Page 55 of Denied Access (Mitch Rapp #24)

Y OU’RE what?” Stan said.

“Leaving. Greta needs me.”

“What the fuck?”

Rapp flushing with embarrassment was something Hurley never imagined he’d see, but the expression was gone a heartbeat later, replaced by the clenched jaw and drawn eyebrows he knew too well. “Something’s off with her bodyguards. I’m going to get her.”

“Is she in danger?”

“She thinks so.”

“Do you?”

“Here’s what I think,” Rapp said. “Somehow, the Russian team in Barcelona knew I would be at the airport. They were also able to track my phone. I think the penetration is on Ohlmeyer’s end.

I know he hired outside help to protect Greta.

He’s a good banker, but that doesn’t mean he knows shit about mercenaries. ”

“That still sounds kind of thin.”

“I’m going to get her.”

Rapp spoke with a finality that brooked no argument, but Stan still got up from the table and interposed himself between his assassin and the door. Rapp didn’t try to push past, but violence radiated from the kid like heat from a potbelly stove.

“The job is here,” Stan said.

“There is no job. Nothing about this is sanctioned by Irene or Stansfield. Greta’s life was threatened, so I asked for your help.

You sent me to retrieve Volkov. I did. Now the situation has changed.

Whatever Cold War bullshit you guys are reliving is not my problem.

When everything went sideways in Paris, I was laid up in a fleabag hotel with a bullet wound in my shoulder.

Greta showed up, no questions asked. Now I’m doing the same for her.

Once I know she’s safe, I’ll check in with you. ”

Left unsaid was the reason why Rapp reached out to Greta after Paris instead of his CIA mentor, Stan, or handler, Irene.

Rapp had nearly been killed because the Paris operation had been compromised, and Stan was responsible for the mishap.

He knew he’d fucked things up with Rapp.

Badly. Were he in the assassin’s place, he wouldn’t trust anyone from the agency any farther than he could throw them.

But he wasn’t in Rapp’s place.

As much as the kid didn’t believe or was pretending not to see it, this wasn’t just Cold War intrigue.

Petrov was still a high-ranking member of the Russian intelligence service.

While Stan hadn’t sussed out the threads of Petrov’s spiderweb yet, he recognized the hallmarks of an intelligence operation when he saw one.

The Russian certainly wasn’t above personal vendettas, but a former KGB officer of Petrov’s stature thought bigger than petty score-settling.

The Russian’s actions had been blatant. Petrov wanted his American counterparts to know that he was moving pieces around the chessboard.

Stan could only guess at the Russian’s motivation, but he was certain about one thing.

Something big was coming down the pike.

The key to discovering that something lay in Moscow.

True, eliminating Petrov and potentially Hughes wasn’t a sanctioned Orion mission, but that was just semantics.

When the full scope of Petrov’s meddling was discovered, Irene and Stansfield would be clamoring for someone to put a bullet in the former KGB officer’s head.

Surely he could make Rapp see this.

“Listen,” Stan said, placing his palm flat against Rapp’s chest, “I know how you feel, I—”

“You don’t have a fucking clue how I feel.”

Stan felt Rapp’s pectoral muscles tense beneath his fingers.

“No? You think I’ve never been betrayed?

Or had to choose between my personal and professional lives?

I have multiple ex-wives, and too many former lovers to count.

Good women who would have made great life partners had I been in another business.

I’m not in another business and neither are you. This is the job.”

Rapp slapped his hand away. “There’s more to me than just this job. I’m not you.”

And with that, the future of the Orion program walked out the door.