The Last Man: A Novel Page 0,27

assassin liked. He also liked that the client was offering a large sum of money. His finances were still in decent shape, but $3 million would go a long way. The only thing that he didn't like was that the target was described only in vague terms. But even though he didn't like it, it wasn't that unusual. The most serious clients usually made you jump through a few hoops to gauge if they could trust you, and then they would reveal the full identity of the target.

The size of the contract, combined with the challenge of assassinating an American official in Afghanistan, was too much to resist. So, as per the instructions, he turned on the smartphone, tapped the texting icon, and punched his answer into the dialogue box. That had been two weeks ago. Since then, the assassin had flown more than twenty thousand miles and received $1 million in three separate wire transfers. As per his orders, he had checked into the Kabul Grand Hotel the previous day and patiently awaited further instructions.

Five minutes earlier a text had informed him that the target was headed his way in a military convoy consisting of three vehicles. The first tan MRAP came into view and the assassin's anticipation grew that he would finally learn the identity of the target. He'd spent much of the last two weeks wondering who it could be. He liked a challenge, so part of him was hoping it would be the ambassador or a four-star general, and based on the fee his wishes were likely to come true. He'd done some checking, however, and the ambassador was already at the embassy, so he could rule him out.

The trucks came to a stop outside the main gate of the embassy, as was to be expected. A few seconds later, he watched as the back hatch of the last vehicle opened. A head popped out into the bright sunlight and the assassin squinted as he watched a man hurry down the steps. His fingers quickly adjusted the camera and brought the picture in tight on the man. The hair on the back of the assassin's neck bristled with a combination of excitement and fear. His job had just gone from complicated to dangerous.

Most of his targets over the years had been businessmen or government officials who were either too corrupt or too pious. Usually men in their fifties or sixties who were out of shape, their senses almost completely dulled by women, drugs, booze, and a life of luxury. They were often surrounded by bodyguards who were well past their prime. The man he was now staring at on his screen was far from past his prime, and even if had lost a step he was perhaps one of the most dangerous animals on the planet. It had been a few years since the assassin had last seen the CIA operative, but the details of that near-death experience were forever seared into his psyche. He still moved with that rare mix of athleticism, grace, and menace. He stopped next to a soldier and spoke a few words. The assassin watched as Rapp's head turned from side to side, surveying the landscape for any threats.

His first encounter with Rapp had been eerily similar. Even back then there was a part of his deeply embedded survival instinct that told him this wasn't someone to be messed with. The challenge, however, proved too great to resist, and the assassin was lucky to be alive. Reason would dictate that Rapp was here to protect the prospective target. The assassin ran through a quick list of possibilities. A mid-level CIA official would not garner a $3 million payday, and it was unlikely that Rapp would be wasting his time riding shotgun for such a person. It was possible that it could be an Afghan official, but again the price was too high. The image of the woman popped into his mind almost without effort. Irene Kennedy was the director of the CIA, and she and Rapp were very close. That would make perfect sense.

It had to be Irene Kennedy, the director of the CIA. The assassin suddenly got the feeling that he had made a huge mistake. As a general rule the CIA was not an organization you wanted to cross swords with, precisely because they had men like Rapp who would hunt you to the end of the world to settle the score. The price also seemed a little low

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