55

Steven carried the conversation during dinner, regaling Irene and Tommy with stories of what Mitch had been like growing up. His quirky, self-depreciating sense of humor helped take everyone's mind off the tragedy for a short while. Even so, there had been moments during the meal where Mitch would get that faraway look in his eye. To his brother, it was obvious he was thinking of Anna. Steven would respond by saying, "Remember that time…" and then he would be off telling another story.

The meal wound down, the wineglasses were drained, and young Tommy let out a yawn. Irene took this as an opportunity to give the two Rapp brothers a moment alone. She had decided since it was a Saturday night and Mitch was up and moving around that it would be best if they all stayed over. Steven had agreed. "It looks like someone is ready for bed."

Tommy shook his head. "No. I don't have school tomorrow."

"It's still late."

"But I didn't get a chance to show Steven my Game Cube."

Kennedy looked up at the grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room. It wasn't yet 9:30. Before she could respond, Steven Rapp asked, "You have a Game Cube?"

Tommy nodded enthusiastically. "Yep!"

"What games?"

"Tony Hawk Pro Skater Four, Star Wars…" Tommy rattled off a half dozen titles.

"How much money do you have on you?"

Tommy looked confused, not quite understanding why the question was being asked.

"Hundred bucks a game. You and me."

Tommy's eyes got big and he looked at Mitch, who was shaking his head. Mitch looked at his brother and asked, "You like picking on an eight-year-old?"

"You sure had no problem doing it when I was his age."

Mitch just shook his head rather than go down that road again.

"All right," Steven said, "a buck a game, and I'll spot you as many points as you want."

"First we do the dishes," Irene insisted. "Come on, Thomas, help me clear the table." Irene stood. "Would anyone like any coffee?"

Both men declined.

"Why don't you two go into the living room and relax?"

As Irene and Tommy picked up the dishes, Mitch grabbed another bottle of wine from the sideboard and opened it. He filled his glass and offered some to Steven.

"Why not?" his brother said. "I'm not driving tonight."

They walked into the formal living room. It had a distinctly feminine feel: yellow walls; white enameled woodwork; blue and yellow floral patterned drapes; an ivory-colored couch with a mishmash of pastel pillows, matching side chairs, and white carpeting. Like most of the house, it looked like it hadn't been decorated since the mid-eighties. Mitch sat on one end of the couch and his brother took the other end.

There was an awkward moment of silence and then Steven asked, "Have you made any plans for the funeral?"

Rapp stared off into space and shook his head. "Her parents are handling all of that."

"Don't you think you should have a say in the matter?"

"I got their daughter killed, Steven. I think that disqualifies me from having a say in anything."

"Have you talked to them?"

"No."

"Don't you think you should?"

"I'm going to see them tomorrow." Mitch looked into his wineglass and added, "I have no idea what I'm going to say. She was their only daughter. They adored her." His eyes misted over. "They were so damn proud of her." He thought of the pain they must be in. Their beautiful daughter was gone forever.

Steven was at a loss for words.

Mitch looked up with tear-filled eyes. "I'm fucking falling apart. I never felt more helpless in my life."

"I don't know…you were in pretty rough shape after Maureen died." Steven was referring to his brother's girlfriend who had been aboard the Pan Am flight that had been blown out of the sky over Lockerbie, Scotland.

"That was nothing compared to this. I was a kid back then. I didn't know what real love was."

"That's a lie," Steven said a bit forcefully. "You and Maureen were in love, and that's not taking anything away from Anna. It's simply the truth. You survived her death, and you'll survive Anna's. It's not going to be easy, but you owe it to her." Irene had explained to Steven that his brother was nearly catatonic over his wife's death. One of the doctors had recommended putting him under suicide watch. Steven had never hidden a thing from his big brother and he wasn't about to start now. "The last thing she'd want is for you to take your own life over this."

Mitch made a face that suggested his brother's concern was an insult. "Steven, I would never kill myself. That's not my problem. It's what I'm going to do when I get out of here."

"How do you mean?"

Mitch didn't get to answer the question. There was a noise from outside that caught his attention. His face turned to the ceiling, his ears focusing intently on the slightest sound. The solid construction gave the house great insulation, but even so, Mitch had spent so much time on gun ranges, indoors and out, that there was no mistaking what came next. The muffled crack of a rifle.

"Irene!" Mitch screamed at the top of his lungs. There were several more shots and he sprang to his feet. "Where are your bodyguards?"

Mitch grabbed Steven by the arm and yanked him out of the chair. More muffled shots rang out. They moved quickly from the living room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen.

Kennedy was at the kitchen sink, Tommy at her side. She had a dish-towel in her hand and a confused look on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Gunfire outside!"

"I didn't hear a thing."

"Trust me. Where are your bodyguards?"

"They're outside."

"Shit!"

Mitch grabbed mother and son by the arms and moved them quickly across the kitchen. Kennedy had the presence of mind to grab her purse from the counter.

"Get to the tunnel and head over to the interrogation facility." Rapp opened the door to the basement and started moving the Kennedys and his brother down the stairs. "When you get over there lock yourselves in one of the cells. Go!" Mitch yelled.

"But what are you-" Kennedy started to ask.

There was an explosion outside that shook the house. "Go, dammit!" Rapp screamed. He slammed the door shut and raced across the kitchen for the back stairs. He bounded up the first two steps, ignored the instant pain from his thigh injury, and continued up the steps two at a time, grabbing the handrail as he went. At the small landing there was another explosion. As Rapp reached the second floor he heard machine-gun fire from the rear of the house and wondered if he'd made the wrong decision to stay behind.

56

Castillo rode in the first Suburban. A mile short of the house he told the men in his vehicle to get ready. A short while later the gate came into view, and Castillo hit the switch for the emergency lights. The driver crossed over into the oncoming lane, down onto the shoulder, and then jerked the vehicle to the right and skidded to a stop directly across from the tall black gate. The second Suburban pulled up alongside the first, and the third one continued just past the entrance, came to a sudden stop, and then backed up. Two men in blue coveralls and FBI baseball caps jumped out and wrapped a heavy chain around the center of the gate. They hooked the other end to the trailer hitch on the truck and scrambled out of the way. The vehicle lurched forward in four-wheel drive, slowed for a second as the gate resisted, and then there was a loud screeching noise as the metal began to twist. One after another, the anchor bolts that held the gate to the stone columns popped free and the gate came crashing down. The truck dragged the twisted black bars out of the way and the two waiting Suburbans raced up the long driveway.