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“That wasn’t a television.”
“I’ll explain later. Look, Irene. I’ve got an idea. Let me and Mas work on it. In the meantime, I need everything you can get on a man named Eric Jesem from Durango, Colorado.”
“Eric Jesem,” she repeated. “I’ll get our people on it right away.”
Rapp disconnected the call and looked down at what was left of the young American—his pulverized face, the severe contusions on arms still secured behind the toppled chair. Finally, he approached and yanked up the dead man’s shirt.
“What are you looking for, Mitch?”
“No tattoos,” Rapp commented.
“So?”
“So, does he remind you of anyone?”
Maslick snorted. “You, kind of.”
When Rapp started pulling off the man’s clothes, Maslick took a hesitant step back. “Now, hold on, Mitch . . .”
“Shut up and get his pants.”
Unwilling to defy Rapp’s orders, he knelt and started unbuckling Jesem’s belt. “I got a really bad feeling about this, man.”
“It worked for Joe Rickman.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You blew the back of his head off. How is that working out?”
There was no key for the cuffs, so Rapp broke the bones in Jesem’s hands to get them off. When the battered body was completely stripped, Rapp changed into the dead man’s clothes. A little loose in the waistband but nothing the belt couldn’t handle.
“Did you see the garbage chute in the corridor on the way in?” Rapp asked.
“I saw a metal hatch in the wall. But I’m not sure it’s a garbage chute. It might lead to their fucking break room.”
“Pick him up,” Rapp ordered and then went to the door, opening it far enough to allow him to peer outside. As expected, the passage was empty. Shirani was probably waiting in one of the air-conditioned vehicles. His men would be busy keeping an eye on the presidential guard that Maslick had stationed throughout the facility.
Rapp motioned for Maslick to follow and then padded out into the hallway. He moved quickly to the hatch and pulled it open. The rotting stench suggested he’d guessed right about its purpose and he tossed his clothes into the hole. Jesem took a little more effort, but after thirty seconds or so of pushing he fell through the darkness to the burial he deserved.
When they returned to the cell, Rapp kicked the overturned chair into a corner and faced Maslick. He’d never really paid much attention to how massive the man was, but now it was impossible to ignore the thick shoulders, powerful chest, and dinner-plate hands.
“Has Dr. Kennedy signed off on this, Mitch?”
“Shit. We both know you’ve been waiting for this moment for years.”
“No lie there.”
With that, he threw a right cross that connected just below Rapp’s cheekbone. He was spun around by the force of the blow and slammed face-first into the wall behind him. It was all that kept him upright as blood started to flow from his nose, mingling with Jesem’s as it soaked into the man’s T-shirt.
Steadying himself with one hand, he turned to face the Delta man again.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
CHAPTER 29
EAST OF MOSCOW
RUSSIA
GRISHA Azarov glanced at the map reading out on his phone and turned left at the end of a half-constructed apartment complex. The traffic was almost nonexistent, giving him an opportunity to examine the crumbling structure.