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Sweat broke across Azarov’s back but his expression remained opaque. He had killed many men in the service of Krupin, but this was something very different.
“You seem reticent, Grisha. Is the simple task of killing one man beyond you? Is this to be the first time you fail?”
“If so, I would be only one entry on a very long list of dead men who tried to move against Rapp.”
“But you’re not one of those men. You’re unique.”
While undoubtedly intended as flattery, what Krupin said was true. Azarov was an Olympic-level athlete with a lifetime of training behind him. Since leaving the military, he had enjoyed a constant stream of the best instructors the private sector had to offer. Human-performance coaches from renowned European universities, championship marksmen, and world-class mixed martial artists, to name only a few. Further, he was taking a regular cocktail of performance-enhancing drugs designed and administered by a German doctor who had been banned from professional sports. It was something that he suspected would kill him one day. Things that burned bright burned short.
“I am almost ten years younger than Rapp and have suffered far fewer injuries over my lifetime,” Azarov said. “I’ve studied his techniques, psychology, and athletic background, while it’s unlikely he’s even aware that I exist.”
Krupin smiled for the first time in their meeting. “It’s nice to hear the confidence back in your voice, Grisha. It seems to become more muted every time I see you.”
“It’s not confidence, Mr. President. I have surprise on my side, as well as my youth, training, and, frankly, my drug regimen. Other factors favor him.”
“What other factors?”
“Another decade of experience. A history of surviving situations more dire than I’ve been involved in.”
“You’re far too valuable for me to risk you lightly, Grisha. And I wouldn’t be using you now if it wasn’t critical.”
“The fact remains that he has been tested like no one currently alive and has demonstrated no discernible weaknesses. His enemies—most recently the very talented Louis Gould—are all dead.”
“Very good,” Krupin said. “Confidence is desirable, but arrogance is the refuge of fools. And again, I’m taking your involvement in this very seriously. I understand the risks to you and I’m designing the operation in such a way as to mitigate those risks.”
Azarov nodded respectfully but couldn’t bring himself to thank the man. He was nothing to Krupin. A tool, to be used and discarded the moment it became convenient to do so.
Once again, he found himself caught in the trap he’d walked into so enthusiastically as a young man. The question was, would this be the time he failed to escape?
CHAPTER 8
OVER ZIMBABWE
AFRICA
“CAN I get you a soda, Anna?”
The young girl just shook her head and clung to her mother, staring at Rapp with a mix of fear and shock that was powerful enough to make him look away.
They’d been in the air for just over an hour, most of which he’d spent in the cockpit coordinating his teams in Pakistan. Dangerous moves were being made and the window to stop them was going to close fast. Preliminary intel was already coming in about a possible attempt on a nuke by al Badr in Faisalabad. Kennedy and Scott Coleman were trying to get details and corroborate them through their contacts on the ground.
“How about a cookie?” Rapp said, deciding to try again. “I think we have some in the galley.”
Another nervous shake of the head.
The girl was terrified of him. And why wouldn’t she be? Thank God Thompson had been the one to pop the Arabs. If Rapp had been forced to stand in front of her and pull the trigger on those psychopaths, she’d probably be hiding under one of the plane’s seats.
“I know that what happened today was really scary,” Rapp said, leaning a little closer to her. “Most people in the world are good. But there are some who aren’t.”
She continued to stare, but the fear seemed to diminish a bit. She was tough, like her mother. And, in truth, like her father.
“How do you know which ones are bad?” she said finally.
Rapp suppressed a smile that would be inappropriate given the gravity of the subject. At least she was talking to him. That was a serious victory after what he’d just put her through.
“The bad ones want to cheat you. Or steal from you. And a few—like the men back there—might even want to hurt you. The good ones try to help.”
“What about that American man? Kent. Is he good?”