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Clark made a calming motion with his hands. "I'm here to help you, Albert. Your screaming will accomplish nothing."
"He
re to help me," he bellowed. "You're up here hiding. Fucking help me, my ass." The senator sighed and told himself to stay calm. "You're right, Albert. I'm sorry."
"Well, sorry ain't gonna cut it. You gonna make things right."
"Albert, I want to help you, but before I do that you have to admit to some blame here."
"Blame!" he screeched with an angry face. "The only blame I'm going to take is for listening to you. You were the one who sent that oddball Steveken to see me. You were the one who told me to go on Meet the Press and tell the world about Mitch Rapp. If I hadn't listened to you, I wouldn't be in any of this."
Clark 's calm demeanor began to unravel. "Oh, Albert, I think you can take more than a little bit of the blame for the position you're in."
"Bullshit. I'm right and you know it."
"Everything the President said tonight was true. Especially the part about you having a vendetta."
"Fuck you, Hank." Rudin furthered his point by raising his middle finger.
Clark leaned in. "You'd better watch it, Albert. I'm probably the only friend you have left in this town."
The senators size managed to intimidate Rudin enough to force him back a step. In defense he said, "I'm desperate! I'm a desperate man. You have to help me!"
Clark remembered his own earlier thought. Desperate men do desperate things. It was as if he'd been given a sign. The fog had cleared, Clark saw a way out of the entire mess. He placed a hand on Rudin's bony shoulder and said, "Come here. I want to show you something that I think will help." Rudin hesitated at first, but Clark nudged him with his large hand. The two men walked over to the open window, and Clark pointed off in the distance toward the Washington Monument. It was bathed in a bright light on all four sides, shooting up out of the middle of the Mall as if it were a rocket ready for flight.
Clark gazed out window and said, "You fought the good fight, Albert. Just like Washington did, only you didn't have history on your side"
Rudin shook his head angrily and said, "History fucked me."
"Well, I'm going to make things right. You and I are going to go see the President in the morning, and I'm going to get him to call off the FBI." Clark patted Rudin on the back and said, "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."
Rudin's shoulders sank in relief. "Oh, thank you, Hank. Thank you thank you thank you."
"Don't worry about it." Clark patted him on the back again and said, "That's what friends are for." And with Rudin finally relaxed, Clark took a half step back and placed both hands in the middle of the wiry congressman's back. With one good push the senator sent Rudin toppling out the open window. There was a brief bloodcurdling scream and then an instant later a dull thud. Clark stuck his head out the window and looked down some eighty feet to the stone terrace below. There lay Albert Rudin's lifeless body.
Clark went to his desk and grabbed his snifter, where he downed the remainder of the liqueur in one gulp. Next he grabbed his mobile phone from his suit coat and dialed a number. When a woman answered on the other end he said, "This is Senator Clark. I need to speak to the President immediately. Something terrible has happened."
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT.
Maryland, Wednesday evening
Rapp arrived stateside with a genuine mix of emotions. He was still riding high from the operation and doubted that the pride he felt over the mission's success would ever wane. He had more than likely reached the apex of his career, and he could think of no better way to exit. Whether he liked it or not, Congressman Rudin had blown his cover. He was done operating in the field. Fortunately for the congressman, he'd taken the cowardly way out and jumped. As a result, it was much easier for Rapp to deal with the problem. There was no sense in hurting a dead man.
When his plane landed at Andrews a group of geeks from the CIA and the Pentagon were waiting to debrief him. Rapp told them it would have to wait, but they continued to press the point, so he told them to go to hell. Before leaving he spent a few minutes alone with Kennedy. She tried to bring up Anna, but he would have none of it. He had already made the mistake of combining his professional life with his personal life, and he would never do it again. She filled him in on what had happened since the President's address on Monday night. Virtually every magazine, newspaper and TV show had called the CIA's office of public affairs and asked for an interview with America 's new hero.
"And what did you tell them?" asked Rapp. "That there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that you would do an interview."
"Exactly. You know me well."
"Too well."
She tried to bring up Anna again, but he cut her off. He was going to crawl into a hole for a few days, and when he was ready to come out, he'd call. Kennedy stood alone with a worried expression on her face and watched him drive away. She could tell that beneath Mitch's tough exterior he was hurting. She knew him better than he knew himself and Kennedy could see he was ready to crumble.
Rapp flew down the rural country roads of Maryland with a mixture of apprehension and excitement coursing through his veins. Before leaving Saudi Arabia, he'd called her apartment and left a message. "I'll be home Wednesday night. I miss you very much. It would mean a lot if you were at the house when I got there." He figured this was safe. He met her halfway, and now it was up to her.
As he returned to America the cruel irony of the situation began to set in. He'd been searching for that normal life, a wife, a family, true love, and now after all these years he was finally in a position to give it his all. Anna was that woman. Despite what had happened in Milan, he knew with all his heart that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but he also knew he couldn't force it. Anna was a bit of a contrarian. She did not like being badgered. She needed to come to certain conclusions of her own free will.
Rapp was not well versed in the affairs of the heart, and he was entirely unaccustomed to failure. He was someone who was supremely confident in his ability to handle any situation, but on this cool November evening there were cracks in his armor. An unfamiliar feeling was percolating just beneath the surface. It was the foreign emotion of vulnerability. He tried not to get his hopes too high, but he couldn't help it. He desperately wanted Anna to be at the house.