“Maybe. Or maybe not. They’re not omnipotent. Not yet anyway. They can’t just send Delta. I know too many of those guys and it’d be a little obvious to have an American spec ops team shoot up the South African wine country. Better to find someone more arm’s-length. Someone no one can trace to them.”
“I admit that what you’re saying is plausible, but we need more than a gut feeling to go to war with the president of the United States. It’d be devastating for them, for you, and for the country.”
“This is more than a gut feeling, Irene. You don’t think it’s a little strange that right after you negotiate a truce with that ass-kissing piece of shit Darren Hargrave, an out-of-town hit squad shows up at the house of Mitch Burhan, a retired American Army officer?”
“Again, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but the pieces don’t completely fit for me,” she said. “For instance, why nonlocals? With all the gangs in South Africa, why not pick one of them? It’d be less suspicious, and they’d have more experience operating locally.”
“Maybe.”
“Look, I understand that you’ve been attacked in your home twice in three weeks. And this last time with Claudia and Anna involved. But if you start an open conflict with the Cooks, there’s no going back. Even if you…” Her voice faltered. “I have a hard time even saying this out loud. Even if you manage to assassinate the president of the United States, you’re destined to lose. You’ll never get your life back. Or any life at all, really. You’ll live out whatever years you have left alone and on the run.”
“Your point?”
“It’s safe here and Nick will let you stay as long as you like. It’s going to take some time, but let me try to find out what’s happening. I might not be the director of the CIA anymore, but I still have contacts who can help.”
“And if we find out that the Cooks are behind it?”
She let out a long breath. “Then we’ll retool. But very, very carefully.”
Rapp walked slowly along the path back to his bungalow, still unsure of his next move. His time with Kennedy hadn’t provided as much clarity as he’d hoped. Maybe the smart thing to do was just keep walking. To penetrate the jungle and never be seen again.
When he arrived at the junction leading to Claudia and Anna, he stopped. Straight ahead, the perimeter fence was visible in the distance. Through the trees to his left, Claudia was sitting on the porch, oblivious to everything but the laptop in front of her.
He looked at the way her hair flowed from beneath her knit hat. At the flushed cheeks and dark eyes partially obscured by glasses she used for reading.
She was one of the most impressive—and complicated—people he’d ever met. A loving mother and loyal partner, but also the ex-wife and former accomplice of one of history’s most successful private assassins. Strictly speaking, she had never been the one who pulled the trigger, but that was a fine distinction he’d left behind long ago. Like him, she’d spent years living by the sword and one day she might die by it. They’d both made that choice and they both accepted it for what it was.
But Anna had no say in any of this. She’d been born in a hole, and he couldn’t help feeling that he was shoveling dirt down on top of her. He’d done a pretty good job maintaining the illusion that he could guarantee her safety and provide her the life she deserved, but that had just imploded. It was time to move on. But not by slinking over the fence. That was the coward’s way out.
He could feel the cold sweat on his forehead as he started toward the bungalow. Despite the sound of his footsteps on the boardwalk, Claudia remained intent on the computer screen. Or maybe it wasn’t the screen at all. Maybe she just couldn’t bring herself to look at him because she’d come to the same conclusion.
He hoped so. It would be so much cleaner.
“Can we talk?” he said, taking a seat across the table from her.
That was enough to get her to meet his eye, but not enough to prompt her to speak. She wasn’t going to make it easy on him. Story of his life.
“This was too close, Claudia. You could have been killed. Anna could have been killed. And even though she wasn’t, what’s this going to do to her? She saw at least some of what happened and hasn’t said a word to me since. Is she afraid of me now? Why wouldn’t she be?”
Claudia just stared at him, seeming almost catatonic. Finally, she blinked. “Please stop.”
“Look, I know we just had this conversation and that we’ve had it more times than we can count. But this is the last.”