consider for leverage.”
“Motherfucker!” Hurley yelled.
Rapp was already beyond that. He was imagining each person in the room. Cooke was a traitor, Fournier was a backstabbing snake, and based on the information and names provided by Monsignor de Fleury, Kennedy had identified the other two. Samir Fadi was a midlevel lieutenant from Islamic Jihad, and he was more than likely the prick who had shot Rapp in the shoulder. The second man was far more high-profile. Max Vega was a wealthy Spanish businessman with a radical Saudi father. Over the past several years he had become a key player in funding the various radical Muslim groups. Rapp had known about him because he was the next name on the list of authorized targets.
The decision was easy for Rapp. He grabbed the door handle and said, “Stan, you can shoot me if you want, but I’m going in there. I’m as good as dead if I don’t kill every last one of those fuckers right now.”
Hurley didn’t move or say anything for what seemed like an eternity, and then he put the car into drive and said, “There’s a side entrance for the employees and deliveries on Rue Lord Byron.”
“I know where it is.”
“There’s a staircase almost immediately on your left. They’re on the top floor. I suggest you leave the money. It’ll make it look dirtier.”
“Good idea.”
Twenty seconds later they passed the front entrance. Five seconds after that Hurley stopped in front of the service entrance.
Rapp opened the door and said, “Thanks, Stan. I really appreciate this.”
“No worries. Just don’t get killed and don’t leave any fingerprints.”
“I never do.”
“And just so you know, I never liked Thomas’s plan. Our job is to kill these assholes, not try to turn them.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.”
“I’ll be waiting right down the street for you.” Hurley pointed through the windshield. “You’ve got five minutes. You’d better get your ass moving.”
Rapp slammed the door and ran around the trunk and onto the sidewalk. The employee entrance was a small garage door. It was unlocked. Rapp grabbed his DGSE badge and entered. A busboy barely gave him a passing glance. Rapp smiled, flipped open the badge, and said, “Police.”
The staircase was right where Hurley said it would be. Rapp took the stairs two at a time as fast as he could. By the time he reached the top floor his heart was pumping, but he knew he would recover within seconds. He stopped just inside the fire door and took a couple of deep breaths. Then he used his hip on the crash bar so he wouldn’t leave any fingerprints and pushed through. There at the opposite end of the hall was Omar. All six and a half feet of him. He had to be close to three hundred pounds.
Rapp walked straight for him at a brisk pace. He called out a few soft apologies in French, and just as he had hoped, Omar started coming toward him. Rapp thought it was unlikely that he was armed, but he had to assume he was. When they were thirty feet away Rapp said, “I work for Director Fournier.” He pulled the ID case out of his breast pocket and said, “I need to speak with him.”
Omar stopped in the middle of the hall, waiting to inspect the ID.
Rapp had to time it just right. Too close and Omar might get his hands on him. Too far away and Omar might hit the floor so hard furniture would topple over. He had the ID in his left hand and extended his arm all the way so it looked as if he was trying to help Omar. His right hand slid between the folds of his suit coat and gripped the FNP. Rapp drew the gun, kept his arm in tight, and pivoted his wrist so the tip of the silencer was pointed directly at Omar’s heart. Normally Rapp would only use one bullet, but with a guy Omar’s size you never knew, so he squeezed three times and then lunged forward.
Omar’s reaction was normal. Both hands clutched at his chest, and then he started to stumble. Rapp closed the ID case and did his best to help Omar gently to the floor. He went down on his knees first, and then it was just a matter of tipping him backward. Rapp laid his head on the ground and searched for the keys. He’d stayed at the Balzac and knew they still used the old-fashioned kind. Big bulky things. Rapp found it in the outside left pocket of his suit coat. Rapp pulled on a pair of latex gloves, grabbed the key, and quickly moved down the hallway. Moving Omar wasn’t an option, so he had to work fast.
Rapp kept the gun out and silently slid the key into the lock. He turned it, left it in the lock, and pushed the door open. Cooke and Fournier were sitting almost directly in front of him and a little to the right. Rapp held a finger up to his mouth, giving them the universal sign to be quiet. It was just enough to freeze them as Rapp moved into the room, finding the other two men on the couch to the left. The tall one was about to open his mouth when Rapp shot him in the forehead. While he swung the pistol to the other man on the couch he moved his left hand inside his jacket and found the grip of his silenced Glock. Rapp fired the FNP a second time and hit the second man in the forehead.
As much as Rapp wanted to say something to Cooke and Fournier, he knew Ridley and others were listening, so he kept his mouth shut, swung the Glock around, and shot both men in the chest. He gave four to Fournier and three to Cooke. The first rounds were in the heart, and he spread the others around to make it look as if it was the work of someone with less skill. Moving to Samir, Rapp placed the Glock in his hand and fired two shots into the sofa across the way. He let the gun fall to the floor at Samir’s feet and then grabbed the papers and envelope that were in Max’s lap.
Rapp looked at the photos of himself and the biographical information. He folded them up and stuffed them in his right breast pocket. He grabbed a handkerchief from his back pocket and quickly wiped down the FN pistol, then placed it in Fournier’s hand, aimed the weapon at Max, and sent two rounds into his torso. He pumped three more into Samir and left the gun in Fournier’s grip. The police would be intrigued when they discovered that both weapons had been used during the shooting of the two Directorate agents. Judging from Fournier’s reputation, not a lot of people in Paris were going to be sad to hear this news. Rapp moved on to Cooke and ran his hands over the inside of his jacket to see if he had a duplicate copy of the information he’d given Max. He found another envelope and stuffed it in his pocket.
Rapp stepped back and did a quick 360 to see if he’d missed anything, then headed for the door. He grabbed the key and let the door close behind him. He ran to Omar’s body, put the key back, and rushed for the staircase.
