite breakfast remained. The prince had a team of chefs that accompanied him wherever he traveled. It had been thirty minutes since Devon had left to awaken the Large One, and although David did not expect the prince to bound out of bed and come meet him, he truly wasn’t going to wait around all day.
The prince had summoned him in the midst of the final stages of preparation for their grand plan, and for that, David was not going to leave without exacting a heavy fee from his benefactor. Despite his irritation at the interruption, it was time that if they were going to discuss business, it was better to do it in person. Conducting such matters over the phone was always risky. One never really knew what the Americans could pick up with all those damn satellites of theirs.
David had many talents, but there was one area in particular where he was exceptionally gifted. It was getting wealthy people to part with their money. The key, David had learned, was to show them a return on their initial investment. He’d perfected that skill while working for a small venture capital firm in Silicon Valley after he’d graduated from the University of California at Berkeley. David had specialized in bringing in wealthy Saudi oil money, and that was how he had met the man whose boat he was now on.
He felt the prince before he actually heard him. A slight tremor rumbled across the deck and tiny ripples spread across the surface of his water glass. David looked over his shoulder just in time to see the Large One step through the glass sliding door and onto the covered part of the sun deck. The prince’s ring-studded hand protected his eyes from the offending light of day. In Arabic he yelled a command, and instantly a man appeared at his side with a gold tray and a pair of sunglasses placed perfectly in the middle. The prince snatched them and somehow managed to squeeze them onto his fat head.
Looking at David sitting in the sun, Prince Omar began shaking one of his beefy fingers at him and cursing him in his native Arab tongue.
David stifled a smile and apologized effusively for interrupting the prince’s sleep. Switching over to English he said, “You know, Your Highness, that I would not have interrupted you if it were not important.”
Rather than come out into the sun, Prince Omar plopped his ample body down on a large couch overflowing with pillows. Chung, the mountainous bodyguard, took up his post on the other side of the sundeck so he could both keep an eye on things and stay out of the way of the servants who constantly buzzed about the prince. After adjusting his white silk robe, Omar began stuffing and throwing pillows about until his fleshy body was supported just right.
David watched all of this with amusement. He had seen photographs of the prince in his younger years. Omar had once been a handsome and slender man. He had been an international playboy. One of the world’s wealthiest men, he jetted from one continent to the next, always attending the best parties. Now in his early fifties, he was a gluttonous wreck. All of the hard years had finally caught up with him. After his fiftieth birthday he entered a downward spiral of depression sparked by the realization that the party would not go on forever. With his depression came great mood swings and a seemingly insatiable thirst for a plethora of vices.
Three servants in crisp white tunics and black pants stepped onto the sundeck and formed a conga line just to the side of the prince. They all held gold trays overflowing with various things the prince might desire. Just serving the prince was not enough. These men were to predict his needs so that when the prince decided he wanted something it appeared as if they had anticipated his every whim. The first servant presented a tray with cigarettes. Omar snatched one and the servant held a diamond-studded gold lighter to it. When the cigarette was lit the man bowed and peeled away only to be instantly replaced by the second man who held a tray of drinks for the prince to choose from. There was an orange one, a red one, a pink one and even a blue one, and all them were perfectly garnished with skewers of fruit or vegetables. Omar’s bejeweled fingers danced above the glasses while his tongue tried to decide which one it wanted. He picked the pink one, took a sip and then put it back with a sour expression on his face. Quickly, he zeroed in on the red one, which David assumed was a Bloody Mary.
After taking a long sip through the straw, he waved the servant away and stared at David for a long moment. Prince Omar admired the Palestinian. He had guts, he had brains and he was dashingly handsome. If anyone other than one of his family members had just awakened him, he would have told Devon to have Chung throw them into the sea. In fact, now that he thought about it, there were several family members he’d like to have thrown into the sea anyway, and they hadn’t even interrupted his sleep.
Omar finally said, “David, come, tell me why you are in such a hurry.” The third servant appeared at the prince’s side holding a tray overflowing with pastries. Omar gestured for the tray to be placed on the table before him.
David walked across the sundeck and stepped under the canvas awning. He sat in a chair across from the prince and watched him devour a pastry with some type of cream filling.
“Why do you wish to irritate me like this, my friend?” asked the prince.
A Cheshire-cat grin spread across David’s lips. He knew the prince liked him for the very reason he was scolding him. When you spend your every waking moment sur
rounded by sycophants it can be refreshing to be treated with a little insolence.
“Your Highness, I am almost ready to implement your plan.” David referred to it as the prince’s plan even though it was his own. “There are many things to be done, and as we’ve discussed there is little room for error.”
The prince set his drink down and shifted forward in anticipation. “How close are we?”
“Close.”
“Close,” repeated the prince with irritation in his voice. “Don’t tell me ‘close.’ I want details.”
“You have all the details you need, my prince,” David replied in an even voice.
The prince struggled in his sea of pillows to straighten up and in frustration barked, “Do I need to remind you who you are speaking with?”
Casually, David took off his sunglasses and placed them in his breast pocket. “I will never forget what you have done for me and my people, my prince. You are one of the few who truly care, and among those few you are the greatest of our heroes. But we have been through this before, and for your own good there are certain things you are better off not knowing.”
The seemingly heartfelt homage appeared to calm Omar for the moment. “Come sit by me and whisper these things in my ear. I release you of your worries. I will decide what I am better off not knowing.”
David did not move. “My prince, once I tell you, there is no taking it back. If things go wrong you could be implicated.”
“I thought you were taking care of that.”
“I am, and that is why I cannot stay here today and enjoy your gracious hospitality. I need to get to Amman for a meeting. A meeting that will throw the dogs off your trail if things don’t go the way we’ve planned.”
Omar plucked another pastry from the mound and took a large bite. With a red filling oozing from the corners of his mouth he asked in a quiet voice, “When will it start?”
While David pondered how much he should tell him, a servant stepped forward and handed the prince a steaming white hand towel. The prince cleaned his lips and jet black goatee and then tossed the towel to the deck.
David watched the servant pick it up and then said, “The action will start very soon, my prince.”
“How soon?” Omar asked eagerly.
“Soon.”
“Within the month?”
David shook his head. “Sooner.”
“In weeks?”
Smiling just slightly he answered, “Within the week, my prince.”
The prince clapped his hands together and nodded enthusiastically. “This is good news. This is wonderful.”
As the prince reveled in the news, a nubile young woman with flowing blond hair stepped onto the deck wearing only a sheer robe. She approached the prince and ran her fingers through his hair. In French she asked him why he had left her. Omar pushed her away, telling her to go lounge in the sun until he was done. The woman stuck out her lower lip and walked past David, giving him a flirtatious wink.
The prince watched her with great interest and said, “David, turn around and look at her. She is perfect.”
David looked over his shoulder just as the statuesque woman undid her robe and let it fall to the floor. The view was not bad. A pair of white thong panties were all that she wore. David admired her curves as she raised her hands above her head and stretched. Turning back to the prince he smiled and said, “Very nice.”
Omar had a lascivious grin on his face. “There is another one just like her. If you stay tonight, you can have them both.”
Yeah, and I’ll bet you’ll tape the whole thing, David thought. In addition to a fetish for taping his visitors, there were other things that worried him even more about the prince, but he did not want to dredge all that up right now. “Your offer is very kind, but I have too much to do, and besides I need to keep my mind clear.”
The prince nodded knowingly. “When you are done then. I will present them to you as a gift.”
David smiled graciously, but didn’t say what he was thinking. That he would prefer to find his own women. Women who didn’t need to be paid—women who hadn’t been defiled by the prince’s diseased sex organ. Getting back to more important matters he said, “There is something you could do for me at present.”
“And would that have anything to do with money?” asked Omar with a stern look.
Not the least bit embarrassed, David replied, “Of course. You know how things are among our Arab brothers. As long as they get paid they are happy.”
“What about the cause?” snapped the prince. “Isn’t that enough?”
“For a select few, yes. The martyrs and the true believers, but they are not the type we want involved in this. As I’ve told you, we need professionals, not people who will simply blow themselves up.”
“But I thought you said the martyrs are part of your plan.”
“They are,” answered David in a slightly irritated voice. “They will act like livestock spooked by a fire. They will be driven into action by rage, not by any orders that I give them.”
Omar thought about this for a moment and then asked, “How much more do you need?”
David help up all his fingers and for the first time in all his negotiations with the prince he knew he would get exactly that much and not a penny less.
“Ten million,” scoffed the prince. He began shaking one of his chubby fingers in the Palestinian’s direction. “You have become far too greedy.”
The prince was a billionaire many times over, easily one of the hundred richest men in the world. Ten million was a pittance, but it was still the most David had ever asked for in a single sitting. “My prince, you are a man who understands value. My services do not come cheaply, and what I am about to embark on for you and my people will change the course of history.”
“Five million.”
David stood and joined the prince on the couch. With a sideways glance he noticed Chung moving closer in case he was needed. In a hushed voice, David said, “Prince Omar, what is the one thing in this whole world you would take the most pleasure in?”
The prince’s eyes lit up at the question and David could tell he was going through a lengthy list. “My prince, think of the subject at hand. What we are about to embark on.”
Omar smiled with a hateful lust in his eyes. “To see Israel destroyed.”
“Exactly, my prince. Ten million dollars is a pittance, and for it I will give you a front-row seat to the self-destruction of the Zionist state.”
Omar grabbed David’s hand and squeezed it. “Half now and half when you are done. Tell Devon where you want the money wired and it will be done. Now, be on your way, and give me the gift I have waited a lifetime for.”
6
The silver-haired gentleman appeared to have his nose buried in the European edition of the London Times. A soft breeze blew across the water, seagulls played above and the lines slapped out their rhythmic notes on the tall mast of the sailboat. To all outward appearances, Alan Church looked to be enjoying retirement. First observations with such a man, though, were always a bit tricky. The seventy-one-year-old Brit had spent the majority of his years trying to give people the right first impression—or the wrong one, depending on how you looked at it.
Alan was a mechanical engineer by training, but even that was only half true. He spent his twenties and thirties working for a large British energy conglomerate, and again this was only part of the story. During that time he traveled to the world’s smaller and poorer nations in an effort to bring them hydroelectric power. It seemed for those two decades that Alan could be found wherever things were the nastiest, usually in a country where the transition from one ruling group to another was taking place and not in a peaceful democratic way. Most of those halcyon days, as he now somewhat sarcastically called them, were spent on the continent of Africa.
In truth, his time on the Dark Continent was anything but tranquil. He was robbed, shot at, kidnapped, twice caught malaria and once caught yellow fever. It was after the s
econd bout of malaria that the powers back in London decided that it was time for Alan to take a new job in international finance. He’d spilled blood and toiled for the Crown, or more precisely, Her Majesty’s Secret Service, for almost two decades. He was placed, without having to interview for the position, at one of Britain’s finest banks where he eventually ended up keeping an eye on the financial comings and goings of The House of Saud.
Officially, or unofficially, depending on how you looked at it, Alan Church never worked for MI6, Britain’s foreign intelligence service. To this day, if someone asked him the question he would laugh heartily and begin telling over-the-top tales of all the female spies he’d boffed in the service of the Crown. People who really knew him well, which weren’t many, knew that there was a half-truth in almost everything Alan Church said.
Even now, as he sat on the deck of his sailboat, anchored just off the coast of the French Riviera, one had to look closely to see what Alan was really doing. At first glance he looked every bit the relaxed and retired gentleman casually perusing the newspaper as another day in paradise got under way, but upon closer inspection there were a few telltale signs that Alan had not entirely left the employ of his government. The first hint was a bit difficult to catch. It involved the unusual size of the radar dome that sat near the top of his mast and the odd-shaped antennae that sat next to it. The next sign that was a bit more obvious was that Alan wasn’t really reading the paper.
Out of sight, but within reach, was a small control panel with an array of dials. Plugged into this control panel was an earpiece. Alan at first listened intently to the conversation that was taking place between the prince and his visitor, manipulating the various controls in an effort to boost the effectiveness of the directional microphone concealed at the top of his mast.