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Rapp kept the cool steel of his knife pressed against Garret’s bare skin as a reminder that his mortality was very much in question.
In a voice tinged more with amusement than disdain Rapp whispered, “You thought you’d gotten away with it, didn’t you?”
Garret made a lame effort to break free.
“Easy, Stu. If you want to live, you’ll do exactly as I say.”
Giving Garret hope that he might survive was as important as the obvious threat of force. The right balance had to be struck. Rapp was more than capable of subduing the paunchy political kingmaker, but tonight, brute force would be a last resort. Even the position of the knife had been considered. Rapp held the blade flat against Garret’s skin so as to not leave a thin laceration that would be discovered during his autopsy. This was about deception, and to pull it off, he needed Garret to hold on to the idea that he might survive the next few minutes.
With his mouth mere inches from Garret’s ear, Rapp said, “I wanted to come down here, slit your throat, and dump your worthless ass in the drink, but my boss, for some reason, thinks you might be useful.” Rapp paused to give Garret a moment to realize the false hope. “The only problem for you is, I have a history of disregarding orders.”
Rapp moved to his right and cranked Garret’s head around so he could look him in the face. Rapp could see Garret’s eyelids narrow as he tried to place the face of his assailant. They stayed that way for several seconds and then suddenly grew wide with fear.
Rapp smiled. “That’s right, Stu, you know who I am. You tried to screw me over last year by feeding Tom Rich that bullshit story that the Times ran. It ended up blowing up in your face, didn’t it?”
Garret tried shaking his head.
“I’m only going to say this one time. I want to kill you, and I’m pretty sure if I do, Director Kennedy, despite telling me not to, will find it in her heart to forgive me since you are one of the biggest pieces-of-shit political operators in American history. So if you want to save your own ass, you’ll stop lying to me. Are we clear?”
Garret closed his eyes and nodded.
“All right, get down on your knees, and then I’ll take my hand off your mouth so we can talk.” Without giving him time to think, Rapp started lowering Garret to the teak deck. When he had him kneeling at the edge of the platform, he brought the knife around and placed the dull edge of the blade against Garret’s throat. “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. If you make any noise louder than a whisper, I’ll stick this blade straight through your voice box and shove it all the way back to your spine. You’ll end up drowning in your own blood, and trust me, it won’t be enjoyable.” Rapp gave Garret a long moment to consider the agonizing death and then slowly took his hand off Garret’s mouth.
The political consultant and former presidential chief of staff took in a deep breath and whispered, “Please, don’t kill me. None of it was my idea.” His voice grew louder. “It was that idiot Mark Ross.”
“Quiet,” Rapp hissed.
“Sorry,” Garret said, much softer now.
“It may not have been your idea, but you went along with it.”
Garret hesitated and then nodded.
“You did more than go along with it. You helped carry it out.”
“I was only following orders.”
“Bullshit. You weren’t some private on the front line following orders. You’re a political whore who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anything other than seeing your guy win. You ran that campaign, and you wanted to see Jillian Rautbort dead just as bad as Ross did.”
“That woman was not without fault.”
“Why, because she cheated on her husband?”
“I’m just saying, if she would have kept her legs crossed, none of it would have happened.”
Rapp grabbed Garret’s hair with his left hand and pulled his head back. “Why don’t you join the Taliban? You’re going to sit here and tell me because a woman cheated on her husband, she deserved to die?”
“No,” Garret struggled, “I’m just saying, if she would have kept her dress on, none of this would have been set into motion.”
“And the fourteen other people who died?”
“That was unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate,” Rapp hissed. “You stole a presidential election by blowing up a motorcade and killing fifteen people, and the only word you can come up with is unfortunate?”
Garret could sense the anger in Rapp’s voice. “It was bad. It was wrong. I should have stopped him.”
“You’re damn right you should have, you fucking sociopath.” Rapp withdrew the blade from Garret’s throat and put it back in its scabbard. With his left hand still holding on to Garret’s hair, he said, “And that’s why I’m going to kill you.”