Stansfield couldn’t disagree. Dr. Lewis had alluded to this very problem in several of his reports. In a soothing voice he said, “Irene, we prepare for the worst on something like this, and the truth is everything will more than likely turn out fine.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“I know you don’t like the way Stan deals with things, but he does have a very good record of delivering. If he’s alive, Stan will bring him in.”
“I don’t think so,” she said in a distant voice. “If you want to bring him in, I’m the one to do it. If you want more bodies, then send Stan and his goons over there to try to collect him. Mark my words, sir, it won’t end well.”
CHAPTER 8
PARIS, FRANCE
RAPP had floated downriver for nearly two hours. The Seine wound through the heart of Paris like a coiled snake. It was impossible to gauge how far he had traveled, but he guessed it was somewhere around two miles. First light approached at roughly the same time he felt the effects of hypothermia settling in. In a way, the cool water was a blessing. It had helped slow his blood flow and ease whatever internal bleeding he had inside his shoulder. But Rapp did not want to be stuck in the river when the sun came up and he was fearful that he might lose consciousness if he stayed in the water much longer. The river flushed him around a big S turn and he saw an industrial yard with holding tanks for petroleum. This early on a Saturday morning there were likely to be few, if any workers. He decided it was a good place to make ground.
Rapp swam up to the uneven wood pier and found an oil-slick ladder. He clung to it for a second, ignoring the rats that he heard squeaking under the recesses of the pier. His left arm hung limp, although he found that he could at least move his fingers and make a fist. Using his right hand, he got a grip and then found the first rung with his feet. Muscles stiff, he climbed the ladder until he had a clear view of the area. The yard was probably four to five hundred feet wide. Parked near the end of the shallow pier were a forklift, three oil trucks, and a front-end loader. Beyond the vehicles sat an old brick warehouse that ran the length of the yard. The perimeter was marked by a ten-foot fence topped with barbed wire—all of it covered with vines and ivy.
Rapp searched for motion lights and signs of a night watchman, or worse, a dog. He still had the silenced Beretta. He’d debated deep-sixing it every few minutes while he’d been in the river. It was not the kind of thing you wanted to be caught with, but a silenced weapon was also something he’d learned not to toss away carelessly. The thought of a rabid guard dog lurking somewhere nearby made him glad he’d decided to keep the gun. Rapp turned and looked at the other side of the river. There were more warehouses, and as far as he could tell, there wasn’t a light or sound of anyone moving about. Parisians weren’t exactly known for their work ethic, and he doubted anyone would be showing up too early on a weekend, if at all.
Trying to shake the stiffness from his limbs, he climbed onto the pier and began a slow, water-soaked trudge toward the warehouse. He walked upright and with as much purpose as he could muster. He ignored the pulsing pain in his shoulder and focused on his eyes and ears. There was no sense crouching and sneaking around in the open. It would only raise the curiosity of an onlooker who might then call the police.
Rapp made it to the corner of the building and steadied himself. Looking back toward the river, he scanned the opposite shore once more to see if anyone was about. Satisfied, he moved on, acutely aware that if he didn’t find some warmth and food, he might lose consciousness. The air temperature hovered somewhere in the midfifties. Not harsh, but after a few hours in the cold water his strength was being tested. The first few entrances were nothing more than large bay doors for vehicles. Farther down, though, he found a regular door and checked the frame. There were no signs of security wires and the door looked flimsy enough to kick in, but Rapp didn’t want to make that kind of noise, so he pulled out his knife. Wedging the forged blade into the gap of the frame and the door, he found the locking mechanism and worked the knife up and down and then back and forth until he had it in the right spot and then he simply leaned his good shoulder into the door and nudged it open.
Rapp stepped into the building and closed the door. Rather than turn on the lights he pulled out his penlight and inspected the door, checking it for wires. Satisfied that he hadn’t tripped an alarm, he turned his attention to the large warehouse space to his right. The entire place reeked of fuel. He kept the light pointed at the floor, its red glow illuminating the first tier of black oil drums. Twenty feet ahead on his left was another door. Rapp moved toward it and found it was unlocked. He entered a hallway and closed the door behind him. There were five doors on the left and only two on the right. The first door he checked was locked, as well as the second, but the first door on the right was unlocked. Rapp nudged it open and found a row of lockers as well as a bathroom and two shower stalls. The thought of a warm shower brought a smile to his face, and he was moving toward them before he stopped himself. Before he could do that, he had to check the rest of the building.
He left the locker room, checking the remaining doors on the left. All were locked, but the last door on the right had no door at all—it was a break room. Rapp scanned the lobby first and then went right back to the dirty break room. He yanked open the refrigerator and found a mess of mold and old food. The thing hadn’t been cleaned out in years. He closed the door in disgust and turned to the vending machine. He was about to break the glass when he caught himself—better to leave as few signs as possible that he’d been here. He fished out some wet bills and fed them into the machine. After purchasing several candy bars, he headed back to the locker room and closed and locked the door. Then he walked straight into the shower stall, clothes and all, and let the warm water begin to clean the dirty river from him and restore warmth to his body. He ate the candy bars, and when he was done he began peeling his clothes off one item at a time.
His first look at his shoulder was underwhelming. The exit wound was no bigger than a quarter—the clear glue that he’d pumped into the wound had taken on a rose tinge from his blood. It had formed a hard shell that looked like stretched and burned skin. A bruise was forming around the wound. Considering how bad it could have been, Rapp felt very lucky. If the bullet had hit an artery, he would have been dead long ago. There was likely some internal bleeding but it was probably stemmed by the junk he’d shot into the wound. He was dealing with a soft- tissue wound that, while it wasn’t life-threatening, hurt like hell. Pain was something, however, that he had learned to deal with a long time ago.
Rapp continued to wash the smell of the river from his skin and hair, letting the warm water bring his muscles back to life. He rinsed his clothes again, wrung them dry, and laid them out on the bench. He was buck-naked other than his dive watch and the backup pistol strapped to his left ankle. The slow float downriver had given him ample time to ponder just what the hell had gone wrong. He still couldn’t figure it out. How did the advance team miss a five-man detail? How did he miss them? Rapp had watched Tarek come and go for two days and not once had he seen a single bodyguard accompany him, let alone five heavily armed men. Rapp had played it by the book and then some. He followed him loose, he followed him close, he watched him from afar and waited patiently to see if there were any trailers or foreign assets connected to the Libyan. There were none. Rapp hadn’t seen a single clue, but even so there had been that unshakable feeling that something wasn’t right. Slowly, the thought began to occur to him that someone had laid a trap for him, and he had walked right into it. That he’d managed to get out of that room alive with all of those bullets flying sent a shudder down his spine. He was lucky to only have been struck by a single bullet.
Rapp stood under the water for a few more minutes and then felt the urge to move. He needed to find someplace secure where he could rest and try to sort this whole thing out. There was the safe house in the
