Castillo didn't bother to speak. He just looked at the man sideways like he was thinking about killing him right then and there.

The guy was wearing a white wife-beater T-shirt and a pair of super-baggy shorts. He looked down at the blue FBI hat and shook his head.

"You want to go to jail, you fucking moron?" Castillo stared at the man, half hoping he would give him an excuse to beat him to death. It might be a good lesson for the others.

"No, boss." The man was smart enough to keep from looking Castillo in the eyes.

"Well, how the fuck do you think we're gonna drive all the way out to Leesburg, kill a bunch of feds, and then get all the way the fuck back here without getting stopped? Huh?" Castillo slapped the man across the side of his head and then yelled, "Maybe you want to drive your pimped-out ghetto ride and see how far you get, you stupid bastard?"

The other gang members had stopped what they were doing to see what would happen next. Castillo did a half circle and yelled, "Does anyone else have any stupid questions?"

The gang members scrambled like cockroaches. Castillo was about to walk back into his office when his new friend entered the garage-this time with an even larger briefcase. Castillo jerked his head toward the office and the man followed. The Salvadoran closed the door so they could have some privacy.

Tayyib stood stiffly with the briefcase clutched firmly in his hand. In a cautious voice he asked, "Is everything all right?"

Castillo rolled his eyes. "That was nothing. My men will be ready."

Tayyib remained frozen for a moment, thinking of his options, which were extremely limited. "The trucks?"

Castillo nodded.

"Are they part of your plan?"

"Yes. I figure even with your diversion it might be difficult to get back into the city."

The Saudi agreed. He took it as a good sign that the man could be creative. "The car I asked for?"

"It's ready."

"I will have no problem with the law?"

"As long as you don't get pulled over you should be fine."

"What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Castillo said sharply. "It's a stolen car. We changed the plates but if you get pulled over and they ask for the registration and proof of insurance you're in trouble."

Tayyib supposed it was the best they could do on such short notice. He hoisted the briefcase onto the Salvadoran's desk. "Four hundred thousand dollars." He was tempted to add that he would find him and kill him if he didn't finish the job, but considering his limited resources, and the fact that the comment might get him shot right here and now, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

Castillo opened the case and looked inside. He smiled and asked, "Your diversion you told me about?"

"I need to borrow a few things from you."

"Like what?"

"Can you spare an RPG and a few grenades?"

Castillo thought about it and then nodded.

"Good." Tayyib checked his watch. "Be in position by nine-thirty and I'll make sure the police have their hands full." The Saudi started for the door and then stopped. Looking over his shoulder he added, "Just make sure you kill everyone."

Castillo smiled and said, "Absolutely."

53

The black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the heavy gate. Rapp stood in the living room and watched. The sun was falling in the east, shooting golden streaks of light and shadows across the fields. Rapp assumed Kennedy was in the backseat of the luxury sedan but he couldn't be sure. Lincoln Town Cars were a dime a dozen in Washington. It was 7:20, and his boss had been due to arrive at 7:00 with his brother. Steven had never been big on punctuality. Rapp had not seen his brother in almost two months. There was no strain in their relationship, it was just that they were both extremely busy. There was also the fact that the only thing they had in common was that they'd come from the same parents. At first glance, though, even that bond appeared debatable.

The car came to a stop in the circle by the front door. Out of habit Rapp watched how Kennedy's security detail operated. The man behind the wheel kept the car in drive and the guy in the shotgun seat jumped out and scanned the area a full 360 degrees. Only then did he open the director's door. Kennedy emerged from behind the heavily tinted windows and a moment later the blond, almost white head of Steven Rapp appeared from the other side of the car. Mitch smiled briefly. His brother had always had that effect on him. Steven Rapp was one of those rare individuals who were funny without having to try.

Mitch Rapp was six feet tall and weighed 185 pounds. Steven Rapp was five six and couldn't have weighed more than a buck thirty-five. Mitch had black hair; Steven had blond hair. Mitch had square broad shoulders; Steven had a slightly concave chest. Where Mitch had brown eyes, Steven's were a brilliant blue, and so the contrasts went. There had been a lot of mailman and milkman jokes while they were growing up and who could really blame the wiseasses-Mitch himself had wondered how these two opposites could have come from the same womb. Their mother for years laughed about it and claimed it was because Steven was undercooked by a full five weeks in the womb, whereas Mitch didn't want to come out and was two weeks late.

Where Mitch had been blessed with athletic ability, Steven had been blessed with intelligence, and not just your average Mensa high-IQ type intelligence. Steven was a certifiable genius with a master's degree in quantum theory from MIT. For the past four years he'd been running the hedge fund department for Salomon Brothers in New York City. His annual bonus last year had been a cool twenty-seven million dollars. Mitch had been giving him money to invest for nearly a decade, and Steven had turned several hundred thousand dollars into more than four million. He was extremely good at what he did, and Mitch was very proud of him. He was also very protective, which was why this next part was going to be awkward.

Even before their father had passed away so unexpectedly, Mitch had watched over Steven like an eagle guarding its nest. When their father died, Mitch pummeled any kid who so much as looked at Steven the wrong way. It got so bad that even Steven told him he had to find other ways to deal with his grief. This coming from his eight-year-old little brother. Even then the kid had been wise beyond his years. When their mother died of cancer, Mitch had made the extra effort to check in on him, to make sure his baby brother didn't feel alone in the big city, but Steven just kept plugging along. His work was all-consuming and that was at least something he could identify with.

Tommy Kennedy entered the room and stood next to Mitch. Rapp put his arm around the boy.

Tommy looked out the window and said, "My mom says your brother is really smart."

"Yep."

"Do you think he'll want to check out my Game Cube?"

Rapp grunted, amused by the question. Steven was the original video gamer, crushing all takers in Pong, PacMan, Asteroids, and all of the original video games. His apartment in Manhattan had a separate room just for gaming, replete with two custom chairs and a fifty-inch, high-definition plasma screen. Rapp nodded and said, "My brother will definitely want to check out your Game Cube."

Rapp made his way toward the front door. Most of the aches and pains he had felt when he finally got out of bed in the morning were now gone. His right thigh hurt a bit, and his ribs were still tender, but other than that, he felt pretty good. The wood-paneled door had one six-inch titanium dead bolt. Rapp turned the dead bolt with his left hand and opened the door with his right. A beeping noise sounded in the hallway behind him. Rapp knew that an employee of the CIA was sitting in a small security room under the horse stables noting the fact that the door was open.