THIRTEEN.
The high billowing
clouds had moved on and the midmorning sun was poking its way
through the trees of the Rose Garden.
The President sat
behind his desk, elbows planted on the armrests of his Kevlar lined
leather chair. His hands were clasped in front of his chin, the
crisp white sleeves of his dress shirt forming a pyramid before
him. He was engrossed in what he was being told by his guest.
Mitch Rapp, his dark
suit coat open and his hands on his hips, strode back and forth
across the blue rug of the Oval Office. The man moved with an
athletic grace that hinted at his many talents. As he walked he
laid out the operation for the President. Director Kennedy and
General Flood sat in silence while Rapp paced behind them.
Rapp had been talking
without interruption for nearly five minutes.
He was about to go
over the final part of the plan, but decided at the last minute to
pause. Looking down at the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Rapp said,
"General, if you would like to excuse yourself from the room at
this point, I would completely understand."
The general scratched
his chin and in a surprisingly lighthearted tone replied, "I think
I've got an idea where you're going with this, and I'm guessing
you're not worried about offending me."
Rapp grinned.
"General, I'm not
sure it would be possible for me to offend you with words
alone."
With a laugh, the
general said, "As long as you leave my wife and children out of it,
I'd say you're right. I assume you're offering me a chance to
excuse myself from the really nasty part of this, in case it goes
south."
"That would be
correct."
There was a fairly
long pause before the general answered and then he said, "My wife
likes to accuse me of having selective memory."
Looking up at Rapp he
added, "You know what I mean?"
"I think I do." Rap
smiled and then turned back to the President.
"As long as I'm over
in the Philippines, I think it would be a good idea to stop by and
visit General Moro."
The President shifted
uncomfortably in his chair. A voice in the back of his head was
telling him to just nod, tell Rapp to have a good trip and then get
on with his day, but another part of him wanted to know more.
"And what will you be
discussing with General Moro?"
Rapp stopped with his
shoulders squared to the President and looked down at his shoes for
a moment.
"Sir, does the first
lady ever accuse you of having selective memory?"
"Ever since the day I
met her, and truth be told she's right. But that's not the point."
The President spun his chair a quarter turn and looked out the
window.
"Mitch, I'm not
comfortable having you stick your neck out this far."
"Don't worry about
me, sir. That's what I'm paid for."
The President
nodded.
"Yeah, I know you
are, but that doesn't give the rest of us the excuse to say we were
kept in the dark every time something goes wrong."
"Sir," said Kennedy
with great sincerity, "that's the way it has to be."
"Well, that doesn't
mean I have to like it, and to be honest, I'm not so sure
eliminating General Moro will do anything other than satiate our
short-term need for blood."
Rapp frowned at the
President's words. In his tactical mind blood lust had no bearing
on whether Moro deserved to die or live.
"Mr. President," Rapp
said in a voice that was neither pleading nor condescending,
"General Moro is a traitorous bastard who is directly responsible
for the death of two United States Navy SEALs. And if you're
worried about offending President Quirino, I can assure you that
after she finds out Moro was a paid informant for both the Chinese
and Abu Sayyaf, she'll be thanking us for getting rid of
him."
The President tapped
his finger on his lips a few more times and then leaning forward
and grabbing a file announced, "Let me think about all this, and
I'll get back to you."
Rapp didn't have to
be a seasoned Washington bureaucrat to recognize a brush-off. Not
one to give in so easily, he stood his ground and asked, "When will
you have an answer for me, sir?"
Hayes eyed Rapp
cautiously for a second and said, "In a couple of days."
Rapp shook his
head.
"That won't work,
sir. Once the story breaks on the Ambassador and Petry, our ability
to move on Moro will be compromised."
Hayes again leaned
back in his chair and exhaled.
"Listen," he said in
a no-nonsense tone, "from what you've told me this morning, this
General Moro deserves to rot in a cell for the rest of his life,
but as far as assassinating him goes
I'm not so sure. The fallout
could be very ugly and to be honest with you, we really need the
Philippine government with us in this fight. So as I said, I'm
going to need a few days to consider our options." Having spoken
his piece, Hayes spun his chair away from Rapp and opened the file
he'd grabbed off his desk.
Rapp watched him with
curiosity, and then looked down at Kennedy for guidance. She stood
and motioned toward the door with a jerk of her thumb. She looked
at General Flood and did the same thing. Reluctantly, Rapp followed
her orders and began to leave the famed office wondering how many
other people over the years had felt his same sense of frustration.
As he placed his hand on the doorknob, he heard Kennedy say to the
President, "Sir, I need to have a word alone with you."
Rapp grinned ever so
slightly as he looked back at his boss.
Kennedy, despite her
subdued demeanor, could be surprisingly persuasive.
He felt confident
that by the time she left the office they would have the approval
they were looking for.