Stansfield had heard it all before. Rapp was not the first person Hurley had trained. “Get close, keep it simple, one or two shots to the head, and then get clear.”
“That’s what he tells his trainees,” Lewis said.
“So does either of you believe that Rapp went into that hotel room and shot Tarek a dozen plus times and then pumped as many rounds into the prostitute?”
“Not unless he lost his mind,” Lewis replied.
Kennedy frowned and said, “It’s not his MO. He uses a nine-millimeter Beretta . . . 92F. Eighteen rounds in the grip plus one in the chamber. Two backup magazines and a small backup nine-millimeter. There’s no way he’d waste that many rounds on two people.”
“No,” Stansfield said, “plus we have to assume he killed four of the bodyguards.”
Kennedy looked at her boss and said, “The two hotel guests and the employee were all sprayed with bullets. Multiple shots to the chest and face, in one case.” Kennedy shook her head. “I should have seen it sooner.”
“And I should have, too.” Stansfield put his hands on his hips and tried to focus on what was bothering him. He was missing something in the midst of this sea of facts—something that was right in front of him.
Kennedy knew him well enough to see what was going on, so she kept her mouth shut. Lewis wasn’t much of a talker, so he simply observed.
Stansfield turned the problem around and looked at it from the other side. Rapp had said it was a trap. How would you lure someone like Rapp into a trap? You offered him up a nice fat target like Tarek. But how would they know Tarek was on the list, and why would they be so willing to sacrifice him? Both questions bothered Stansfield, but in vastly different ways. “Rapp thinks we have a leak.”
“Yes.”
“How many people have seen the list?”
“The complete list,” Kennedy said. “As far as I know, you, Stan, myself, Rapp, and Ridley.”
“But there could be more?”
“There can always be more. You taught me that.”
Stansfield nodded. “True, but what about your list?”
“I destroyed my copy. I keep the list up here.” Kennedy tapped her forehead.
Stansfield had done the same. “And Mitch?”
“I spent a weekend reviewing it with him and then the entire file was destroyed.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“But he could have written things down later,” Lewis added.
“I don’t think that’s his style,” Kennedy said. “He has a pretty good memory.”
“And Ridley?”
“I have no way of knowing for certain, but he’s pretty thorough.”
“Where is he right now?”
“Amsterdam.”
“I want a full debriefing, and I want you two to handle it. Head over there. It will be easier.”
Kennedy nodded and asked, “What about Stan?”
“I’ll deal with Stan.”
With obvious trepidation, Kennedy asked, “How soon?”
“I think I might be Paris bound in the morning.”
“Really?” Kennedy asked, her surprise obvious.
“Cooke asked me to go over with him. Help smooth some things over.” Stansfield intentionally kept his suspicions about Cooke to himself.
“I’d like to head over as soon as possible,” Kennedy said to her boss. “Hopefully this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“Because I think I’m the only one he really trusts. I should be the one to bring him in.”
“You don’t think he trusts Stan?”
Kennedy looked to Lewis for help.
As was his habit, Lewis had his hands steepled under his chin. Glancing at Kennedy he said, “Tell Thomas what Mitch told you about Stan.”
“He thinks if Stan brings him in he’ll shove him in solitary for a month and slap him around.”
Stansfield pondered that for a moment. Rapp was likely not far from the truth. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to send Kennedy over. He could have Hurley begin looking into how Tarek might have upset the Libyans.
“I’m concerned that we have a deeper problem here,” Lewis said to Stansfield.
