“Who knows… as long as the guy doesn’t give away any of our secrets I’d just as soon he hung himself.” Rapp checked out the boys on the court and then finally looked at Coleman. “The name Max Johnson ring a bell?”
Coleman’s blue eyes closed a touch as he tried to remember where he’d heard the name. After a moment he said, “Yeah. He’s one of you guys, or I should say was.”
Rapp frowned. “He was never one of my guys. That would be like me telling you an Investigative Services guy was on the Teams.”
Coleman thought about it for a second and said, “Point taken. But he did work at Langley, right?”
“Yeah. For a long time.”
“Does he know where all the bodies are buried?”
Rapp shrugged. “Hard to say with a guy like him. He’s not the bubbliest fella, but then again those security guys are supposed to make people nervous.”
“You ever have a beef with him?”
“Not that I can recall,” Rapp paused a beat and then added, “but I’ve pissed off so many people over the years I can’t keep track.”
“Irene?”
Rapp thought about his boss. He couldn’t imagine her running afoul of her own security service, but then again Johnson had been passed over twice for the top job. “Not directly, but you know how it is… it’s the rare bird who gets passed over for a promotion who doesn’t hold some kind of a grudge.”
“So what exactly has he done?” Coleman asked.
“He runs his own consulting company now.”
Coleman said, “I know. That’s how I heard of him. The word is he’s pretty hot shit on the new technology. Specializes in surveillance.”
Rapp nodded. The War on Terror had been a boon to private security and consulting firms. Outsourcing was the new hot trend. “You’d better grab Marcus then,” Rapp said, referring to his resident computer genius.
“Can you tell me what this is all about?”
“You got a pen and a piece of paper?”
Coleman dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out both.
Rapp flipped open the small notebook and clicked the plunger on the pen. He hesitated for a brief moment while he decided on the best way to relay the information while still being cryptic. Pressing lightly, he began to scrawl the pertinent information on the lined paper. When he was done he handed the notebook over.
Coleman glanced down at the words and read Rapp’s blocky print: Last night… Found out where he’s been getting info… hired Johnson to bug Doc’s office… know of at least one person who spilled the beans… assume there are more… find out how he was doing it and get me a full scouting report on him. “Holy shit,” Coleman said out loud as he thought of Dr. Lewis and the number of people he worked with. “This could be a real mess. Information like this could be sold over and over.”
Rapp took the notebook back and tore out the top five sheets. He grabbed a lighter from his pocket and lit the bottom corner of the pages. He watched the flames lick their way up and then he flipped them over so they had to work their way down to his fingers. When there was a square inch left, he waved the paper back and forth until the flame was out. “Be careful with this guy. Don’t tip him off. I don’t want him getting spooked and running off with the goods.”
Coleman thought of Adams. The news that he had supposedly left the country for Venezuela would spread like a dry autumn wild fire through the intelligence community. “He’ll hear about this other thing sooner rather than later.”
“No doubt.”
“And he’ll probably get a little skittish.”
“That’s why I want you on this right away.”
“ROE?” Coleman asked.
ROE was military jargon for Rules of Engagement. Rapp thought about it for a moment. He didn’t know Johnson anywhere near well enough to predict any of it. Coleman would have to use his instincts. “Do what you have to do. Just make sure we know what our exposure is. If he has recordings, I want them all back.”
“If I have to get rough?”
Rapp shrugged. “I should be back late tonight. If it can wait till then, I’d appreciate it, but you’re going to have to play it by ear.”
“Where you off to?”
“Can’t talk about it. It’ll be a short trip. I’ll shoot you an email and let you know when I’ll be back.” Rapp started walking back to the car and Coleman fell in beside him. “Send me some updates, and make sure they’re as obscure as possible. Assume everything you write or say will be intercepted.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“Yeah… be careful. I got a bad feeling about this Johnson character.”
CHAPTER 28
WHEN Hakim finally woke up he made no attempt to open his eyes. His head hurt too much. His body hurt too much. It seemed that everything hurt too much. Slowly, his senses started to send reports back to his brain. There were bruises and cuts and scrapes and maybe some breaks. He kept his eyes closed, not because he didn’t want to see where he was, but he thought it would hurt too much to open them. Without forethought his brain decided to take inventory. He wiggled his toes and was pleased to see they worked. His left foot rolled outward and everything felt as it should. When he tried the same thing with his right leg his knee sent back signals of sharp pain. He couldn’t tell the extent of the injury but nothing felt broken. His torso ached, but it was nothing compared to the pain he suddenly noticed in his arms and face.
Hakim tried to open his eyes, but nothing happened. It was if his eyelids were glued shut. He tried again, and with a little more effort he was able to get his left one open a sliver. It felt as if something was weighing down his eyelids. He was surrounded by a soft natural light.
Somewhere in the distance he heard a throbbing hum that was faintly familiar. His sense of smell slowly came back and he picked up the weak scent of a campfire.
Hakim managed to get his left eye open a bit more and after staring at the strange wood grain pattern for a while, he realized he was in the back of the RV lying on the bed. He tried to roll onto his side, but didn’t get far. He let out a small gasp. It felt as if he had been stabbed. Things slowly started coming back to him. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but the last thing he remembered was Karim on top of him, his fists rising and falling with crazed rage.
Remember those punches, it suddenly occurred to Hakim why he couldn’t open his eyes. With dread, he brought his hands up to touch his face. It was one of those things you never thought of. What your own face felt like. Mostly, because you didn’t have to. You touched it so frequently throughout the day, for so many reasons and over so many years that every centimeter of it was imprinted on your brain. You could feel your way to the slightest blemish or new wrinkle. Hakim gently touched the area around his left eye. Everything was foreign. It felt like a ripe tomato, plump and smooth. His fingers continued their search. His lips were even worse, and his right eye felt twice as bad as his left.
Then, as if a switch had been thrown, the pain started. It was both specific and everywhere at the same time. As if his brain were stuck in a circular loop of agony moving from one area to the next and then back again, running faster and faster, until he felt like a thousand fire ants were feasting on his face. He started to moan and after a good five seconds he stopped himself. The thought of Karim hung above him like some awful nightmare. He did not want to feed the man’s arrogance any more than he already had.
How could one friend do this to another? Hakim lay there and asked himself the question over and over. The answer was so obvious that he was no longer able to ignore it. The truth was now staring back at him like an old, wise parent telling him he had been warned long ago but had been either too stubborn or too immature to heed the advice. Hakim felt his puffy face again. Was it true? Had he been so blind for so many years, or was he suddenly in full martyr mode- casting himself as the ultimate victim and his friend as the archvillain?
