ONE.
Anna Rielly drifted
in and out of sleep, the warm sun enveloping her in a hazy dream.
Her bronzed skin glistened with a mixture of sweat and sunscreen. A
slight afternoon breeze floated in off the ocean. It had been the
perfect week. Nothing but food, sun, sex and sleep. The ideal
honeymoon. A small resort on a remote Caribbean island with their
own secluded cabana, gravity pool and beach. Total privacy, no TV,
no phones, no pagers, just the two of them.
She opened her eyes a
touch and looked down at her wedding ring. She couldn't help but
smile. She was like a schoolgirl again. It was a perfect diamond
set in an elegant platinum Tiffany setting. Not too big, not too
small, just right. Most important, though, it was from the right
man. The man of her dreams.
She was now
officially Mrs. Anna Rapp. He had been a little surprised that
she'd taken his name without so much as a word of debate.
She was a feminist,
after all, with definite liberal leanings, but she could also be an
old-fashioned romantic. She could think of no other man she
respected more. It was an honor to share his name and she wanted
the world to know that they were now a family. In addition, she
could also be pragmatic. She had no desire to one day see her
grandchildren running around with four last names. Professionally
though, she would keep her maiden name. As the White House
correspondent for NBC she already had name recognition and a solid
career. It was a good compromise and Mitch didn't object.
Amazingly, the entire
wedding had gone off without a hitch.
Rielly couldn't think
of a friend who didn't have at least one big blowout with her
fiancé, or mother, or mother-in-law while planning her wedding. For
her part, Anna had always clung to the romantic notion that one day
she'd fall in love and have a big wedding back at St. Ann 's in
Chicago. It was where her parents had been married, where she'd
been baptized and confirmed and where she and her brothers had gone
to grade school. But in the months after they got engaged she could
see that this was an idea Mitch was less than enthusiastic
about.
It wasn't that he was
uncooperative. He told her that if she wanted a big wedding back in
Chicago, that is what they'd do, but she could feel his
apprehension. He didn't have to state it.
Mitch Rapp did not
like being the center of attention. He was a man who was used to
working behind the scenes. The strange truth was that her husband
had been a covert operative for the CIA since the age of
twenty-two. And the harsh reality was that in some circles he was
known as an assassin.
In the months before
their wedding, during the confirmation hearing for Mitch's boss at
the CIA, a member of the House Intelligence Committee had leaked
Mitch's story to the press in an attempt to derail Irene Kennedy's
nomination as the next director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
The President had come to both Rapp and Kennedy's defense and a
version of the truth was released to the media.
The President told
the story of how Rapp had led a team of commandos deep into Iraq to
prevent Saddam Hussein from joining the nuclear club. The President
called Rapp the single most important person in America's fight
against terrorism and overnight the politicians lined up to shake
his hand.
Rapp had been thrust
into the spotlight, and he didn't do well.
Having survived for
years because of his ability to move from city to city, and country
to country, without being noticed, he was now recognized virtually
everywhere he went. There were photographers and reporters who
hounded him. Rapp tried to reason with them at first.
A few listened, but
most didn't. Not one to let a problem fester, Rapp arranged to have
a few noses smashed. The others took the hint and backed off.
There was something
else, though, that worried Rapp a great deal.
He was now a marked
man. Virtually every terrorist from Jakarta to London knew who he
was. Bounties had been placed on his head and fat was Islamic
religious decrees, had been thrown down by dozens of fanatical
Muslim clerics across Arabia, Asia and the Pacific Rim, Thousands
if not millions of crazed Islamic zealots would gladly give their
lives to take him down.
Rapp worried
incessantly about Anna's safety and had even asked her if she was
sure she still wanted to spend the rest of her life looking over
her shoulder. Without hesitation she had said yes and told him not
to insult her by bringing it up again. He had stoically honored her
request, but it didn't stop his worrying. He'd also taken some
serious precautions, having ordered her a customized BMW with
bulletproof glass, Kevlar-lined body, and shred proof tires. They
were also in the process of building a house on twenty acres
outside D.C. in rural Virginia.
Anna had asked more
than once where the money came from to pay for all this, but Rapp
had always deflected her questions with a joke or change of
subject. She knew he was a man of many means, and in the end she
reasoned that there were some things she was better off not
knowing.
When they sat down to
plan the wedding, Rapp brought up a laundry list of security
concerns that would have to be addressed. As the weeks passed, Anna
began to realize that he simply would not be able to enjoy the day
if they held such a large wedding. She made the decision then to
have a small private ceremony with their families and a few close
friends. The news had been received well by Mitch.
The event was held
where they'd met. At the White House. Anna's entire family, her
morn and dad, brothers and sisters-in-law and seven nieces and
nephews were there. Mitch's only surviving relative, his brother
Steven, was best man while Anna's longtime friend Liz O'Rourke was
the matron of honor. Dr. Irene Kennedy and a few of Rapp's friends
from the CIA were present as well as a select group of Anna's media
friends. Father Malone from St. Ann 's was flown in to officiate
and the President and the first lady were the perfect hosts.
President Hayes also used his significant clout to make sure there
wasn't a mention of the wedding in any of the papers or on TV. It
was agreed by all that it would be wise to keep the identity of
Mrs. Mitch Rapp off the front pages.
The guests all stayed
at the Hay Adams Hotel, just a short walk across Lafayette Park
from the White House. They celebrated well into the night and then
the bride and groom were taken by the Secret Service to Reagan
National Airport where they caught a private jet to their island.
Courtesy of the CIA, they were traveling under the assumed
identities of Troy and Betsy Harris.
Anna sat up and
looked over the edge of the patio down at the beach. Her husband
was coming out of the water after a swim. Naturally dark-skinned,
after a week in the sun he looked like he'd gone native.
The man was a prime
physical specimen, and she wasn't just thinking that because she
was married to him. In his twenties he'd been a world-class tri
athlete who competed in events around the world. He'd won the
famous Iron Man competition in Hawaii twice.
Now he was in his
mid-thirties, and was still in great shape.
Rapp sported some
other physical features that had taken Rielly a little getting used
to. He had three visible bullet scars: one on his leg and two on
his stomach. There was a fourth that was covered by a thick scar on
his shoulder where the doctors had torn him open to get at the
bullet and reconstruct his shoulder socket. There was an elongated
knife scar on his right side, and one last scar that he was
particularly proud of. It was a constant reminder of the man he had
sworn he would kill when he started on his crazy journey into the
world of counterterrorism. It ran along the left side of his face,
from his ear down to his jaw line. The plastic surgeons had
minimized the scar to a thin line, but more important to Rapp, the
man who had marked him was now dead.
Rapp stepped onto the
patio, water dripping from his shorts, and smiled at his
bride.
"How ya' doin',
honey?"
"Fine." She reached
out her hand for him.
"I was just dozing
off a bit."
Rapp bent down and
kissed her and then without saying another word he jumped into the
small pool. He came up and rested his arms and chin on the
edge.
"Are you ready to go
back tomorrow?"
She shook her head
and pouted prettily for him.
Rapp smiled. She
really made him happy. She was smart, funny and drop-dead gorgeous.
She could be a bit of a ball buster at times, but he supposed any
woman who was going to put up with him had to be able to assert
herself or it'd be only a matter of years before he screwed
everything up.
"Well, we'll just
have to stay a little longer, then," he said.
She shook her head
again and put the pouty lips back on.
Reaching across the
patio for the bucket of iced Red Stripe, he laughed to himself.
He'd called her bluff. She needed to get back to work or the
network would have a complete shit fit. If Rapp had it his way
she'd quit. The exposure was an ever increasing risk to her
safety.
But Anna had to come
to that conclusion on her own. He didn't want to wake up ten years
from now and have her go nuts on him for making her throw her
career away. His only consolation was that her current assignment
at the White House meant close proximity to more than a dozen
well-armed and supremely trained Secret Service agents and
officers.
"Would you like a
beer, honey?"
"Sure."
Rapp opened one,
handed the ice-cold bottle to Anna and then opened one for himself.
Reaching out with his bottle he waited for his wife to do the same.
The two bottles clinked together and Rapp said, "To us."
"To us," she replied
with a blissful smile.
They both took a
drink and Rapp added, "And lots of cute healthy babies."
Anna laughed and held
up two fingers.
Rapp shook his
head.
"At least
five."
She laughed even
louder.
"You're nuts."
"I never said I
wasn't."
They sat there
basking in the sun, talking about their future for the better part
of an hour, teasing each other playfully about how many kids they
were going to have, how they were going to be raised, what names
they liked and what they would do if one of the kids was as
stubborn as either of them. Rapp refrained from sharing his opinion
as she talked about what she would do with her job after they had a
baby.
It was one of those
new things he'd learned about relationships. He understood that she
was talking it out, and not looking for him to throw in his own two
cents.
For her part, Anna
kept her promise that she would steer clear of digging for details
on the goings-on at Langley. Rapp knew that if they were going to
survive in the long run he would have to share certain aspects of
his job with her, regardless of what Agency policy dictated.
Anna was too curious
to spend the rest of their lives never discussing what he spent the
majority of the week doing. The general subjects of terrorism and
national security were fair game, but anything involving specific
intelligence or covert policy was off the table. Having been silent
for so many years, Rapp actually found it satisfying to be able to
share his opinions with someone who had a decent grasp of the
issues.
They opened two more
beers and Anna joined him in the water.
They clung to the
edge of the gravity pool and looked out at the ocean, their elbows
and chins resting on the edge, their legs gently floating behind
them. They laughed about the wedding and their week of seclusion
and avoided mentioning that it was about to end. Rapp could tell
that Anna was getting tipsy. She weighed only 115 pounds and the
combination of beer, warm sun and a lazy breeze meant a siesta was
in the cards.
After a little while
she kissed him on the lips and swam to the other end of the small
pool. Climbing out, she stopped on the top step and pulled her hair
into a loose ponytail. As she twisted it with both hands the water
cascaded down her smooth back and over her tiny white bikini
bottom. With a flirtatious glance over her shoulder she began to
unhook her top.
"I'm going to go take
a nap. Would you like to join me?" Keeping her back to him, she
slipped off her bikini top and draped it over the hammock hook to
her right.
Needing no further
encouragement, Rapp set his beer down and hoisted himself over the
edge. He followed his wife into the bedroom, losing his swim trunks
along the way. His eyes never left her body, and for a brief moment
he found himself wishing they could stay on this tiny island
forever.
When they got back to
Washington it wouldn't be like this. There would be fires to be put
out and plans to be put into action. He watched Anna slip out of
her bikini bottom, and the problems awaiting him in Washington
vanished. They could wait, at least for another day. Right now he
had more important things on his mind.