jerked back, raising an arm protectively as the man spoke.
“Mitch Rapp sends his compliments, motherfucker.”
CHAPTER 53
FORT DETRICK
MARYLAND
USA
RAPP lifted the remote control with difficulty, using it to increase the volume of the television bolted to the wall.
Senator Christine Barnett was jogging up the Capitol steps, besieged by reporters shouting questions, aiming cameras, and jostling each other with outstretched microphones. The press that she’d manipulated for so long suddenly seemed completely beyond her control.
“. . . leak exposed a counterterrorist operation and allowed a serious threat to cross the border,” someone shouted. “Is your committee going to investigate?”
“Of course,” she said, looking haggard and uncertain. “This is an extremely important matter and it’ll be fully vetted.”
The authoritative rhythm of her speech was gone now. Her responses seemed canned. Fake.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she continued, trying to pick up her pace without looking like she was breaking into a full run, “I have a meeting.”
The screen faded back to an interview with a governor who was running a distant second to Barnett in her party’s presidential primary. Rapp had met him on a number of occasions and in the scheme of things he wasn’t that bad. A former army captain whose brain hadn’t yet been completely scrambled by Washington.
“Your thoughts?” the host said.
“Obviously, there are a lot of questions here. About the leaks. About the senator’s attacks on the CIA and DEA operatives putting their lives on the line to protect America. It’s my understanding that the man who captured the ISIS truck and delivered it to the army may not survive. I wonder if she would have done the same for her country?”
“And the reports that her campaign manager Kevin Gray has resigned and is being interviewed by the FBI?”
“More questions,” the man agreed. “If Senator Barnett intends to lead our party in the next presidential election, they’re going to need to be answered.”
They cut to a clip that Rapp had seen before and he hit the pause button to freeze Barnett’s face in a deer-in-the-headlights expression that bordered on fear. It was his favorite shot of her.
He sank back into the pillows and focused on a ceiling that had become a little too familiar over the past couple of weeks. The room he was imprisoned in was about twenty feet square, constructed mostly of stainless steel and glass. Mysterious medical machines hummed around him, displaying vital signs and other information that confirmed he was still alive. As though the cracking headache and constant labor of getting air in and out weren’t enough.
The illness had hit him thirty-six hours after he’d been quarantined. It started with a single, innocuous cough and then progressed to a temperature north of 104, a respirator, and finally unconsciousness.
He heard a familiar hiss to his left and let his head loll over to watch Gary Statham come through the air lock in full biohazard gear.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked while he checked the machines.
“Great.”
“Happy to hear it. I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
“What’re you talking about?” Rapp managed to get out. “You’ve been telling me I was going to be fine since I got here.”
“I was lying. But today I come bearing good tidings. Your lungs and kidneys look good and we’re not seeing any permanent damage. It’s going to take a little time but you’re going to make a full recovery.”
“Is that straight? Or another lie?”
“That’s straight,” Statham said, turning toward the bed. He was a little hard to hear through the space suit. “You’ll be back shooting people in the face before you know it.”
“Outstanding,” Rapp said, already a little out of breath from the conversation. It was hard to imagine even being able to get out of bed. Combat seemed a million miles away.
“Believe it or not, there are some people here who seem anxious to see you. Are you up for a five-minute visit?”
“Sure.”
Statham clipped a microphone to Rapp’s shirt and then disappeared back through the air lock. A few moments later, Claudia and Anna appeared on the other side of a long window to his right.
“They tell me you’re going to be fine,” Claudia said, sounding relieved, but still looking worried beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.
“Mom says you got the flu,” Anna said, straining to get eye level with the bottom of the viewing window. “My teacher says they have shots for that.”
Every time he came home from an operation the worse for wear, they had to come up with a cover story. And every time, his invented