“I’ll pay him a visit while Scott’s in the Czech Republic dealing with Svoboda,” Rapp said, turning to the former SEAL. “Scott, make it look like an accident. We don’t know how accurate the Cooks’ list of Claudia’s enemies is and we don’t want them to catch on to the fact that we’re neutralizing them. Better to string them along as long as we can.”
“No problem.”
Rapp glanced around the table. “Anything else?”
When no one spoke up, he stood. “Then let’s get to work.”
CHAPTER 24
GIRONA
SPAIN
THE chatting of a couple of mountain bikers became audible on the dirt road behind and Rapp moved aside to let them pass. Girona, Spain, was one of the cycling capitals of the world—a beautiful city and a popular place for pros to train in the off-season. He was tempted to have Claudia put it on her list of potential temporary homes, but that was impossible. As he got fitter, he’d start getting noticed and that was pretty much the opposite of their goal. Barcelona might not be a bad choice, though. It was only a half-hour train ride, and he wouldn’t mind joining Anna in learning Spanish. It seemed to be coming up in his life more and more.
But for now, he needed to focus on the task at hand.
The Guatemalan strategy of go big or go home wasn’t going to work here. Enzo Ruiz needed to be interrogated, making dropping a bomb on him impractical. It would also likely be frowned upon by the European authorities. Quiet in and quiet out was the mission. The question was how to best get that done.
Claudia’s extensive research had turned up a number of complications. To the positive, the former drug runner’s house was only moderately protected—relying on an ancient stone wall and a few guards to keep out undesirables. Further, the man himself was not only in his nineties, but reportedly confined to a wheelchair. Not exactly the terror of southern Spain he’d once been. To the negative, his modest security team weren’t coked-up psychopaths but instead legitimate salaried guards. And as such, all were completely off-limits.
Climbing the wall and then getting to Ruiz’s second-floor room would be fairly easy but the habits of his security people had been randomized by the fact that there was really no viable threat to the man. They mostly just wandered around, talking, smoking, and screwing with their phones. With no pattern, the chance of him being spotted was too high.
In light of all that, a more direct approach was warranted.
Rapp turned onto a quieter dirt road and walked past a low stacked-stone fence. In ruins now, it had never been meant to do much more than keep the goats in and likely hadn’t seen any maintenance in over a century. After another two hundred yards, Rapp crested a hill and saw the massive farmhouse he was looking for. Situated in the middle of a field and framed by a heavily treed hill behind, it and the wall that surrounded it were completely monochromatic—constructed of the same reddish brown local stone. A few tiny windows were visible on the top floor and the roof had a deep bow, further confirming its ancient origins.
The iron gate was elaborately wrought and provided a good view of the courtyard through widely spaced bars. Inside, there was no sign of activity at all. It was four in the afternoon and temperatures were in the nineties, likely driving everyone into the cooler interior. Or was it siesta? Rapp could never remember what time that started and ended.
There was a call button next to the gate, so he pressed it. A moment later, a man appeared in the house’s front door and began walking unhurriedly toward him. He spoke in unintelligible Catalan, but seemed largely unconcerned. The Walther P99 on his hip came off as an afterthought.
“I’m here to see Enzo Ruiz,” Rapp said in English.
He seemed to understand the name but nothing else. A quick wave of the hand suggested that Rapp should wait while he went back to the house to find someone with better English skills. Still unconcerned, he lit a cigarette as he ambled off. It was a good five minutes before the next man appeared, matching his colleague’s complete lack of urgency as he approached the gate.
“Can I help you?”
Heavily accented but easily understandable.
“I’d like to talk to Enzo Ruiz.”
“There is no one here called this.”
“Why don’t you go inside and make sure. Tell him Mitch Rapp is standing at his gate.”
His bored expression gained a hint of suspicion, but no recognition. This guy was probably a former cop who would have no reason to know who Mitch Rapp was. That name circulated in darker places. Places that his boss had spent his life.