The Survivor by Vince Flynn

all.
    â€œYou’ve had a long and illustrious career, Senator. But continuing to escalate your vendetta against the CIA is dangerous to both the country’s security and to you personally.”
    He gave a contrite nod.
    â€œThen I can look forward to an improved relationship with your office?”
    â€œOf course. My only concern is the safety and prosperity of America and my constituents.”
    Rapp laughed out loud but she remained serene. “Then enjoy your trip to Islamabad, Senator.”
    He was unaccustomed to being dismissed and just sat there with a confused expression until Rapp spoke.
    â€œShe means get the fuck out, dipshit.”
    That set him into motion. He stood, took one last look at the file on the desk, and then hurried to the door. Rapp waited until it was closed to speak again.
    â€œI looked at the official schedule for his trip. Just another excuse for a bunch of congressmen to ride around in limos and go shopping.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œYou think it’s more?”
    â€œHe’s a man used to power, Mitch. Is his ego really going to allow him to subordinate himself? To admit that he’s lost this battle?”
    â€œIf he’s smart it will.”
    â€œBut he’s not—he’s a good politician. Like you’re fond of pointing out, there’s a difference.”
    â€œIf we’re going to make a play for him, we should do it while he’s over there. It’ll be easier to cover up. We could make it look like a heart attack.” He paused and smiled in a way that made even her feel a little uncomfortable. “Or we could go for irony. Make him the victim of a phony terrorist attack.”
    â€œI didn’t hear any of that.”
    â€œNo? Well, hear this, Irene. If you want to watch him and try to turn him into your lapdog, fine. Right now Carl Ferris is just a pathetic joke to me. But when I stop laughing, he stops breathing.”

CHAPTER 9
    T HE F ARM
    N EAR H ARPERS F ERRY
    W EST V IRGINIA
    U.S.A.
    O NCE again, Mitch Rapp found himself standing in front of the cell holding Louis-Philippe Gould. And once again, Stan Hurley was watching.
    â€œWant me to hold on to your gun?”
    It was a noticeable change in his friend’s attitude. A few days ago, he’d have paid money to walk in there and execute the Frenchman. Now they needed him. Hurley perhaps more than anyone.
    â€œTurn off the cameras, Stan.”
    â€œIrene was pretty specific about that. She says they stay on.”
    â€œDon’t make me repeat myself, old man.”
    Hurley swore under his breath and took a seat in front of a computer terminal at the end of the corridor. He wasn’t exactly from the digital era, and it took him a few moments with the mouse to find the right application. Finally, he turned back to Rapp.
    â€œI’ve still got the image, but it’s not recording. You need to leave him alive, Mitch. But if you can’t, do it close range and sloppy. That way we can tell Irene he went for your gun.”
    Rapp reached for the door, trying to shut off his emotions as itswung open. This wasn’t about him or his past. It was about his job and the countless people who would die if he failed to do it.
    The former French Foreign Legionnaire was sitting sideways on the cell’s only cot, his back against the concrete wall. He was just a bit shorter than Rapp with longish dark hair tucked behind his ears. The bruising on his face from their last meeting had mostly faded but a line of stitches was still visible on his right cheek.
    â€œAre you here to kill me?”
    Despite being a French national, there was no hint of an accent.
    â€œThat’s up to you.”
    â€œAre Claudia and Anna all right?”
    His wife and daughter. The reason Rapp hadn’t put a bullet in the man years ago.
    â€œWhat do you care?”
    The calculatedly disarming smile Gould always wore faded. It seemed likely that he didn’t want to