several times and asked Rapp, "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
"I think so," Rapp replied calmly.
"I'm not sure you do. That man is crazy." Hubbard pointed toward the door as if Zahir was still there. "I have to work with him. What in the hell were you thinking?"
Rapp remained cool and said, "You can't bribe a guy like that. He'll screw you over in the end. Every time. The only way to deal with a guy like Zahir is to make him fear for his life."
Hubbard was incredulous. "Darren is going to flip when he finds out. He's worked nearly a year to bring Zahir back into the fold."
At the mention of Sickles's first name Rapp began to lose his grip. "Darren is an idiot."
"Idiot or not, he's my boss and the Agency's top guy here in Afghanistan."
"Are you done?" It was more of a warning than a question.
"No . . . I'm not done. I'm far from done. You're going to be here for a week or two at the most and then you'll head back to the States and I'll have to deal with him. You don't know shit about Zahir. He's a ruthless son of a bitch. He's probably going to kill me."
"Then kill him first," Rapp growled.
Hubbard looked at Rapp as if he'd lost his mind. "Darren's his handler . . . I can't kill him."
"I'll deal with Darren. In the meantime you need to grow a set of balls. The way you let him walk in here and talk to you. What the hell is wrong with you? You work for the damn Agency, Hub, not the State Department. Start acting like it, or find another job. Shit . . . you've got mercenaries, former Taliban, Northern Alliance, former coalition Special Forces . . . they're all hanging out looking to make a buck. You could have gone to Rick, given him ten or twenty grand, and found fifteen guys that'd be willing to shoot the prick in the head when he left his house in the morning."
"It's not that easy."
"Really?" Rapp asked, his jaw clenched with anger. "Well, then I must be frickin' Superman, because I've lost track of how many scumbags like Zahir I've plugged over the years. It's not fuckin' rocket science," Rapp said, poking Hubbard in the chest.
"Darren would lose his mind," Hubbard said in his own defense.
"I just told you, I'll deal with Darren." Rapp couldn't wait to get his hands on the pencil-pushing prick. "Right now I need you to work every source you have. Start shaking the trees and find out what happened to Rick, and if you run into Zahir and he so much as looks at you the wrong way I want you to call me. Do you understand?"
Hubbard slowly nodded, knowing it was unwise to continue to push the point with Rapp. "Yeah, I'll get on it."
"Good, and remember, we need to move fast." Rapp heard his name called from upstairs. He looked at the staircase and then back at Hubbard. He slapped the taller man on the shoulder and said, "Remember who we are, Hub. Don't take any crap . . . especially for the next forty-eight hours. If we don't get Rick back, Zahir is going to be the least of our problems."
Hubbard moved toward the door. Coleman stood at Rapp's side, his .45 caliber H&K hanging loosely at his side. When the junior operative was gone, Coleman said, "I'm not sure he's cut out for this job."
Rapp wasn't sure either, but he couldn't be mad at Hubbard. "If Darren Sickles had been my boss God only knows how I would have turned out."
Coleman kept his blue eyes focused on the door and said, "If Darren Sickles had been your boss, you would have killed him. Hell, Stan was your boss and you almost killed him, and he's one tough bastard. Sickles is a pussy."
Rapp thought of Stan Hurley, the man who had trained him. Pound for pound, Hurley was the toughest man Rapp had ever known - one mean son of a bitch. That was more than twenty years ago, though. More recently, Hurley had begun to show his age. His mind was still sharp as hell, but he was looking frail. "They don't make 'em like Stan anymore."
Coleman cracked a smile. "They sure don't, but you're not too far off."
Rapp feigned insult. "Are you trying to say I'm some crotchety, set-in-his-ways old man who drinks and smokes too