He found his rhythm within six or seven strokes and settled in for the one-mile swim up the coast. Rapp no longer competed professionally, but just three years earlier he had been one of the world’s top-ranked tri athletes In the Mount Everest of triathlon competitions, the Ironman in Hawaii, Rapp had posted three top-five finishes and a first place. But his work with the CIA had picked up considerably in the last five years, and the hectic and unpredictable schedule had forced him to give up competition.
Rapp returned to the dock in front of his house at twenty to six feeling fresh and loose. After toweling off, he made it back up to the house and into the shower. Fifteen minutes later he was shaved, dressed, and out the door, with a cup of piping hot coffee in his hand. Rapp slid behind the wheel of his new black Volvo sedan and eased it out of the narrow garage. He took it slow as he drove down his crumbling asphalt driveway.
That was another project he would have to tackle before winter came.
When he reached a sturdier surface, he increased speed and began to enjoy the performance of the new sedan.
It felt good to be back in civilization.
Several minutes later he was on Route 50 and on his way to a meeting at Langley. Dr. Hornig was to give a briefing at seven a.m. on everything she had learned from her session with Fara Harut. Rapp was not overly excited about sharing breakfast with Dr. Strangelove, but considering the information she would provide, he was willing to bite the bullet.
Twenty-two minutes later, Rapp caught the Beltway and took it around the northern part of D.C. Traffic was picking up, but at this early hour it still moved along at a brisk ten miles per hour over the posted speed limit. Fifteen minutes after reaching the Beltway, Rapp pulled through the first security checkpoint at Langley and parked his car. After passing through the main security checkpoint of the old building, Rapp took the elevator to Director Stansfield’s office on the seventh floor.
Stansfield’s administrative assistant reported his arrival over her headset, and a moment later Irene Kennedy appeared.
Kennedy escorted Rapp into the director’s inner sanctum, where the man himself was seated behind his large desk, a pair of bifocals perched at the edge of his nose, his attention focused on an open file.
Stansfield took another moment to finish and then closed the file.
Before standing, he grabbed a stack of documents, opened one of the drawers behind his desk, inserted them, closed the door, and locked it with a key.
Stansfield left his suit coat hanging on the coatrack and came around the desk, pulling up his suit pants another notch.
“Good morning, Mitch. I hope you got some sleep last night.”
“I did, sir. And you?”
Stansfield placed his fragile hand on Rapp’s shoulder. The DCI was almost a full head shorter than Rapp.
“When you get to my age, Mitch, sleep becomes a very elusive thing.”
Stansfield turned his young specialist away from his desk and started walking him across the office.
“I’ve set up a meeting for you this morning, but we’ll talk about that later. Dr. Hornig is waiting for us, and I’d like to hear what she’s found out before we get into anything else.”
As Rapp followed Stansfield and Kennedy through a door and into a windowless conference room, he wondered who his mystery meeting was with. Dr. Hornig was already seated on one side of the table and was looking over her own handwritten notes. Stansfield took his seat at the head of the table, and Rapp and Kennedy sat across from Hornig. Rapp noticed she was wearing the same clothes as the day before. It appeared as though she had not slept.
Taking off her black horn-rimmed glasses, Hornig set them on top of her notes and rubbed her eyes, saying, “We have a lot of information. An incredible amount, really.” She lowered her hands and shook her head.
“It’s going to take months to sort through all of it. But having said that, I know you are more interested in information involving Mr. Aziz and the current White House crisis.”
Hornig looked down at her notes. “I apologize for the lack of summaries and transcripts, but I was working on Mr. Harut right up until I left for this meeting.”
“No explanation needed, Dr. Hornig,” stated Stansfield.
“To start with”-Hornig grabbed a piece of paper-“I have the names of the other ten terrorists who are with Mr. Aziz at the White House. It was very difficult to get this information out of him.” Hornig handed Stansfield the sheet.
The DCI looked at the yellow piece of paper for no more than five seconds and then handed the sheet to Irene Kennedy, who studied it with Mitch Rapp looking over her shoulder.
Stansfield gave them about ten seconds and asked, “Irene?”
Kennedy looked up and brushed a strand of brown hair back behind her ear.
“This will be a big help. Off the top of my head, I know about half of them. I can run the rest through our data banks, and any of the ones that we don’t get a profile on, we can ask Mi-Six or Mossad.”
“Good. I want full traces and profiles prepared on each and every one of them as soon as possible.” Stansfield turned back to Hornig.
“Now, what do we know about the demands?” Hornig looked down at her notes and flipped through several pages.
“Mr. Harut knew in detail about the first demand, involving the return of the frozen assets to Iran. We can infer, since Mitch took him before those demands were made public, that he has intimate knowledge of what Mr. Aziz is going to ask for-up to a point, that is.”
Rapp ignored the first part of Hornig’s comment-the part involving the rookie detective work-and asked, “What does ‘up to a point’ mean?”
“I’ll get to that in a minute,” replied Homig.
“His second demand involves the lifting of all UN sanctions against Iraq.”
Homig looked at her audience to gauge any reaction, and then continued.
“The third demand involves the U.S. recognizing a free and sovereign Palestinian state.” With a furrowed brow, Rapp asked, “Where?”
Hornig cleared her throat and said, “The West Bank and the Gaza Strip.”
Rapp set his coffee down.
“The Israelis are going to shit their pants.”
“I would concur.” Stansfield looked to Hornig.
“What else?”
“There’s one more demand… one final demand, but Mr. Harut doesn’t know what it is.”
Rapp tilted his head skeptically.
“Come again?”
“I really don’t think he knows,” replied Hornig a touch defensively. “I spent almost two full hours delving into this specific subject. I pushed as hard as I felt I could.”
“Maybe you need to push harder,” stated Rapp.
Hornig leaned back slightly and folded her arms.
“I plan on it. Just as soon as Mr. Harut gets some rest”
“As soon as you both get some rest,” interjected Stansfield.
“I don’t want you burned out. Dr. Hornig.” Hornig was slightly frustrated by all of the unsolicited advice. She didn’t tell them how to do their jobs, and she’d appreciate it if they would return the courtesy.
Stansfield, oblivious to Hornig’s issues, turned his attention to Kennedy.
“Any thoughts on what the final demand might be?”
Kennedy stared off into space for a moment and then said, “A few, but I’d like to do a little research before I come to any conclusions.”
Looking at one of his most trusted advisers, Stansfield thought of pressing for more information and then decided it was better to let Kennedy develop her theories in time. With some of his people he had to engage them in a game of mental gymnastics to get the best out of them; with Kennedy she was best left alone. Stansfield turned his chair back toward Hornig, who was once again shuffling through her notes.
“What else do you have for us. Dr. Hornig?”
