The Third Option

Jeff Duser heard the noise outside and instinctively reached for his gun. A second later, he thought he heard the front door opening. He turned to look and grabbed for his Glock. As he was pulling the weapon from his holster, a dark-featured man came around the comer with a gun in his hand. Duser freed his weapon from the holster and frantically tried to bring it to bear on the stranger. As he did so, he muttered, «Who the fuck are you?»

Rapp fired once and kept moving. The bullet hit exactly where he intended it to – dead center, right between the man's eyebrows. As he crossed the kitchen, he kept his gun aimed at the second man, who was standing by the back door. The guy made no effort to reach for his weapon as Rapp closed on him. He slowly brought his hands up. Rapp brought a finger to his lips and gestured with his gun for him to lie down on the floor. Rapp turned to Coleman and said, «Take care of him. I'm going upstairs.»

PETER CAMERON WAS sitting in the living room of his Georgetown apartment, eyes wide, clutching his digital phone to his ear. Something was wrong. He had been talking to Duser. Everything seemed fine, and then there were Duser's first words of alarm, followed just a few seconds later by Duser saying, «Who the fuck are you?» Then came the loud crash that Cameron guessed was the phone on the other end dropping to the floor. Cameron squeezed his phone tightly as he strained to listen to what was going on.

There was some background noise, and then came an unmistakable voice. Upon hearing Rapp speak, Cameron became so unsettled he almost threw the phone across the room.

In a hushed and panicked voice, Cameron asked, «Jeff, are you there? For Christ's sake, answer me.» Cameron listened for a while. He heard some other voices now, voices he didn't recognize, and then some breathing. «Jeff, is that you? Answer me, dammit.» A moment after that, the line went dead.

Cameron stood and began frantically pacing his apartment. He scrambled to piece together what had just happened. How had it happened? How in the hell had Rapp figured out what was going on? Was it just luck? Did he just happen to go by his house to fetch something, or was he on to him? He couldn't begin to think of what he would tell Clark. Was there any way Rapp could learn his real identity from Duser? Cameron felt confident there wasn't, but then again, he had felt he had the upper hand against Rapp every step of the way, and the man kept proving him wrong. Cameron remembered the feeling of true fear he had had in the woods in Germany when he had attempted to follow Rapp. Cameron suddenly felt very unsafe in his apartment.

It might be time to lie low for a while, he thought. Cameron had a prearranged plan for this. He went into his bedroom and grabbed a suitcase from his closet. He tossed it onto the bed and started to fill it with essentials. His heart almost leaped from his chest when he heard his phone ring. Cameron raced from the bedroom and grabbed his mobile phone from the coffee table. He checked the readout before answering. It was Duser.

Cameron pushed the send button and said, «What in the hell happened?»

There was no reply for several seconds, and then, «I'm going to give you one more chance to live. Tell me who you work for right now, or I will hunt your fat, bearded ass down, and I will make sure you suffer a very slow and painful death. And don't think for a minute that you can run from me. Wherever you go, I will find you.»

Cameron's free hand touched his beard while he looked in the mirror above his fireplace. Rapp knew what he looked like. Not knowing what to say, Cameron did the only thing he could think of. He ended the call and stood staring at himself in the mirror. With a chill creeping over every inch of his skin, he went into the bathroom and began to shave.

40

The sun was up but not out. Thick gray clouds once again blanketed the skies above Washington like a dirty circus tent. Rapp was tired but nowhere near exhaustion. Knowing that A

Rapp had considered arranging protection through Ke

Rielly had seen him kill before. He had done so to save her life and the lives of others. It helped that, in the most basic terms, her boyfriend was a good guy, and the people he killed were not, and it also helped that she had grown up in a house filled with cops. But, like ice on a broken wrist, though knowing these things made the pain better, it didn't solve the problem. What Rapp did for a living bothered her. It bothered her in a very real way, and Rapp knew if he didn't put his killing behind him, he would lose her. She was too special to let that happen. This would be the end of his days with the CIA. It was time to get out.

As he pulled off the Georgetown Pike, he checked the clock on the dash of his car. It was approaching seven in the morning. A short while later, he pulled up to the gate at the end of Director Stansfield's driveway. The ninja-clad machine-gun-toting security officers let him through without checking his ill. Rapp had called ahead and told Ke

He knocked on die front door, and a second later it was opened by a man with a large bruise on his jaw. The CIA security officer looked less than enthused to see his midnight assailant. Rapp eyed the man and asked, «How's your jaw?»

«Sore.»

«Good.» Rapp walked past him. «Maybe it'll teach you to be a little more careful next time.» He continued down the hall and into the study. He didn't care if the man liked him. This business wasn't about popularity. Rapp only hoped he would learn from his mistake.

Ke

«From Hornig?» Rapp was referring to Dr. Jane Hornig. The woman specialized in getting information out of people who didn't want to talk. Rapp had sent the two men they had taken alive to Hornig for interrogation.