American Assassin (9 page)

CHAPTER
16

S
ERGEANT
Jones was attending to Fred’s broken nose. Roy and Glenn were talking quietly and shooting Victor daggers. Rapp looked to the door and noticed the shrink studying him. Twice now, Rapp had seen the rules of engagement broken, and so far, there had been no punishment handed out. Not that the old codger could be punished, but Victor was one of them, and if he could get away with it then Rapp could as well. It got Rapp thinking that maybe it was time to bend the rules a little bit. While he was working out the details of what he wanted to do, Sergeant Smith ordered him onto the mat and then pointed at Glenn.

“I would rather fight Victor,” Rapp said.

“Well, you’re not running the show around here,” Smith snapped.

“He’s doing you a favor,” Victor said, still out of breath. “A little pussy like you wouldn’t last five seconds against me.”

Rapp stayed calm, but there was something unmistakably ominous just beneath the surface. “Let’s find out,” he said evenly.

“Suicide,” Victor retorted.

“I think you’re afraid.”

“Shut up, all of you,” Sergeant Smith said. “Glenn, get your ass on the mat.”

Rapp moved to his left, cutting off Glenn. He stayed facing the wiry instructor and said, “I’m confused. Do rules matter around here, or does Victor get to do as he pleases?”

“We have rules, dammit! Now get in the middle of the mat and shut up.”

“No disrespect, Sarge, but this is bullshit. How are we supposed to trust each other … how are we supposed to trust you when he keeps doing whatever the hell he wants without getting punished?”

“You think there’s any rules out there,” Victor laughed, “in the real world? Hell no!”

“But in here … we should just let you do whatever you want?”

“Sarge,” Victor said as he got to his feet, “I got this one. Don’t worry. I can take care of this little college puke with one arm tied behind my back.”

Sergeant Smith looked as if he was about to lose it, but the blond-haired shrink stepped in and said, “Sergeant, I think we should allow Victor and Irving to have a go at it.”

The sergeant’s head snapped around. Rapp noticed a brief exchange of thoughts between the men before the sergeant retreated. “All right,” he grumbled, “both of you, center of the mat, square off, and on my mark you start.”

“Do we bother with rules this time, or should I assume Victor will break them?” Rapp asked, stone-faced.

“The head and neck are off limits, dammit!”

“I appreciate the effort, Sarge, but I’d prefer no restrictions,” Rapp said.

“I don’t care what you prefer. I make the rules.”

Rapp hesitated. He wanted clarification on this point, and he’d rather not have to worry about Victor cheating. “And if Victor accidentally punches me in the face?”

“God dammit!” the sergeant boomed. “This isn’t a debate club. Do you ladies want to go for a nice long run?”

Rapp silently moved to the center of the mat, satisfied that he had made his point, but nonetheless wary that Victor would do whatever it took to win. A strategy was already forming in his head. Victor had shown that he was a fairly one-dimensional fighter. Against the uninitiated he could probably hold his own on the mat, but boxing was his preference. That was plain enough to see.

Victor was all smiles as he slapped one fist into the fleshy palm of the other. “I’m gonna kick your ass, you little puke.”

Rapp brought his fists up close to his face like a boxer, elbows in tight. “And if you can’t, Victor?”

“Oh! … there’s no doubt. You’re going down.”

Rapp drew him in. He feigned that he was out of position and allowed Victor to initiate the first salvo. Two slow left jabs were launched straight for Rapp’s face. Rapp blocked them with his right hand and then ducked under a big hook that would have knocked him off his feet if it had connected. Rapp noted that three punches had been thrown by Victor and all three had been directed at his supposedly off limits head, and more important, Sergeant Smith didn’t seem to care that Victor was breaking the rules yet again. That would make things easier for Rapp. He changed directions and bobbed back to his left as Victor threw two hard right jabs. The first one Rapp dodged and the second one hit him in the left shoulder. The blow was solid, but Rapp played it up, intentionally stumbling to his right as if he were in trouble. Victor took the bait and charged in, his left hand trying to push Rapp’s hands out of the way so he could deliver a knockout blow with his right.

As Victor brought his fist up by his right ear, Rapp sprang forward with such quickness that he caught Victor completely off guard. He grabbed the bigger man’s left wrist with his right hand and threw up his left arm to block the coming punch. Rapp launched himself at Victor, his head arching back and then whipping forward. His hard forehead slammed into the soft cartilage of Victor’s nose, making a sickening crushing sound. Before Victor could counter, Rapp wrapped his hands around the back of the big man’s neck, pulling him down and in. Rapp delivered two harsh knee strikes to the big man’s sternum before releasing him. Victor staggered back, blood pouring from his nose, gasping for air.

“Sorry about that, Victor,” Rapp said, egging him on. “I didn’t mean to break your nose.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Victor screamed.

Rapp simply motioned for Victor to bring it on.

The big man charged. Rapp expected the bull rush. He feinted to his right and then back to his left, and as Victor lumbered by he hit him with a punch to the kidney which stood him up. Victor pivoted to meet the next blow, and rather than gain distance, Rapp engaged, moving in and wrapping his left hand around the back of Victor’s neck and his right hand around Victor’s biceps. Victor reared his head back and was prepared to deliver a head butt of his own, but before he could strike, Rapp did something that none of them expected. He jumped up in the air, swung his left leg under Victor’s right armpit and then his right leg around Victor’s neck as he allowed himself to fall to the mat. Rapp was now upside down hanging on to Victor’s left arm and pulling him down on top of him. Rapp raised his hips, and the pressure toppled Victor to the mat. Rapp had him in a version of the same arm bar that he had put the mean old cuss in on the first day, except that Rapp wasn’t looking for submission this time.

Rapp grabbed Victor’s wrist with both hands. He twisted and pulled the arm until the elbow socket was on top of his right hip bone, and then he raised his hips while pulling down as hard as he could with his hands. Rapp did not stop, even when Victor started to scream. The entire thing took just under two seconds. There was a loud pop, and then Rapp released the arm, which was now bent at a very unnatural angle.

Rapp got to his feet and looked down at Victor. The man was moaning, his entire body rigid with pain. Rapp didn’t smile or gloat. There was a touch of guilt over what he’d just done, but Victor was a bully and a jerk. Fred was sitting at the edge of the mat with cotton shoved up his nostrils and an ice pack on his nose. Fred nodded to Rapp and flashed him the thumbs-up. Roy and Glenn wandered over, each man quietly congratulating him for solving their problem. Sergeant Smith was too busy attending to Victor, who was flopping around writhing in pain. Rapp had no idea whether he was in trouble. He looked over at the shrink, who was watching him intently. The man’s lips were pursed in thought as if he appeared to have drawn some conclusion about Rapp. The only problem was, Rapp couldn’t tell if it was admiration or disappointment.

CHAPTER
17

L
EWIS
made the calls late in the afternoon, after he’d had an hour to put his thoughts and observations down on paper. As darkness approached, they descended one by one on the house by the lake in southern Virginia. Kennedy was the first to arrive, then Deputy Director of Operations Stansfield, and finally Hurley. Stansfield’s bodyguards remained on the porch. They were two of his most trusted and knew to be very selective about what they saw, and more important, about what they remembered. Stansfield suggested in his typical quiet way that they all adjourn to the basement. It was not a suggestion. It was an order.

The four of them walked downstairs and proceeded to a free-standing room that sat in the middle of the basement. It served as the surveillance/communications shack for the property. The inside walls and ceiling were covered with an egg-carton-gray foam that absorbed sound. A bank of monitors and two listening stations occupied the wall on the right, and an oval conference table for six sat in the middle. When everyone was seated, Stansfield closed the soundproof door and threw the bolt.

The number-three man at Langley took the chair at the head of the table and loosened his tie. He looked the length of the short table and said, “Doctor.”

Lewis was leaning back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of his face. “We’ve had an interesting development.”

“I’d say so,” Hurley interrupted, unable to contain himself. “I heard one of my instructors is out of commission for six months. Three titanium pins in his arm. For Christ’s sake. He was one of my best.” Hurley held up the appropriate number of fingers to punctuate his point. “Three pins.”

The doctor’s bright blue eyes locked in on Hurley with the kind of all-knowing stare that could only be flashed by a spouse or a therapist. The message was clear.
I know you better than you do yourself. Shut up and let me speak.

“Sorry,” Hurley apologized halfheartedly.

“Irene’s recruit has proven himself quite capable.” Lewis directed his comments at Stansfield. “You heard what he did to Stan earlier in the week?”

“No.” Stansfield turned his inquisitive gaze on Hurley. “The bruising on your face … that was caused by this Rapp fellow?”

The swelling was down, and the bright red bruising had turned dark purple with a yellow tinge. Hurley shrugged his shoulders. “I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“You got thumped by a college kid with no military experience,” Kennedy said. “I still can’t get over it.”

Lewis interceded before Hurley could blow his lid. Looking at Stansfield, he said, “Let me give you the narrative.” Lewis explained in detail what had transpired during the opening minutes of Rapp’s arrival at the complex. Hurley tried to interrupt twice, but Lewis shut him down with an open palm. Stansfield, for his part, listened in total silence. Kennedy had nothing new to add and knew how Stansfield hated too many people talking, so she kept her information to herself. In situations like this, Hurley was more than capable of scuttling his own ship.

“Now to Victor,” Lewis said, turning his gaze from Stansfield to Hurley. “I have made it very clear from the outset that I am not onboard with your methods of deception.”

“I know you have,” Hurley said, “and in your theoretical world I’m sure your points have merit, but this is where the rubber meets the road. I don’t have all day to dick around with these kids. I need to know who has the goods, and the sooner I find out the better.”

“And using your system, how many men have you found thus far?” Kennedy asked, unable to resist.

“My concerns,” Lewis said forcefully, “are centered on building a relationship of trust, and if we introduce deceit into the training—”

“It’s not training,” Hurley said with a scowl. “This is selection, and besides, this is what we do for a living. We deceive people. If these kids don’t understand that, they have no business signing up with us.”

“There is a major difference between deceiving each other and deceiving our enemy. Again, strong relationships are built on trust. We can work on the deception part later.”

“This is bullshit,” Hurley said defensively. “You two come and go as you please, but I’m the guy down here twenty-four-seven playing nursemaid. I don’t pretend to know how to do your jobs … do me a favor and stop trying to pretend you know how to do mine.”

“You are so thin-skinned,” Kennedy said with a tone of open contempt.

“Yeah, well, young lady, this is serious shit. It ain’t amateur hour. We recruit our candidates from the best of the best and that means Special Forces and Spec Ops guys. It doesn’t mean some amateur who doesn’t know the right end of a rifle from his ass or how to navigate his way through the woods in the dead of night or a thousand other things.”

“Are terrorists living in the woods these days?” Kennedy asked, making it clear she was mocking him. “The last time I checked they were urban dwellers, so I’m not so sure knowing how to start a fire with a knife and belt buckle qualifies you to hunt terrorists.”

“Don’t talk to me about training. You have no idea what it takes to turn these guys into killers.”

“Apparently, you don’t either.”

“Well, at least I know how to recruit, which is more than I can say for you.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you didn’t do your job. I did a little reconnaissance of my own the past few days. Do you know where your boy spent the last few months?”

“He was staying at his mother’s house in McLean.”

“Yeah and spending his days hanging out at a dojo in Arlington.”

“And what, pray tell, would be wrong with that? I told him he would need to be in shape, and it would be a good idea to start taking some judo classes.”

“Yeah, well … I spoke to his sensei.”

“You did what?” Kennedy was irked that he had gone behind her back.

“I went in and had a conversation with his sensei. After going a round with him on the mat, I could tell something wasn’t right.”

Kennedy looked to Stansfield for help. “He had no right to do that. It’s my recruit. I have worked almost two years on bringing him in, and I haven’t left a single trail. No one in his life knows that we’re interested in him.”

“And they still don’t,” Hurley said dismissively.

“Really … how in hell did you introduce yourself?”

“I told him I was a trainer from Richmond. Said I went a round with this young kid named Rapp and was very impressed. I wanted to ask his sensei what he thought.”

“And?” Lewis asked, suddenly very interested.

“The kid doesn’t pass the smell test. His sensei says he came in three months ago and claimed he had almost no experience. Within a month and a half he had throttled everybody in the dojo except the sensei.”

“Brazilian jujitsu?” Lewis asked.

“Yeah … how’d you know?”

“I saw him take Victor down today. The style is hard to miss.”

“So he comes in here and almost bests me and then he snaps Victor’s elbow … I’m telling you, the kid isn’t who he says he is.”

Stansfield’s patience was wearing thin. “Be more specific.”

“I’m not sure, but it doesn’t feel right.”

“What … you think he’s a plant … a spy?” Kennedy asked in a mocking tone.

“I’m not sure. I’m just telling you he doesn’t pass the smell test. You can’t get that good that quick.”

Kennedy looked at Stansfield. “Let’s cut to the chase. He doesn’t like him because he’s my recruit.” She sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “He’s a misogynist.”

“I don’t like him because I don’t know who the hell he is. We need to know everything there is to know about these guys before we bring them in. That’s why military experience is a must. That way we know exactly what they’ve been doing for a minimum of four years.”

“And how is that working out for us, Stan?” Kennedy shot back. “We don’t have a single operative in the pipeline, and we’ve been at this for almost two years.”

“I am well aware that I have failed to produce. Painfully fucking aware, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to rush things and have something this important blow up in our faces.”

Lewis, in a neutral tone, asked, “Stan, what is your problem with Rapp?”

He took a while to answer and finally said, “I can’t put my finger on it. It’s more of a feeling. A bad feeling.”

“Do you know what I think it is?” Kennedy asked. “Two things. First … I think you have major control issues. You can’t stand the fact that you weren’t involved in recruiting him. And second … you feel threatened.”

“What?” Hurley’s face was twisted into a mask of confusion.

“He’s you. He’s the man you were forty years ago, and it scares the crap out of you.”

Hurley shook his head dismissively. “That’s bullshit.”

“Really … well I can say the same thing about your gut feeling. It’s bullshit. What, do you think the PLO planted him in a D.C. suburb twenty-three years ago, raised him Catholic and sent him off to Syracuse to play lacrosse? Or do you think it was the KGB before the Soviet Union collapsed and now he’s a rogue deep cover operative? Ridiculous.” Kennedy dismissed the ludicrous idea with a flip of her right hand. “You’re clutching at straws.”

No one moved or spoke for five seconds, while Kennedy’s stinging remarks set in. Lewis finally said, “She has a point.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’d like to show you something. I sat down and talked with him before all of you arrived. I think you will find this very interesting.” Lewis approached the surveillance control board and pressed a few buttons. A black-and-white image of Rapp appeared on the screen. He was sitting in the office on the first floor. Lewis’s voice came over the speakers. He was offscreen to the right.

“That was unfortunate, what happened this afternoon.”

Rapp sat still for a few seconds and then nodded.

“Do you feel bad at all about what you did to Victor?”

It took him a long time to answer, and then he said, “We’re all big boys here.”

“So you feel no remorse?”

“I wish it hadn’t happened, but Victor isn’t exactly the nicest guy.”

“I see. Is it possible that you intentionally broke his arm?”

“Intentionally is a strong word. We were sparring and one thing led to another.”

“The thing that led to the other was you snapping his arm before he could tap out.”

“I’m not sure he would have tapped out.”

“You could be kicked out for what happened.”

“Why?”

“Sergeant Smith thinks you intentionally broke Victor’s arm.”

“I don’t see how that would be fair. No one said anything about what holds we could use or not use. We were supposed to stay away from the head and the groin. That was it.”

“If you intentionally broke another recruit’s arm that would be grounds for dismissal.”

Rapp looked at the floor for a long moment and then said, “I don’t like playing all these games.”

“Games?”

“Yeah … games.”

“How do you mean games?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“That file on your desk the other day.” Rapp pointed to the clear surface. “The file with my name on it.”

“What about it?”

“You were testing me.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Rapp said in an easy tone. “I’ve seen the way you monitor what’s going on around here. You study everything.” Rapp gestured at the desk. “You’re not the kind of guy who leaves sensitive files lying around unless there’s a reason. I’m sure this place is wired for video and sound.” Rapp motioned toward the bookshelf and then the overhead light. “When you asked to see me a few days ago and I was left sitting in here by myself for fifteen minutes, you were probably sitting up in the attic or down in the basement watching me. Testing me to see if I would open the file and read what was in it.”

Lewis could be heard clearing his throat and then saying, “Even if that were true, I don’t see it excuses your breaking Victor’s arm.”

“I never said it excused anything. What I said is that you are playing games with us. You leaves files lying around, tell us one set of rules and then let Victor break them. You were in the barn, how was it okay for Victor to punch Fred in the face?”

“We will deal with that separately. This is about what you did.”

“I saw the way you reacted when Victor punched Fred in the nose.” Rapp paused and looked down at his hands. “Do you know what I think … I think Victor doesn’t fit in.”

“How so?”

“Based on what I’ve seen since I’ve been here, there are just two logical conclusions where Victor is concerned. Either Victor is a recruit just like the rest of us or he’s part of your evaluation process.”

“Part of the process?”

“He works for you guys. He’s one of the instructors.”

“And why would we do that?”

“So you could get a closer look at us. You put Victor in with us, and his job is to tempt us into making mistakes. Ask us who we are and where we’re from. Try to get guys to screw up so you can get rid of the guys who don’t have the discipline.”

“Interesting.”

“Either way it isn’t good. If I understand this program correctly, Victor is not the kind of guy you’re looking for. So if he is a recruit, and you guys can’t see that, I’m not sure I want to work for people who can’t grasp the obvious.”

“And if he is one of the instructors?”

“It’s a pretty fucked up way to train disciplined men.”

“Let’s assume you’re correct for a second. Knowing all of that … you decided to break his arm.”

Rapp shook his head. “I had my suspicions before, but I wasn’t sure. After I broke his arm, I saw the way you and the other instructors reacted, and I pretty much knew he was one of you.”

There was a good five seconds of silence and then Lewis asked, “Do you think you have a good moral compass?”

Rapp let out a small laugh. “Here we go with your vague questions.”

“I know, but please try to answer this one.”

“You mean do I understand the difference between right and wrong?”

“Yes.”

Rapp hesitated. “I would say pretty much yes.”