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Kassar turned to Durrani. “May I choose the men?”
“Yes,” Durrani said, even though he didn’t want to.
“And,” Rickman added, “if you see Rapp I want you to think seriously about aborting the operation. Especially if you have already taken care of Obrecht.”
“Nonsense,” Durrani scoffed. “If you see Rapp, I want him dead. Do you understand me? I am sick of this man. Rid me of this problem and I will reward you handsomely.”
Rickman was tired of all the bravado, and being relegated to the role of cripple only made it worse. Not being able to stand and argue his point was extremely frustrating. “Kassar, all the money in the world won’t mean a thing if you’re dead. Use your judgment and don’t underestimate Rapp. The man’s at the top of the food chain. If you have a clean shot and he doesn’t see you, go ahead and try your best, but if he gets even the slightest whiff of you, you need to run.” Rickman looked at Kassar through his slitted eyes. “You are a smart man, Vazir. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Kassar replied in his standard dispassionate voice. He did understand. Men like Rapp were exceedingly dangerous, not just because of their talent and instincts. The most impressive thing about Rapp was that he was still alive after everything that had been thrown at him. “What about the assassin . . . Gould?”
Rickman had been wondering how to handle that problem. He knew a great deal about the man, but Gould had no idea that Rickman had maneuvered him into the time and place where he’d been certain the former Legionnaire would settle his score with Rapp. Somewhere, Rickman thought, he’d miscalculated, or possibly he hadn’t. An idea suddenly occurred to him. To Durrani he said, “You told me you had General Qayem and his men on standby in case my assassin failed.”
“That is correct.”
Rickman sighed. “I should have known you would meddle in my plans.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You are so transparent. You were going to kill Gould when he was done with Rapp, weren’t you?”
Durrani sniffed and said, “I did not want any loose ends. He was a loose end.”
“And?”
“What do you mean?”
Pushing with his elbows, Rickman managed to sit up against the pillows. He was thankful that the pain was muted by the drugs that were still in his system. “If our partnership is going to work, you must stop going behind my back. Do you understand what you did? Gould is a professional. Obviously, he saw your men and knew that you were going to kill him, so the only avenue of escape that was left to him was to cross over to Rapp.”
Durrani scoffed at the idea. “Nonsense.”
“No, General, the only thing that is nonsense is the way you keep ruining my well-laid plans. You need to stop interfering, and there should be no more killing unless we absolutely have to.”
“I kill to protect us. Our secret is too valuable. We must keep our circle very tight.”
“It’s a bad policy. Killing is not the solution to every problem. What are you going to do about Vazir when he gets back from Switzerland? Are you going to kill him as well?”
“He is too valuable,” Durrani shouted. “I would never kill someone so loyal.”
Rickman knew that Durrani had killed plenty of loyal people, but he didn’t verbalize it. Kassar was listening to every word and he was no fool. The man had no doubt wondered when Durrani would tire of his services. “From now on, General, we need to consult with each other, or we are doomed.”
CHAPTER 48
RAPPAHANNOCK COUNTY, VIRGINIA
STAN Hurley arrived a few minutes before eight o’clock. The looming subject of his terminal diagnosis was not discussed for the simple reason that the old cuss had already told Kennedy they weren’t going to make a big deal out of it. He apparently mumbled something about the fact that we’re all dying, some just a little sooner than others.
Lewis made shrimp fettuccini and spinach salad for the group. Over dinner Rapp continued to press Kennedy, Hurley, and Lewis about Rickman. Rapp remembered that Rickman had an ex-wife and a daughter whom he rarely discussed. In fact Rapp remembered only one time when he’d heard Rickman mention them. It was at an old Soviet base in southern Uzbekistan just after the Taliban had had their asses handed to them by Ame
rican airpower, a couple of dozen U.S. Special Operations warriors, a few Clandestine Service guys, and a ragtag army of mostly Northern Alliance types. Rickman had been key in putting the whole thing together, and it was the first time since 9/11 that they felt like they had really hit back.
So it was time to celebrate, and with the Taliban in full retreat and running for the Pakistani border, the booze began to flow. Even back then, Rapp knew Rickman as a guy with a big brain who had a knack for putting together complicated operations while never losing sight of the various pitfalls. And he did it all with a calm focus on the endgame, something that was no easy thing, with so many moving parts and an uncooperative enemy. For reasons that Rapp didn’t fully understand, that night, a sloppy Rickman decided to unload his personal problems on Rapp. Rickman had a wife whom he’d never really loved, and he was pretty sure she’d never really loved him either. They had a daughter who had reached her teens and hated her father for being gone so much, yet when he was home he couldn’t get her to say as much as hello. It was all going down the tubes, and Rickman vacillated between thinking he should save it and being pretty sure it wasn’t worth saving. It was a classic one-person devil’s advocate, argued by a single drunken man for the better part of an evening. Rapp succeeded in changing the discussion multiple times, only to have Rickman steer it right back into the muddy ditch.
The next day it was not brought up and it was never discussed again. A few months later Rapp heard that Rickman’s wife had filed for divorce. It was not an unusual situation. During the best of times the Clandestine Service was hard on families. It took a unique spouse to be able to hold down the fort while you were off advancing America’s policies in the gutters of the world. The divorce rate was high before 9/11. After the attacks it skyrocketed. The CIA never stopped deploying, and the deployments lasted years, families suffered, and marriages fell apart. Now Rapp wanted to know if they’d ever had any discussions with Rickman about the divorce and the stress of his job.
Kennedy looked at Lewis and said, “We did have a discussion about bringing him back.”
“I remember,” Lewis said.