“Over the last few months they seemed to really kick this program into high gear. They were handing out bags of cash to every asshole in the country. Most of them guys we’ve spent the last ten years trying to kill.” Schneeman shook his head in disgust and added in an acid tone, “Fucking Abdul Rauf Qayem… I told Darren I’d put a bullet in the guy’s head, and he could pocket the cash. Do you know what Darren did?”
“No,” Kennedy responded.
“He freaked out, and not about the bullet in the head. He gave me this big lecture about the inspector general’s office and how they were all over him. How they had controls in place to make sure every penny was accounted for.”
Kennedy was surprised, as this was all news to her. “The inspector general?”
“That’s right.”
For obvious reasons, Langley’s inspector general had a certain amount of autonomy; that was the idea, after all, an in-house group tasked with making sure the spooks were playing by the rules. The idea was almost laughable and had of course been foisted on the Agency by the politicians on Capitol Hill. The fact that they thought it would work was interesting in itself. If the CIA could penetrate the world’s top governments, how difficult would it be to recruit a few people who worked in the inspector general’s Office? The answer was simple-it wasn’t. Kennedy had people in the office who kept her informed of anything of consequence. It they had been looking into Rickman and this reintegration business Kennedy would have known. As a precaution, though, she would need to do a little double-checking.
“What about Hubbard?” Kennedy asked.
He gave a shrug. “He’s competent enough.”
“I’ve heard he became Rick’s go-to guy.”
“Yeah. If he needed any heavy lifting done he usually arranged it through Hubbard, although…” Schneeman’s voice trailed off. He was thinking about something he’d heard.
“What?” Kennedy asked.
“Rick was involved with a lot of bad characters. Always has been, but when this reintegration thing got going, he really started hanging out with a rough crowd. I picked something up from one of the SOG guys. More of a complaint, really.”
SOG stood for Special Operations Group. They were the paramilitary arm of the National Clandestine Service and were the men and women whom Kennedy used to conduct covert operations. “What did you hear?”
“Guy told me Rick’s security was dog shit. Couldn’t understand why he’d turned everything over to the natives. Said a guy like Rick should always have some American shooters with him. He had too big a target on his back to trust everything to a bunch of local mercenaries.”
“You passed this concern on to Darren?”
“Yep.”
This was the first Kennedy had heard of any of this. “So Rick’s normal detail…”
“They stayed at the air base and he used them from time to time when he needed to make a show of force.”
Kennedy considered the new information for a moment. In the aftermath of stuff like this, certain bits of information could take on oversized importance. She told herself not to get hung up on it. If it were important, she would revisit it later. “So we have no idea where Hubbard may be?”
“None, and we’ve talked to a ton of sources.”
“Okay.” She looked back toward the door. “Our number one priority right now is to find Hubbard. Number two is Qayem.”
“Understood.”
“Good. Now tell me what you and Mike have learned from our guest.”
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 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
