“Doesn’t matter,” Coleman said as the elevator opened and they stepped out. “He’s not going to call, and the only time you’re going to lay eyes on them is when you turn them over to stadium security. No one’s going to try to kill them. No one’s going to shoot at you. Just sit in the comfy chair, play Angry Birds on your phone, and collect twenty grand a day.”
“I thought you said you were charging him fifty.”
“I gotta cover my overhead,” Coleman said and pointed to a chair set up next to a set of opulent double doors. Rapp lowered himself into it.
“What do you think?”
“It actually is pretty comfortable.”
“Here’s the key to the elevator and a key to the room that you won’t need. Enjoy and don’t forget to remind Claudia to water my plants. I’ll see you when I get back in a couple weeks.”
• • •
“So that’s the chef’s salad to start, the filet with french fries instead of baked potato, and a Coke.” The room service guy lifted a silver cover off the plate and snapped out a napkin before dropping it in Rapp’s lap.
“Did you forget the cheesecake?”
“Of course not. It’s on the lower shelf. Best in the city. Did you want this on Mr. Coleman’s account or on the room?”
“Definitely the room,” Rapp said, reaching for his silverware.
“Anything else I can do?”
“Put a thirty percent tip on there for yourself.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
Rapp expected him to disappear down the hallway like Coleman had a few hours ago, but instead he just stood there.
“Problem?”
“What are they like?”
Rapp shrugged and cut into the steak.
“Didier’s music makes my ears bleed, but Katy . . .” His voice faded for a moment. “That woman is smoking hot. Wouldn’t it be nice to be in there with her instead of out here?”
Rapp shoved the bite of steak into his mouth and grunted noncommittally. In truth, he had no idea what either one of them looked like. Though it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to check Google since he was supposed to be protecting them.
The man stared at the doors longingly for another couple of seconds and then started back for the elevator.
Rapp watched him go and then returned his attention to his filet. It was good, but not good enough to distract him from the fact that his life suddenly felt foreign to him. Normally, he savored boredom. It generally went hand in hand with his time between operations, and it gave him a chance to sleep, heal, and plan the next mission. This was different. He wasn’t tired, he didn’t have any injuries, and there was no next mission.
A stream of screamed curse words managed to filter through the door, breaking the hours of silence. He ignored them, taking a thoughtful sip of his Coke.
The fight against Islamic terrorists had been, in many ways, easy. The enemy was a bunch of religious fanatics perpetrating unprovoked attacks on civilians with no real purpose other than to create suffering. There were white hats and there were black hats. And while the tunnel was long, it was also straight. When you killed all the people in the black hats, the job was done.
The muffled crash of shattering glass became audible as he popped another piece of steak in his mouth.
Now the operating environment was changing. More and more, threats seemed to come from within. He’d been dealing with corrupt politicians his entire life, but there had always been the cover of a few good ones. Now they were running for the exits. In a few months, Christine Barnett could be the president of the United States. Kennedy would be out, as would pretty much every other person he respected in Washington.
What then? Comfortable chairs in hotel hallways?
The crash that came next was a hell of a lot louder—like a piece of furniture being thrown through a plate glass window. Had to be something else, though. Architects had gotten wise to celebrities throwing things through penthouse windows and had made them shatterproof.
Rapp leaned back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully.
Where did he fit into a world where the definition of “enemy” was becoming a constantly shifting matter of perspective? Where people were judged by their words and not their actions? Maybe nowhere. Maybe it was time to hand things over to the younger generation.
The next time the woman screamed, it wasn’t to swear. Her voice was filled with fear and pain, and was partially drowned out by an enraged male