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“It’s not your fault, sir.”
Hayes wasn’t so sure. The president leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Mitch, it’s been a very bad week.”
“Yes, it has.”
“Irene tells me you want out.”
Rapp was completely caught off-guard. “I’m ready to move on with my life, sir.”
The president looked at Rapp with an unwavering stare. “What if I told you your country couldn’t afford to lose you?”
“I’d tell you I’d already given enough to my country.”
The president grinned. There was no intimidating Mitch Rapp. “Yes, you have. No one would argue that…especially me. But I’d like you to consider staying on for a while longer.”
Rapp felt he was getting sucked into a bad dream. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve already made up my mind. I want a normal life. I’ve found the right woman, and I’m not going to lose her over a career that I don’t even want anymore.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“About what?” Rapp wasn’t sure whether the president was referring to the woman he’d found or the career he no longer wanted.
The president folded his hands. “Mitch, a man of your talents can’t just turn it off and walk away.”
“Maybe…maybe not, but I’m going to try.”
“Well.” The president had a big smile on his lips. “I think we may have found a nice middle ground.” Hayes turned to the director of the CIA. “Thomas.”
“Mitchell.” Stansfield’s voice was tired and slightly slurred. “I’d like to start by saying that I’ve been in this business for more than fifty years, and I don’t know if I’ve seen anyone as talented and courageous as yourself.”
Rapp looked at Stansfield and replied with a silent nod. The words from the dying legend were worth more than any medal his government could ever give him.
“I have known for some time that I’m dying, and I wanted to put certain things in order before that came to pass. One of those things, Mitchell, was that I wanted to give you your life back.” Stansfield slid a large folder over to Rapp. “This is your official personnel file.”
Rapp didn’t like what he’d just heard. “I thought it was agreed at the beginning that there would never be any record of me.”
“Yes, that was the plan, but things have changed. Some of your exploits over the last several years have been very hard to keep quiet.” Stansfield looked at Rapp with his steely gray eyes. “This file is my gift to you and to Irene. I created it with the help of Max Salmen. As your file now reads, you have been an NOC with the Agency for the last ten years. Much of what you did is, of course, not contained in that file or is greatly edited. You are now legitimate, Mitchell.”
Rapp was miffed. NOC was an acronym for the Agency’s operatives who worked overseas and were not protected by the diplomatic cover of an American embassy or consulate. Rapp stared at the folder in his hands. “Why now? Why after all these years?”
“Because we want you to come inside.”
“At Langley?” asked a disbelieving Rapp.
“Yes. We want you to head up the Middle East desk in the Counterterrorism Center.”
Rapp looked across the table at Kennedy. He was stunned. It had never occurred to him that they would go to these lengths. It was highly unusual, to say the least, that they would risk bringing someone with his past inside Langley. Kennedy returned his look of disbelief with a rare smile. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.
“Yes,” Kennedy answered. “You’re too valuable and too young to retire.”
Rapp looked back down at the heavy file and shook his head. He really didn’t know where to start. The thought of staying connected to the battle was very intriguing, but going inside Langley to suffer the nine-to-five grind was something that he was not so sure he would like. The place was famous for its bureaucratic BS.
“Mitchell,” started Stansfield, “there’s something I think you need to know. I’m afraid you weren’t the ultimate target in Germany.”
In light of the fact that Rapp had two baseball-size bruises on his chest he found the statement to be slightly irritating. “No offense, Thomas, but I’m the only person in this room who’s been shot this week.”
“I didn’t say someone didn’t want you dead. I said you weren’t the ultimate target. Your body was meant to be found next to Count Hagenmiller’s. It was meant to embarrass the president, and I think, ultimately, it was meant to ruin Irene’s career.”
The president’s demeanor changed instantly. This was the first he’d heard of this. “What are you trying to say, Thomas?”