The Third Option

  He held the car keys in front of Rapp. “What do you want me to do with the car?”

  “Follow us in it. There’s an industrial park just down the road.”

  THE INDUSTRIAL PARK was a mix of two-story office buildings and warehouse space. The van and the sedan pulled around to the back of the building. Across the street was a strip mall with a bar at one end. Hackett and Stroble parked near the bar and kept an eye on the street. When Coleman opened the side cargo door of the van, he was greeted by the sight of Mitch Rapp sitting on top of the man they had just grabbed. Rapp’s knees were on the man’s arms, and the tip of his silenced Beretta was pressed firmly into the man’s right eye socket.

  With a clenched jaw, Rapp asked, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”

  Coleman stepped into the van and closed the door. “What does his ID say?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to check it yet. We’ve been too busy talking, right?” Rapp stuck the tip of his silencer a little further into the man’s eye.

  Coleman reached down and pulled open the man’s suit coat. He snatched a leather case out of the breast pocket and opened it. Instead of saying anything, he held the document in front of Rapp’s face.

  “Special Agent Salem of the FBI.” Rapp looked down at the man. “Would you mind telling me what in the hell you were doing in my house?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Rapp looked at Coleman and jerked his head toward Dumond. “Give him the ID and have him run it.”

  “I’m not going to ask you this again. What were you doing at my house? The one on the bay that you just came from five minutes ago?”

  The man’s lone eye darted back and forth. “I’m telling you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Last chance. Tell me why you were at my house and what you’re doing with Anna Rielly.”

  “I told you I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Do you know how much trouble you can get in for kidnapping a federal…”

  Before he could finish, Rapp reached down with his left hand and grabbed the man’s right index finger. At the same time, he increased the pressure on the man’s eye socket and slid his knee down to his forearm. With a quick yank, Rapp snapped the man’s finger. He let out an agonizing scream. Rapp took the opportunity to move the silencer from the man’s eye and stick it deep into his mouth. When the tip of the silencer reached his throat, he started to gag.

  Looking for recognition in the man’s eyes, Rapp asked, “Do you know my friend Mario Lukas? The big fella you gunned down in College Park the other day?” Rapp saw the sign, a flicker of fear. Over his shoulder, Rapp asked, “Anything on that plate?”

  “Nothing. It came up blank. I’m checking the name now.”

  Looking over at Coleman, Rapp said, “This guy isn’t a fucking fed. If he was, he’d tell us something.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right.” Coleman looked down at the man and said, “Don’t make us torture you.”

  Rapp withdrew his gun, and the man spat, “You two can go fuck yourselves. You are in deep trouble.”

  Coleman smiled. “That was very original.” Reaching down, he grabbed the finger that Rapp had already broken and gave it a yank. The man started screaming again. Rapp took the opportunity to shove the silencer back in his mouth.

  Dumond announced, “This guy is no fed. He’s nowhere in the database.”

  Rapp removed the gun and asked, “What do you have to say for yourself now?”

  The man gasped for air and said, “I’m undercover.”

  “Yeah, right, dumb shit. You’re an undercover FBI agent posing as an FBI agent.” Rapp switched the Beretta from his right hand to his left and grabbed the man’s good index finger. Rapp didn’t even bother to ask a question this time. He just took the finger and snapped it like a twig.

  The man screamed, “All right…all right! What do you want to know?”

  “Is Anna Rielly in that house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “She’s upstairs.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t fucking lie to me. Have you guys laid a hand on her?”

  “No, I swear we haven’t.”

  “Why is she there?”

  “I don’t know.” Rapp didn’t like the answer, so he started for the finger. Before he got to it, he yelled, “We told her we were bringing her there to meet you.”

  “Whose idea was that?’

  “I don’t know. I’m just a foot soldier. They tell me what to do, and I do it.”

  Coleman leaned in. “Did the Professor give the order?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Is he at the house?”

  The man shook his head with a pained face. “He was earlier, but he left.”

  “How many people are in there?” Rapp asked.

  “Ah…I don’t know.”

  Rapp grabbed a finger and twisted for five full seconds. He screamed and tried to buck Rapp off, but Rapp was too strong. When the man stopped gasping, Rapp repeated the question. “How many people are with you, both inside and outside the house?”

  “Two more.”

  “I know that’s a lie, and I’m getting really sick of this game.” Rapp looked up at Coleman. “Let’s waste him. We don’t need him anymore.”

  “There’s four more.”

  “You’d better not be lying to me, or I’ll put you out of your misery right now.”

  “I swear I’m telling you the truth. Just don’t kill me.”

  Rapp studied the man for a long moment. He thought he was telling the truth, but one could never be sure with something like this. Looking at Coleman, Rapp said, “Get the boys over here. I have an idea.”

  I don’t know, Mitch. I think the smart play might be to let the SOG handle it.” They were standing outside the van; their prisoner was inside tied up on the floor with Dumond keeping an eye on him. Dan Stroble and Kevin Hackett were listening to their former SEAL team commander and Rapp talk.

  “No.” Rapp shook his head. “They are expecting this guy back any minute. We can’t wait.”

  “I think you’re too close to this, Mitch. Let’s get an ETA on the SOG and then decide.”

  “Forget it.” Rapp threw his arms up in disgust. “I’ll handle it myself.” Rapp started toward the van, both sincere about what he’d said and completely aware of what made Scott Coleman tick.

  Coleman reached out and said, “Hey, wait a minute.”

  “We don’t have a minute, Scott.” Rapp yanked his arm away. “Have you gotten soft? You think a Special Operations group from Langley can do a better job than us? They’re good, but there isn’t a single one of them that’s a better shooter than you guys. I’m going with or without you guys.” Rapp understood the SEAL psyche as well as anyone. He possessed the same attributes. Stubborn, supremely confident, driven to win at almost any cost, and never afraid to take a challenge.

  “What’s your plan?” asked Coleman.

  “I’m going to wire numbnuts with a camera and a mike and send him in first.”

  “How do you know he’s not going to give you up, once he’s inside?”

  “I’ve got a plan for that.” Rapp pointed to Hackett. “You take the guy on the back deck, and the three of us come through the front door. Are you guys in or out?”

  Hackett nodded, and Stroble and Coleman followed suit.

  “Good. Grab your demolition gear from the back of your truck.”

  THE MAN WAS standing next to the van with his pants down around his ankles. Dumond had his suit coat in the van and was rigging it with a microphone and fiber-optic camera. Stroble had a hold of one arm, and Hackett had the other. Rapp stood in front of him and asked, “What’s your first name?”

  “Dave.”

  “All right, Dave, here’s the deal. I don’t like you. You took my girlfriend, and you and your pals are in my house. Do you think you’d
like it if I took someone you loved and then invited myself into your house?” Dave shook his head. “I didn’t think so. My friends here would prefer it if I put a bullet in your head and threw your ass in that Dumpster over there, but I’m not going to do that. At least not yet. I’m going to give you one chance to live, but if you fuck up, even just a little bit, you’re gone. Are we clear on that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Here’s the deal. We’re going to send you back to the house like nothing happened, with one exception. You’re going to have a sheet of C4 strapped to your groin, and I’m going to have the detonator. If at any moment I think you’re giving us up, I’ll blow your balls off and leave you there on the floor to bleed to death. Any questions?”

  The man swallowed hard and shook his head.

  “Good.” Rapp turned to Coleman. “Put the sheet in his underwear and secure it. Marcus, is the jacket ready?”

  “In a second.”

  Rapp looked Dave in the eye and said, “You have my word. If you cooperate, I’ll let you live.”

  It took Coleman a little more than a minute to rig the plastic explosives. Rapp took a second to go over the layout of his house and then told the men in detail how they would proceed. After a quick communications check, they piled into the Crown Victoria and were off. Rapp, Coleman, and Stroble were in the back seat, and Hackett was in the front. The van followed behind at a discreet distance. Coleman and his men all carried suppressed MP-5 submachine guns. Rapp had only his trusted Beretta 92F with three extra fifteen-round clips. On the way to the house, they received status reports from the helicopter. Everything was as expected. One man standing post on the front porch, a second on the back deck, and two more inside, presumably at the kitchen table.

  As they turned off the county road and onto the street that would take them to the house, Rapp told the driver to douse the lights and stop. Next, he yanked the plastic cover off the dome light and pulled the bulb. Turning to Stroble, he said, “Once he turns into the driveway, stay low in the back seat. I’ll tell you when to move.” Rapp tapped the driver on the shoulder with the tip of his silencer. “If they ask what took so long, tell them they had to make a fresh pot of coffee for you. And then ask them immediately where the girl is.”

  Rapp nodded for Coleman to get out of the car. As the door opened, the driver asked, “Are you going in shooting?”

  “If they reach for their weapons, they’re as good as dead. It’s up to them. Just drop your ass to the floor as soon as it starts, and you’ll be fine.” The driver shook his head, and Rapp asked, “What?”

  “They’ll reach for their weapons.”

  “Then they’re dead.” With that Rapp, Coleman, and Hackett got out of the car and began jogging down the road. Rapp led the way. The lots in the neighborhood were all similar. They were pretty narrow with one hundred to two hundred feet of shoreline, and they ran around five hundred feet deep. Each lot was separated by a line of trees and bushes for extra privacy. Two houses before his, Rapp turned off the road and cut through his neighbor’s yard. Without the moon, it was extremely dark. When they reached the line of trees, Rapp found a small footpath and crossed into the next yard. The men ran in a crouch now. When they reached the next line of trees, they dropped to a knee. Rapp pulled down the lip mike on his headset and asked for one more status report from the chopper. They reported that the situation was unchanged.

  Rapp grabbed Hackett around the neck and pulled him close. Pointing toward the water and whispering in his ear, he said, “About twenty feet before the cliff, there’s a path that leads from Harry’s yard to mine.”

  “Who’s Harry?”

  “He’s my neighbor. Don’t worry about him. He’s eighty-one and as deaf as a door. Now, listen. These two guys standing post are dead. We don’t have time to dick around with them. We don’t have cuffs, and we don’t have enough people to cover our asses. When I give the word, I want you to pop your man in the head. You got any problems with that?”

  Hackett was unfazed by the question. It would not be the first time he had taken a man’s life. He didn’t blink or show the slightest sign of tension. He uttered his simple one-word reply. “No.”

  “Good.” Rapp slapped his arm. “Get moving.”

  Hackett moved silently into the darkness. Rapp spoke to Stroble over the radio. “Dan, get him moving.” He waited a second and said, “Marcus, I want continuous updates once he’s inside the house.”

  CONAN O’BRIEN WAS on the tube. Jeff Duser stretched his arms above his head and let out a long yawn. He hadn’t had enough sleep as of late. Too much work and no play. When he brought his hands down, he said, “Where the fuck is Polk?” The other man sitting at Rapp’s kitchen table didn’t bother to answer his boss’s question. Duser stood and looked out the window onto the back deck. One of his men was pacing back and forth trying to stay warm. Looking around the kitchen, he said, “I can’t believe this guy doesn’t even have a bag of chips around here.”

  The man at the table looked up from his game of solitaire. “Maybe he’s healthy.”

  “What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?” snarled Duser.

  The man shrugged his shoulders. “Chips are full of bad stuff.”

  “Pedro, I’ve been eating chips my whole life. I’m thirty-five years old, and I’ve got a washboard stomach.”

  “Yeah, but what do your arteries look like?”

  “My arteries are fine.” Duser wasn’t in the mood for one of Pedro’s health lectures. He walked to the front of the house and checked the porch. His man was out there, but there was no sign of Polk. Mumbling to himself, Duser asked, “How long does it take to get coffee and sandwiches?”

  Turning, he looked up the stairs and thought about the finelooking piece of ass who was sleeping in one of the rooms. Duser thought about what the Professor had said to him about the girl. It didn’t make any sense, but he didn’t know if it was worth the risk of pissing the man off. He had paid them a lot of money in the last few months, and Duser was sure there would be more to come.

  Duser’s cell phone rang, and he grabbed it from the case on his hip. “Hello.”

  “It’s me. How is everything?”

  “Fine. We’re just waiting for Polk to get back with some coffee and food.”

  “How long has he been gone?”

  Duser noticed the concern in the Professor’s voice. “Don’t worry. It’s late. I’m sure he had to drive farther than we thought.”

  “Is he carrying a phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, call him on it.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”

  “How’s the girl?”

  “She’s fine. She’s upstairs asleep.” A pair of headlights cut through the front windows. “Hold on a second. I think Polk is back.”

  RAPP AND COLEMAN watched through the bushes as the car came down the driveway. It stopped in front of the other sedan, front bumper to front bumper. As soon as the headlights were doused, Rapp and Coleman moved. They stayed in a crouch and picked their way through the narrow path, stopping just short of Rapp’s side yard. Each dropping to a knee, they watched their Trojan horse grab the tray of coffee and bag of sandwiches and walk between the two sedans. A voice from the porch asked, “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I got hung up. They had to brew a fresh pot of coffee.”

  Dumond’s voice came over their headsets. “We have one person on the front porch. Make that two. Another guy just came out.”

  Rapp whispered into his mike, “Let me know the second they start to enter the house.”

  “They’re going in right now.”

  Rapp and Coleman dropped to their bellies and crawled across the grass, keeping the sedan that was closest to the garage between them and the front porch. They stopped near the trunk of the car and waited. They could now hear the audio from inside the house. “Where’s the girl?”

  “Upstairs asleep. What the fuck took you so long?”

 
Dumond’s voice came over the line. “We have two guys inside. One’s standing near our man in the kitchen. His gun is holstered, but he’s holding something in his hand. The second man is at the kitchen table.”

  Rapp whispered, “Hackett, are you ready?”

  “Roger.”

  “Wait for my word.” Rapp looked at Coleman and nodded. Coleman gave him a thumbs up. Rapp sprang from behind the car and began sprinting across the driveway toward the front porch. The man was standing with his back toward the door facing the street. Rapp was coming at him from the man’s right side. He had his Beretta in his left hand and leveled it at the man’s head. The entire scene unfolded in slow motion for Rapp. As the man started to move, Rapp said, “Take him.”

  The man sensed movement and started to turn toward Rapp. He had a machine pistol slung over his shoulder with one hand on the grip. He started to reach for the weapon with his other hand as his eyes made contact with Rapp. Rapp fired his weapon twice. Two bullets spat from the end of the silencer. The first bullet struck the sentry in the right eye and tore through his head. The second one hit him in the cheekbone an inch bellow the first shot. The sentry’s body was propelled backward, sending him over the railing and into a bush.

  “Tango one down.” Rapp reached the porch just seconds later and put his hand on the doorknob. Coleman was there a step behind him. Over their headsets, Hackett’s voice said, “Tango two down.”

  Rapp looked up to see Stroble coming across the lawn, and then he heard from inside the house, “What in the hell was that?” Rapp knew the noise they had just heard was the body of their comrade falling outside on the wood deck. Into his lip mike, he said, “Marcus, tell Dave to get down.” He didn’t do it out of concern for the man’s life. It was a matter of practicality. He wanted him out of his field of fire. Rapp twisted the knob and shoved the front door. He was in the house, moving to his left toward the kitchen, his gun extended. There would be no shouts or warnings. Rapp wasn’t a cop, he was a trained assassin. As he entered the kitchen, Dumond was saying something over the radio, but Rapp didn’t register it. All of his senses were focused on a man holding a cell phone in one hand and drawing his gun with the other.