the big-city vet up here in Kabul."
Coleman looked skeptical. "Sounds like a bit of a reach."
Maslick announced that they were two blocks away from the clinic.
Rapp looked out a window as they passed a green Ford Ranger pickup that was the local police department's main form of transportation. Four men were sitting in back decked out in full combat gear. More to himself than Coleman, he said, "Yeah . . . well, we're about to find out."
Chapter 15
THE office window consisted of two laterally sliding pieces of glass with an aluminum frame. There was no screen and the channel was filled with so much debris that it was difficult to open the window. It was neither a warm nor a cold October day, and the way people smoked in this city a cracked window would not stand out as a possible threat, even to someone as aware as Rapp. The assassin decided four inches would give him enough range to cover the twenty or so feet in front of the clinic's main door. He checked his sight line once again and then returned to the question that was chewing on his nerves.
It was possible that his employer was cheap and simply wanted to save himself $1.5 million, but considering the lengths that he'd gone to that was unlikely. The more plausible explanation was that this control freak on the other end of the text messages and envelopes didn't like loose ends, and the assassin was about to become a loose end. He prided himself on his instincts, and when a hunter realizes he might soon become the hunted it is a feeling that is impossible to ignore. His mind was speeding to calculate his avenues of escape, when a truly frightening thought hit him square in the cerebral cortex. What if his employer had somehow discovered his past with Rapp? Surely there were a handful of people in the U.S. government who knew the details of that catastrophe. The scales in his mind that were trying to weigh his employer's honesty against the possibility that he was being set up suddenly jerked in favor of the latter as if an anvil had been dropped on that side. There was no longer any doubt in the assassin's mind. He was being set up.
The front door did not seem like a great option, as both ends of the street were being watched, but the roof gave him even greater concern. It was obviously the avenue of escape that the employer preferred him to take, which likely meant there was a trap waiting for him. He looked down at the phone that had been his link to the employer and had the ominous feeling that it was being used to track his every move. Even worse, the thing could have a small bomb in it. Not enough to kill him unless it was placed next to his ear. Intelligence agencies had used cell phones to assassinate enemies for more than a decade. He decided he wouldn't be answering any calls.
As if on cue the phone bleeped and the screen lit up. The assassin flinched slightly and was embarrassed. Control of his nerves would be the difference between life and death. The screen told him his target was less than a minute away. It also gave him the make and model of the vehicle. As if by reflex, he picked up the M-4 and snapped the suppressor onto the end of the barrel. His eyes looked over the case, taking a quick inventory. The magazine in the rifle was the only one provided. No spares in the event of a shootout. He let out a deep sigh and the thought occurred to him that the room itself could be wired for sound and image, or worse yet, booby-trapped to explode after he'd completed his mission. That idea more than anything caused him to go through the motions. He placed the tactical sling over his head and stepped a few feet back so that no one on the street could see him. He brought the rifle up and tested the sling as if he was trying to find the right amount of tension. He eased his eye in behind the viewfinder and placed the red dot on the front door of the clinic. His mind was already counting down the seconds to Rapp's arrival. Everything at this point was natural, pounded into his brain through repetition. Physically he was doing everything that he would