in a safety deposit box.”
“And how did this Agent Wilson come across Herr Obrecht?”
“An anonymous tip.”
“Come on.”
Kennedy nodded. “I know… it’s ridiculous.”
“This is bullshit.” After looking into his drink for a long moment, Rapp said, “Hypothetically, if I was going to steal money from Langley, wouldn’t I be a little better at covering my tracks? I mean, we have five accounts in Switzerland that we use to fund various operations. Right?” Rapp asked, not trusting his memory.
“That’s correct.”
“So why use some second-tier banker who I don’t know and can’t trust?”
“I’m afraid that’s a question we’re going to have to ask Herr Obrecht.”
The excitement on Rapp’s face was obvious. “Please tell me we have him.”
“We have him under surveillance.”
“And?”
“Nothing so far, other than some contacts with a few unsavory types. In the world of Swiss banking, however, that’s hardly an indictment.”
“How about I go have a chat with him?” Rapp raised and eyebrow in anticipation.
This was the old Rapp. Extremely results oriented and rarely willing to sit back and let things unfold. Kennedy was torn between letting him do what he was so good at and the potential fallout if things didn’t go well. The FBI was firmly behind her at the moment, but with Senator Ferris lurking about, who knew what next week would bring? “If I send you, what are you going to ask him?”
Rapp looked at her as if it were a trick question. “How about why did you lie to the FBI and say that I did business with you, you piece of shit?”
Kennedy frowned. “Not very subtle.”
Rapp looked at Lewis. “Was I known for being subtle before I hit my head?”
Lewis sighed and said, “I’m afraid subtlety has never been your thing.”
Chapter 47
Islamabad, Pakistan
In the upper left corner of the fifty-inch flat-screen TV a single car passed through the main gate of Bahria Town. General Durrani took in a drag from his cigarette, ignored the anchor on Al Jazeera, and focused on the smaller picture. The next part of his plan was so ingenious that he had kept it from Rickman so he could see the man’s shock and then admiration as the audacity of it sank in. He couldn’t wait to see the surprise on his accomplice’s face when everything was revealed.
Dr. Bhutani had arrived the previous evening, and after spending an hour with the patient Bhutani informed Durrani that his decision to call him had been the right one. Rickman had a 103-degree temperature, a ruptured testicle, severely bruised kidneys, four broken ribs, and a shattered left orbital socket, and those were just the most immediate concerns. There were too many scrapes and bruises to count, and Bhutani had no idea if any other organs had been damaged. The doctor was no fool. He knew the importance of Durrani’s job and he knew his comrade placed an extremely high premium on secrecy.
So after finishing his examination, Bhutani said to Durrani, “That man needs to be in a hospital. I don’t suppose you will allow that?”
“No,” Durrani offered brusquely. “And he doesn’t want to go to a hospital either.”
“State secrets?”
“Yes.”
“You may trust me, as always.” Bhutani then took a long moment to consider the care of this intriguing patient, whom he had already identified as an American. “Antibiotics will go a long way to making sure we nurse him back to health, but there are some things we must keep an eye on. If we cannot get the fever down with antibiotics then I’m afraid we really will have to move him to a hospital, if you want him to survive. Would you like me to quietly explore some options?”
Durrani frowned and said, “It is imperative that you do not speak to anyone of this.”
“I understand.” Bhutani placed a caring hand on the general’s arm. “I will speak to no one, but I will see where we can take him if we absolutely have to. I have some ideas. In the meantime you will need to come up with an official explanation… a cover, I think you call it.”
“I have already taken care of that,” Durrani said with a wink.
“May I send a nurse over? Someone we can trust?” When Durrani hesitated, the doctor said, “It is essential that we monitor his vitals every hour until we think he is out of danger.” Seeing that Durrani wasn’t convinced, he added, “I know who I can trust. People who believe in what you are doing… in what we are doing.”
Durrani weighed the need for secrecy against the possibility of Rickman’s dying. He could always kill the nurse if he felt the need to, but if Rickman died there was no bringing him back. The nurse might also help avoid having to bring him to a hospital, which would be a very difficult environment to control. “Fine, but just one nurse. She can train one of my men what to do when she needs to sleep. She must never speak of any of this. Never.”
“I will make sure of it.”
Durrani then attempted to hand the doctor an envelope filled with cash. Bhutani vehemently refused, and when Durrani insisted, the doctor was insulted, telling Durrani that everyone must do his part in the defense of Pakistan and that this was his contribution.
The nurse had showed up within the hour. She was an ugly, fat thing, and Durrani decided almost immediately that the woman would have to die. She had spent the night at Rickman’s side, taking care of his every need and giving him the appropriate drugs and fluids as needed.
Now, Durrani snatched the handset from his office phone and pressed the Page button and then a second button for the guesthouse living room. After a series of long beeps, Kassar answered in his disinterested voice.
“The nurse,” Durrani said, “Send her to the other guesthouse. Tell her to take a two-hour break and that you will come get her when you need her.”
“Is your friend here?”
Durrani glanced at the security feed. “Almost. I don’t want the nurse to see him.”
“What does it matter? You are going to kill her anyway.”
“She doesn’t need to see this, and stop questioning my decisions. Just do what I say.” Durrani replaced the handset and wondered if it was time to get rid of Kassar. The problem would be replacing the man. He was so good at what he did, Durrani doubted he could find someone to fill his shoes any time soon.
Durrani returned his attention to the flat-screen TV in time to see the black Range Rover pull up to his private gate. His men did a quick inspection of the vehicle by running a mirror underneath and then checking the trunk cargo area. When the vehicle was cleared, Durrani stabbed out his cigarette, stood, and walked down the long hallway, stopping just short of the foyer. After fifteen months of hard work, the decisive moment was upon him.
He looked at his reflection in a full-length mirror with a thick gold frame. After adjusting the black beret on his head, he adjusted his tan tunic to make sure all the buttons were centered. His left breast was covered with four rows of ribbons and each collar had two gold stars in a sea of red. Pleased with his impressive image Durrani moved to the front door and opened it in time to see his guest emerging from the Range Rover.
“Larry,” Durrani yelled with a wave. One of Durrani’s bodyguards was waving a black magnetic wand over his guest, more for show than anything. Durrani yelled at the guard, “No need for that. He’s fine. Larry, come.” The general stood, beaming with anticipation, waving his right arm for his American friend to join him.
The American was wearing a khaki suit with a blue button-down shirt. He walked casually across the stone courtyard with a warm smile on his face. “General, good to see you.”
“And you, too, Larry.”
Larry Lee was an American expatriate from Wichita, Kansas. He was an engineer who specialized in
