"I am also pleased to announce that all U. S. personnel who were involved in tonight's operations have returned safely to their bases and ships. I apologize to our allies and our leaders on the Hill for not letting you in on this operation earlier, but I couldn't risk it for fear that the weapons would be moved. National security was paramount during every phase of this operation, and that brings me to the second reason for addressing you tonight.
"Just yesterday this entire operation was put in jeopardy by Congressman Albert Rudin when he went on TV and divulged classified top-secret information." The President shook his head in disgust. "Congressman Rudin, blinded by his irrational hatred of the CIA, and his zeal to destroy Dr. Kennedy, decided to give all the world the name and photograph of one of this country's top counterterrorism operatives. Many of you in the press have spent the last day trying to find out who this man is. Well, for reasons of national security, I can't tell you much about him, but I will tell you that he is the man who led the raid into Baghdad tonight. Without his bravery and selfless attitude this mission would not have been a success. His name is Mitch Rapp, and he has just completed his last mission, thanks to Congressman Rudin and his inability to put the national security of this country before his own petty vendettas.
"Many of you were shocked by the raids that occurred at the congressman's home and office this morning. Let me explain how they came about. Dr. Kennedy and I sat down with FBI Director Roach last night and showed him the classified files of Mr. Rapp's career with the CIA. I can assure all of you that the law was upheld by both myself and my predecessor. The file contains Presidential findings authorizing the use of lethal force. In each and every case the leadership of both the House and the Senate were notified under the laws of Congressional Notification. Technically speaking, Congressman Rudin, as chairman of the House Intelligence Committee, is to be notified in a timely fashion of any covert action. Myself and my predecessor argued successfully to the leadership on the Hill, both Democrats and Republicans alike, that Congressman Rudin could not be trusted with such information. They agreed, and he was kept out of the loop. This was a difficult situation. We had to balance the needs of Congressional Notification and national security. We felt, and so did the House and Senate leadership, that we were fulfilling our obligation on both counts.
"With the high stakes of this current operation hanging in the balance we proved to Director Roach and a federal judge that laws had been broken. We moved quickly to have those files seized so the operation would not be further compromised by Congressman Rudin's brash and reckless behavior."
The President stopped and looked as if even he couldn't believe Rudin's stupidity. "I am sorry to say that Mr. Rapp's career in the field of counterterrorism has been damaged beyond repair, and as a consequence so has the national security of our country. The FBI will be investigating Congressman Rudin to find out just how much damage he's done, and they will explore filing criminal charges."
The President glanced over his shoulder and then said, "This was also why Dr. Kennedy was unwilling to answer questions on the Hill today. The operation in Iraq was already under way, and she did not want to lie to the committee nor did she want to say anything that might compromise the mission.
"Now before turning this over to Dr. Kennedy and General Flood I would like to thank our allies for their understanding, patience and loyalty, and I'd like to thank our soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines for their bravery and professionalism. And to Mitch Rapp, for once again putting his life on the line. The world is a safer place tonight because of all of you." With a sincere smile the President ended by saying, "Good night and God bless all of you. "Without pause, President Hayes turned and left the room.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN.
U.S. Capitol, Monday evening
A promising day had turned out to be a complete disaster. Hank Clark sat in the dark in his hide on the fourth floor of the Capitol. He had a large snifter of cognac in one hand and a cigar in the other. His chair was turned toward the open window with his feet up on the sill. Cold air rushed in from the outside to battle with the century-old radiator. It was just another example of government inefficiency. Smoking was officially forbidden in any federal workplace, but the people who wrote the laws sometimes chose to ignore them. Clark took a big puff from his Diamond Crown Figurado cigar and blew it out into the cold night air.
The combination of nicotine and high octane cognac had him buzzing. His mind was nearing that place where he desperately wanted to be, the place where booze actually elicits clarity of thought. It was difficult to both achieve and maintain, and very easy to overshoot and get lost in the sluggish orbit of drunken stupidity.
The senator's grand plans were in tatters, and he was trying to figure out how he'd been so badly outflanked. He was in full retreat, scrambling to salvage enough to fight another day. The President's move had been brilliant. His poll numbers would be near eighty percent by Friday and Mitch Rapp wasn't a national hero yet, but by the time the press got finished with him, he would be. Kennedy's stock had risen, too. She was seen as a cool professional in the midst of a crisis. The type of person we needed running the CIA. No one on the Hill was going to risk their career trying to take either of them down at this point.
Albert Rudin was all the example they needed. If ever a politician was finished it was Rudin. The President had just jumped from the bully pulpit and squashed him like a bug. The man was radioactive. By tomorrow morning he wouldn't be able to get a table at Burger King. He wouldn't have a single ally left in Washington.
Unfortunately, Clark knew Rudin well enough to know that the stubborn old bastard would not simply slink back to Connecticut and retire quietly. Washington was his lair, and the Democratic Party was his life. He would be a desperate man, and desperate men rarely think wisely. Rudin was now a major liability.
Clark took another sip of cognac and tried to assess the damage that the cantankerous congressman might cause him. It didn't look good. Clark could try to take the high road and dismiss Rudin's ranting and raving as those of a bitter beaten man, but the President would still wonder. And then there was the issue of Steveken and Brown. If the President was serious about the FBI pursuing a criminal investigation, they were in trouble, and that meant he was in trouble. Rudin had to be convinced to keep his mouth shut, or Clark would be up the of' shit crick without a paddle. Money was the most likely way to solve things. He would approach Rudin on principle, and if that didn't work he'd have to pay him off.
Clark looked out the open window down the National Mall and puffed on his cigar. He tried to calculate his odds for success. Rudin was a cheap bastard. The money just might work.
Suddenly, someone began banging loudly on the office door. Sitting alone in the darkness Clark was so startled that he leapt to his feet. He placed a hand over his racing heart and tried to calm himself.
"Open this damn door, Hank! I know you're in there!"
It was Rudin. Clark wasn't so sure he wanted to talk to him yet. He stood in front of the open window afraid to move.
"I can smell your damn cigar smoke! Open this door right now!" Rudin screamed. "The FBI wants to talk to me tomorrow and they've advised me to bring a lawyer, Hank! I need to talk to you right now."
With great reluctance Clark set his drink down and turned on a desk lamp. He went to the door, unlocked and opened it. Rudin shouldered his way past Clark muttering obscenities as he went. Clark closed the door and turned to address the congressman. "Albert, I feel horrible about what happened tonight. I can understand the President's frustration, but I think he's crossed the line a bit."
"Understand his frustration," Rudin snapped with spit flying from his mouth. "He just fucked me over in front of the entire country, hell, the entire world, and all you can say is you understand 'his frustration! What about my frustration?" Rudin barked.
Clark made a calming motion with his hands. "I'm here to help you, Albert. Your screaming will accomplish nothing."
"He
re to help me," he bellowed. "You're up here hiding. Fucking help me, my ass." The senator sighed and told himself to stay calm. "You're right, Albert. I'm sorry."
"Well, sorry ain't gonna cut it. You gonna make things right."
"Albert, I want to help you, but before I do that you have to admit to some blame here."
"Blame!" he screeched with an angry face. "The only blame I'm going to take is for listening to you. You were the one who sent that oddball Steveken to see me. You were the one who told me to go on Meet the Press and tell the world about Mitch Rapp. If I hadn't listened to you, I wouldn't be in any of this."
Clark 's calm demeanor began to unravel. "Oh, Albert, I think you can take more than a little bit of the blame for the position you're in."
"Bullshit. I'm right and you know it."
"Everything the President said tonight was true. Especially the part about you having a vendetta."
"Fuck you, Hank." Rudin furthered his point by raising his middle finger.
Clark leaned in. "You'd better watch it, Albert. I'm probably the only friend you have left in this town."
The senators size managed to intimidate Rudin enough to force him back a step. In defense he said, "I'm desperate! I'm a desperate man. You have to help me!"
Clark remembered his own earlier thought. Desperate men do desperate things. It was as if he'd been given a sign. The fog had cleared, Clark saw a way out of the entire mess. He placed a hand on Rudin's bony shoulder and said, "Come here. I want to show you something that I think will help." Rudin hesitated at first, but Clark nudged him with his large hand. The two men walked over to the open window, and Clark pointed off in the distance toward the Washington Monument. It was bathed in a bright light on all four sides, shooting up out of the middle of the Mall as if it were a rocket ready for flight.
Clark gazed out window and said, "You fought the good fight, Albert. Just like Washington did, only you didn't have history on your side"
Rudin shook his head angrily and said, "History fucked me."
"Well, I'm going to make things right. You and I are going to go see the President in the morning, and I'm going to get him to call off the FBI." Clark patted Rudin on the back and said, "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."
Rudin's shoulders sank in relief. "Oh, thank you, Hank. Thank you thank you thank you."
"Don't worry about it." Clark patted him on the back again and said, "That's what friends are for." And with Rudin finally relaxed, Clark took a half step back and placed both hands in the middle of the wiry congressman's back. With one good push the senator sent Rudin toppling out the open window. There was a brief bloodcurdling scream and then an instant later a dull thud. Clark stuck his head out the window and looked down some eighty feet to the stone terrace below. There lay Albert Rudin's lifeless body.
Clark went to his desk and grabbed his snifter, where he downed the remainder of the liqueur in one gulp. Next he grabbed his mobile phone from his suit coat and dialed a number. When a woman answered on the other end he said, "This is Senator Clark. I need to speak to the President immediately. Something terrible has happened."
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT.
Maryland, Wednesday evening
Rapp arrived stateside with a genuine mix of emotions. He was still riding high from the operation and doubted that the pride he felt over the mission's success would ever wane. He had more than likely reached the apex of his career, and he could think of no better way to exit. Whether he liked it or not, Congressman Rudin had blown his cover. He was done operating in the field. Fortunately for the congressman, he'd taken the cowardly way out and jumped. As a result, it was much easier for Rapp to deal with the problem. There was no sense in hurting a dead man.
When his plane landed at Andrews a group of geeks from the CIA and the Pentagon were waiting to debrief him. Rapp told them it would have to wait, but they continued to press the point, so he told them to go to hell. Before leaving he spent a few minutes alone with Kennedy. She tried to bring up Anna, but he would have none of it. He had already made the mistake of combining his professional life with his personal life, and he would never do it again. She filled him in on what had happened since the President's address on Monday night. Virtually every magazine, newspaper and TV show had called the CIA's office of public affairs and asked for an interview with America 's new hero.
"And what did you tell them?" asked Rapp. "That there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that you would do an interview."
"Exactly. You know me well."
"Too well."
She tried to bring up Anna again, but he cut her off. He was going to crawl into a hole for a few days, and when he was ready to come out, he'd call. Kennedy stood alone with a worried expression on her face and watched him drive away. She could tell that beneath Mitch's tough exterior he was hurting. She knew him better than he knew himself and Kennedy could see he was ready to crumble.
Rapp flew down the rural country roads of Maryland with a mixture of apprehension and excitement coursing through his veins. Before leaving Saudi Arabia, he'd called her apartment and left a message. "I'll be home Wednesday night. I miss you very much. It would mean a lot if you were at the house when I got there." He figured this was safe. He met her halfway, and now it was up to her.
As he returned to America the cruel irony of the situation began to set in. He'd been searching for that normal life, a wife, a family, true love, and now after all these years he was finally in a position to give it his all. Anna was that woman. Despite what had happened in Milan, he knew with all his heart that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but he also knew he couldn't force it. Anna was a bit of a contrarian. She did not like being badgered. She needed to come to certain conclusions of her own free will.
Rapp was not well versed in the affairs of the heart, and he was entirely unaccustomed to failure. He was someone who was supremely confident in his ability to handle any situation, but on this cool November evening there were cracks in his armor. An unfamiliar feeling was percolating just beneath the surface. It was the foreign emotion of vulnerability. He tried not to get his hopes too high, but he couldn't help it. He desperately wanted Anna to be at the house.
Turning onto his road he could no longer contain his excitement. He'd come too far, given too much, to be deprived of happiness. He knew with absolute conviction that Anna loved him. There were two sides to every story, and now, having had some time to think about Milan, he could see why she was so upset. He was bringing a lot of baggage to the relationship, and not your everyday type of baggage. Deep down inside he knew they were meant to be together. It was fate. As he turned into the driveway and the headlights from his car swung around across the long front yard, they hit the house and then the garage. His heart sank in disappointment, and he stopped the car. It was eleven minutes past eight, and she wasn't here. Slowly he released the brake and rolled down the driveway. He stopped the car in front of the garage and got out. Not wanting to deal with his bags, he went straight for the front door.
Rapp unlocked the door and punched in the security code. He headed for the kitchen to check the answering machine. It was full. He swore to himself, and like an addict searching for a fix, began plowing through them one at a time, skipping over each new message as soon as he heard it was someone other than Anna. With each passing message he sank further into despair until finally the last one had been heard. He exhaled deeply as if part of his soul had just left his body.
Turning, he went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. His nerves were dead. He grabbed a jacket and went outside onto the deck. For some reason he needed to see the water. As he looked out across the dark bay he tried to find an excuse for her. Why she wasn't there, why she hadn't called and left a message. He felt pathetic, for not facing the truth, for grasping at empty hopes. Needing to do something, anything, to take his mind off the pain he felt, he set off to get a few logs and start a fire.
Five minutes later he seemed to have found a brief moment of r
elief. The flames licked upward into the chilly night air and the bark on the birch logs popped and crackled. The wind blew in off the bay and carried the smoke with it. He took a sip of beer and looking into the flames, he remembered that Anna had given him the fire kettle for his birthday. He suddenly felt awash in a barren sea of loneliness. He'd spent years hiding his inner thoughts. Emotions were a luxury he could ill afford. Anna had changed all that. She'd gently peeled away the tough exterior to expose an array of feelings that he'd never known. Now those feelings had turned against him, and the pain was excruciating.
As he stared into the fire tears began to fill his eyes. He leaned back in the Adirondack chair and wondered what life would be like without her. The smell of her hair, the touch of her skin, her enchanting green eyes, her smile, her laugh, it was all gone and somehow he felt cheated. His sacrifices had been great and this had been all he'd asked for in return. A little happiness. A companion to spend the rest of his life with.
Through the tears his analytical mind raced ahead in an attempt to see his future. He would survive, he knew that. Strip away everything else and he was the consummate survivor. The pain of this loss would diminish but not entirely heal. There would be no other women, at least not for a long time, and when and if he ever found one, she would never measure up to Anna. She was his one true love, and he had lost her. With tears streaming down his tired face he began to wonder if any of it was worth his sadness.
Rielly stood in the shadows near the side of the house and watched. She smelled the smoke when she got out of her car and came around the side of the house. She did not want to be there when he got home. She wanted to make a point. She wanted him to feel what she had felt. Now standing in the shadows, seeing the pain he was in, she couldn't take it anymore.