Abel blinked several times. It was impossible. His heart started to race. There had to be a mistake. Abel logged off the Internet and was about to call the bank directly when he thought better of it. He logged back on and checked another account. He gripped the small plastic device and willed it to connect faster. When the second account appeared on the screen, he stood up so quickly his wrought-iron chair fell over and landed loudly on the stone patio. Abel ignored the waiter, who had come to see if everything was all right. He rushed into the hotel, cursing under his breath, the veins on his forehead bulging. His thumbs worked furiously to verify this horrible news. He pulled up the third account and then the fourth. By the time he reached his suite there was no denying it. All five accounts had been emptied. His balance was zero in each one. Just like that, eleven million dollars was gone.

Abel paced back and forth across the wood floor of his twelve-hundred-dollar-a-night suite. He screamed once at the top of his lungs, for just a few seconds, and then he got control of himself. He had to think this through. There had to be a mistake or a way to fix it. He knew all of these bankers personally. What had happened was impossible, but then again it wasn't. Saeed was worth billions. His pull at these banks could be immense. The Swiss were cautious and Abel knew of situations where they had placed money in escrow accounts until the two parties could sort out their differences.

Abel was as mad as he'd ever been. He'd had it all planned out and he was damned if he was going to let some amateur like Saeed get the best of him. In the end Abel had the leverage, not Saeed and not Rashid. He was nobody. A professional intelligence operative who could disappear. They could not.

Abel opened the room's safe and turned on his encrypted satellite phone. As soon as he had a signal he dialed the number for Rashid's office in Riyadh. When the man answered on the other end, Abel identified himself and said that he would wait exactly ten seconds for him to put the prince on the phone. Any longer than that and he would hang up. Abel knew Rashid was looking for him and guessed correctly that the call would be put through in a speedy manner.

He was on nine when the prince answered.

"My friend, where have you been? We have much to talk about."

"You're damn right we do." Abel had never spoken to Rashid in such a manner. "Tell Saeed that he has until the close of business today to put that money back in my account or I will make sure Mitch Rapp finds out he was the one who took out the bounty on him."

"I think you're a bit late," Rashid said in a no-nonsense tone.

Abel detected no false bravado. "What do you mean?"

"Saeed was just killed in an explosion."

"When?"

"An hour ago."

"Where?"

"In front of his office."

"By who?"

"Who do you think?"

"I don't know," growled an angry Abel.

"Mitch Rapp."

Abel stopped pacing. "How? That's impossible."

"Apparently not."

Abel could feel a monstrous headache coming on. He started pacing again, looking at the floor as he went from one end of the room to the other. "I want my money back," he blurted out.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The eleven million dollars Saeed paid me to have Rapp killed."

"Rapp is still alive."

"I don't care. The deal was I keep the deposit whether he was killed or not. I want my money back."

"Come to Riyadh and we will talk about this."

"Rashid, don't be a fool. I will never set foot in your country again." Abel had never spoken to him in such a discourteous manner. It was always prince this or prince that.

"Then come to Spain. I am leaving for Granada tonight. We can discuss your money and figure out how we will deal with Rapp."

"No," Abel said firmly. "You will pay me eleven million dollars by five o'clock Zurich time today, or I will tell Rapp this was all your idea."

There was a long silence and then Rashid said, "Don't be foolish. Two can play that game. If you do that you will be signing your death warrant."

"Maybe, maybe not. I am nobody. A single individual who can disappear. You are the powerful and wealthy Prince Muhammad bin Rashid." Abel spoke the name with disdain. "Rapp will have a hard time finding me. You, on the other hand, will be easy to find."

"Erich, think about what you are doing. You do not want me as an enemy."

"And you don't want to end up like your friend Saeed, so you'd better give me the eleven million dollars by five or I promise you, Rapp is going to find out that you orchestrated this whole thing. I'll send your assistant wiring instructions for the money."

"Give me until five tomorrow. I am wealthy but not in the way Saeed was. I need time."

"Noon tomorrow! That is all you have."

Abel hit the end button on the phone and threw it on the bed. He clasped his hands behind his neck, took several more laps around the room, and then grabbed his suitcase. He had to get moving. He needed cash, but he couldn't trust the banks. That meant he had to get to the Alpine house. He had close to $100,000 in the safe. It would be enough to get the surgery done and buy a new set of identification. Hopefully Rashid would see the light and give him the money. He did not want to spend the rest of his years looking over his shoulder for Mitch Rapp.

69

Kennedy's armor-plated sedan pulled up to the Southwest Gate. The Secret Service officers were accustomed to her coming and going, but checked the undercarriage and trunk nonetheless. Kennedy had been to the White House so many times she'd stopped counting years ago. There were still moments, though, like now, when she could feel her pulse quicken and her stomach tighten. Most of these visits were simple, standard intelligence briefings. Occasionally there was a crisis to handle, but more often than not her duty was to inform and advise the president and the rest of the national security team as was needed.

This afternoon was going to be different, though. Nothing boring, benign or otherwise. It was going to be a high stakes game, and the players were some of Washington's most powerful. Three people in particular wanted her head on a platter-the director of National Intelligence, her supposed boss; the secretary of state; and the attorney general. On top of it all, her recent travels had tired Kennedy out. DC to Zurich and back in less than sixteen hours. Add to that the murder of Anna Rielly, the attack on the safe house, and a boss who had no idea what he was doing and you ended up with a frayed and worn-out director of the CIA. Kennedy would have preferred to go straight home to see Tommy and then go to bed early, but there was no postponing this meeting. They were too upset, and to be completely honest, there was a devious side to her that was looking forward to it. She'd learned from Rapp. Sometimes it's best to let it fly. Especially when the deck is stacked in your favor.

Kennedy checked her watch. It was 5:18 on Monday. Fortunately, she'd managed to get a few hours' sleep on both the flight over and the flight back. When she'd decided to follow the lead to Zurich, she did so with the comforting knowledge that the president would at least privately support her. She was always prepared to play the game and kiss the ring fingers and curtsy, in order to keep the Cabinet members and other important types happy. She herself, after all, was one of the important people, but that wasn't going to help her out on this one. These people were above her and she had committed the ultimate insider's sin. She had kept them out of the loop and she had stepped all over their toes. In the end, at least in their eyes, she had made them look bad. That was the problem. This group didn't like being made to look bad.