a business partner on several very lucrative deals. I am building him a house on the property next to this one. It is beautiful. It is where you will stay."
Rickman's head hurt and he could sense that the OxyContin he'd taken four hours ago was beginning to wear off. "So I will assume this man's identity?"
Durrani clapped his hands together. "Exactly! You will have a life and you will be hiding in plain sight. The Americans will never figure it out."
"The plastic surgeon?"
"He will be here in two days."
The scope of Durrani's new twist was starting to sink in. "You will make me look like him?"
"Yes," Durrani said excitedly. "You will study his past. I have compiled a detailed dossier for you, with photographs and every imaginable detail. His parents are dead and his only relative is a sister in Hawaii whom he has no contact with. He is, what do you call a fellow American who leaves your country?"
"An expatriate."
"Yes . . . that is it. He is an expatriate. For the few people who know him I will let them know that he was set upon by thieves in Rawalpindi and suffered a savage beating. It will explain your surgery and the swelling for the next few months, but best of all you will now have a past."
"A legend."
"Excuse me?"
Rickman was thinking. "In the business, we call it a legend."
"Yes . . . well, whatever you call it, this will give you more freedom, and if your former employers ever dig into your new identity, they won't find anything suspicious."
Rickman had to admit that it was a very good tweak to their plan. The plan had been for him to get a new face and take on a fake name. They reasoned if he kept a low-enough profile the CIA would never notice, but this was even better. "I must applaud you, General. This is an improvement."
"You are welcome," Durrani said with a short bow. Then, directing his attention to Kassar, he said, "Take him through the tunnels to the garage and then when it's dark out, take him to the incinerator."
"Hold on a minute," Rickman said with a sinking feeling. "I thought Vazir was supposed to be handling my problem in Zurich."
"He is. He will leave first thing in the morning."
Rickman was gripped with panic and began cursing himself for taking the pain pills. "I told you the banker had to be dealt with immediately."
"Calm down. Vazir needed to take care of this first, and now he is going to rid you of your problem."
"But I told you it had to happen immediately. If Rapp discovers him, we are going to have some serious problems."
"I have heard that Mr. Rapp has some other problems he is dealing with." Durrani sounded very pleased. "That information you sent the FBI agent has worked. The agent is running an investigation on Rapp. Now when Vazir kills the banker it will make Rapp and the CIA look that much more guilty. I have instructed Vazir to make the murder look sensational."
"Bad idea." Rickman suddenly felt as if he was dealing with an amateur. "If you want it to look like Rapp, put a single bullet in Obrecht's head."
"Front or back?" Kassar asked.
"Doesn't matter, just so long as Obrecht is dead."
"Nine-millimeter, .40, Sig, .45?" Kassar asked, wondering what caliber gun was Rapp's preference.
"For something close like this he'd use a nine-millimeter."
Kassar nodded with confidence.
Rickman was suddenly back in operation mode, wishing he was healthy enough to go along and direct Kassar and his men. "How many people are you taking?"
"I was planning on handling it myself. Smaller footprint. Easier to move."
That was how Rapp liked to operate. "And on the off chance you run into Rapp while you are dealing with Obrecht?"
Kassar's expression remained unreadable. "It depends on where I see him, but I assume I will have the advantage, as I know what he looks like but he doesn't know me."
A small laugh passed through Rickman's battered lips. "It doesn't matter. He will sense you. He'll smell you from a mile away. I can't explain how he does it. Must be some kind of genetic survival instinct going back to when his ancestors were running from dinosaurs and shit." Rickman wished he could use his old contacts to find out what Rapp was up to.
Durrani folded his arms across his chest and flexed his knees. "I think you give this Mr. Rapp too much credit. You have built him into some