Hurley sighed. “Listen, I don’t have your little computer brain. My strengths lie in other areas.”
“How many lists did you make?”
“One . . . but it was more of a file really. I needed to keep track of these guys. Figure out where they were weakest, what they were up to, where they’d be next week and the week after that.”
Stansfield was both relieved and irritated. “And knowing you, this file was kept in an unlocked drawer as opposed to a locked safe?”
“Listen, nobody gets within a mile of that farm without me knowing. The place is as secure as Fort Knox.”
“How do you think Fournier got his hands on our list?”
“I have no idea.”
“I certainly didn’t tell him and I doubt Irene did.” Stansfield turned and looked through the glass. “What about him? He had access.”
“So did Rapp.”
“Do you honestly believe that Mitch handed that list over so he could walk into a trap and get shot? That’s preposterous.”
“I don’t know,” Hurley said, his frustration apparent. “I can’t figure this out.”
“That’s because you don’t want to face the truth.”
“And what truth would that be?”
“That you’re not only wrong about Rapp, but you’re wrong about him, too.”
Hurley studied Victor, trying to discern some truth that he would never get standing on this side of the glass. He rubbed the stubble on his square jaw and said, “Bernstein and Jones are on their way in. I’m going to show them a picture of Rapp and if they ID him, Victor is going to have a really hard time explaining why Rapp would shoot the agents and then try to save one of them.”
“And risk exposing himself in the process.”
“Fuck,” Hurley growled. He didn’t like where this was headed.
“I told Jim I wanted this floor locked down,” Stansfield said. “Victor is to be treated as a potential hostile until I say otherwise. I don’t trust anyone in that room with him other than you. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah. You don’t want him breaking some desk jockey’s neck.”
“Exactly. He’s your creation. Do you think you can still handle him?”
Hurley nodded. “If it turns out he’s been lying about all of this, I’ll snap his fucking neck.”
CHAPTER 44
RAPP hated meets like this. Even when he had the significant resources of the CIA behind him, there was always the unknown, the possibility that someone might go back on his word and kill you. He’d finally gotten to a place where he could trust Kennedy and now Stansfield had been thrown in the mix. Rapp said no when she first told him the deputy director was coming along. Stansfield had bodyguards, and God only knew how many assets the French would have on him. Kennedy told him they had contingencies to deal with all of that. Rapp still didn’t like it and was about to call the whole thing off when Greta talked him down.
“I have known him since I was a little child. He is one of my grandfather’s closest friends. If there is anyone I can trust it is him.”
They were moving from pay phone to pay phone in Greta’s car, running Kennedy through some hoops to make sure they weren’t being tailed or driving into an entourage of vehicles filled with heavily armed men. Rapp had Kennedy give him the description of the car they were driving, and twice in thirty minutes Kennedy had passed within thirty feet of where he was standing. He couldn’t see the backseat, and obviously had no idea if someone was in the trunk, but it was undeniable that Thomas Stansfield was in the front passenger seat.
After an hour of running them around town, he was ready. He’d purchased two very expensive mobile phones and was saving them. The second-to-last waypoint was someplace he and Kennedy had visited together. It was the final resting place of the Irish playwright Samuel Beckett, the unjustly accused French Army officer Alfred Dreyfus, and many other notables. Kennedy had read several books about the miscarriage of justice that had been heaped upon Dreyfus and the national scandal that eventually followed. Rapp had known nothing about the Dreyfus Affair, as it became known, but the previous winter they had stood in front of his grave for nearly thirty minutes while Kennedy explained the tragedy and the national crisis that had resulted from the false conviction and imprisonment of Dreyfus.
Rapp called her cell from a pay phone and said, “We’re getting close. Remember the French Army officer we visited ten months ago?”
“The Jewish one?”
“That’s right. Head there and await my next call.” Rapp placed the phone back in the cradle and walked back to the car. He climbed behind the wheel and said to Greta, “It’s not too late to back out.”
She didn’t bother looking at him. She simply said, “Shut up. I told you to stop saying that. Thomas Stansfield would never harm me.”
“He’s not the one I worry about. It’s Hurley and the guy we saw last night. I don’t want you anywhere near them.”
“I have a hard time believing Stan is as bad as you say. He has always been kind to me.”
“Well, he must like blondes, because he’s been nothing but a prick to me.” Rapp drove for a few minutes, maneuvering through the narrow streets. He parked the vehicle a block from the meeting place, and he and Greta got out. He kissed her and said, “You have your gun?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be afraid to use it.”
