Satisfied that he was appropriately groomed for a job interview, Rapp strode back out into the hallway. It was still empty and he headed unchallenged toward the large, palm-frond-covered terrace he’d noticed when he arrived.
On his way across the living room, a plump woman in her fifties appeared from a door to the right. She stopped short, giving him a quizzical look as she wiped her hands on an apron that appeared to have seen some serious action. Just the person he was looking for.
“Breakfast?”
Her eyes narrowed as she tried to decipher what he’d said.
“Comida?” he managed to dredge from his memory.
That got a nod.
“Cómo se llama?”
“María, señor.”
“María. Café?”
That got another nod, but he wasn’t through his Spanish repertoire yet.
“Huevos rancheros?”
“Sí, señor.”
“Perfecto. Y orange juice.” He pantomimed holding a glass. “Uh, naranja. Sí? Muy grande. Mucho hielo.”
“Entiendo. Tortillas de harina o maíz?”
He had no idea what she’d just said, but on the subject of food his instinct was to just agree with whatever this woman recommended. “Sí.”
She didn’t seem to fully understand his response, but he wasn’t worried. “Dónde está Señor Esparza?”
She pointed. “En la terraza.”
Esparza was right where María said he would be, sitting at a table with a plate of fruit and a newspaper in front of him. The entire terrace—including the fountain and massive fireplace—were shaded and protected from overhead surveillance by foliage. The bugs were a little thick, but at least they weren’t for breakfast anymore.
The cartel leader didn’t look up until Rapp sat down across from him. His confused expression only lasted a split second before recognition set in. He looked like he was about to shout for help from the surrounding guards, but Rapp spoke first.
“I figured you’d probably heard something back from your contacts by now.”
There was a place setting in front of him, so Rapp shook out the cloth napkin and set it on his lap.
Esparza was frozen, eyes flicking to the knife near Rapp’s right hand. His body language suggested he was going to throw himself backward and call in a little machine gun fire, but then María appeared with a cup of coffee and a pitcher of icy, fresh-squeezed orange juice.
“Gracias,” Rapp said, accepting it with a disarming smile. Esparza’s desperation to escape seemed to wane as Rapp poured himself a glass of juice and downed it in a few gulps.
“I see you’re making yourself at home,” he said, examining the clothes Rapp was wearing.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind,” Rapp responded, testing the coffee. Not surprisingly, it was top-notch. “What have you been able to figure out?”
Esparza remained silent for a few seconds before finally speaking. “That it’s possible you’re who you say you are. There’s a surprising amount of information available on the recent activities of Mitch Rapp but getting confirmation is difficult. My assistant is supposed to have a more thorough report for me this morning.”
María returned with the huevos rancheros and Rapp dug in as the cartel leader looked on.
“It appears that you stole a fair amount of money over your career.”
“Stole, my ass.”
“So you deny the accusations your government is making?”
“I took money from terrorists and the people who funded them. I’ve been hanging it out there for America for twenty fucking years and my annual salary wouldn’t cover the clothes I found in your guest bedroom. And what if one of my enemies came after me and I had to run? You think the politicians would help me out? I sure as hell wouldn’t bet my life on it. So, sure. I had a few rainy day funds.”
“Invested stupidly, apparently.”
“I got some bad advice. Not really my area of expertise.”
“A man with friends like yours could make these kinds of problems go away with the snap of a finger.”
Rapp shoveled another forkful of María’s amazing eggs in his mouth and shook his head. “Could is the operative word there, Carlos. Past tense. President Alexander isn’t going to get anywhere near a scandal during this clusterfuck of an election. And Christine Barnett wants nothing more than to hang me up by my balls.”
“An uncomfortable position.”
“You think?” Rapp said, letting the volume of his voice rise. “I’ve been shot, stabbed, set on fire, and blown up. Twice. All in the defense of the Stars and Stripes. And all I asked in return was enough money to survive my retirement.” He was almost shouting now, demonstrating the kind of passion that a man like Esparza would appreciate, but not so much that it would worry the