Executive Power

Pensively, he turned away from the window with the expression of a man who was lost in thought. He put on his suit coat over his holstered 9mm Beretta and started for the door. He paused on the threshold and looked back at the three analysts.

"Good job, I'll see you at the plane."

Rapp walked past the elevators to the stairs and started down.

Raising his digitally encrypted radio to his mouth he said, "Scott, I'm coming down. Meet me by the east entrance of the hotel with the car."

SEVENTY SIX.

Omar was in a hurry to join in the revelry. He'd kicked everyone off the yacht so he could have his private meeting with David and with that little piece of business taken care of he was ready to enjoy the evening. His cousins had gone ahead to the Casino Club to try to procure some women for the trip to St. Tropez in the morning. He would much prefer it if they could find some young aspiring actress to join them, rather than the usual whores they had to pay for. The young ones were so much fun to corrupt.

Omar had lent large amounts of money to Italian, French and American producers over the years and the walls of the ship's upper gallery were adorned with autographed head shots of the silver screen's elite. The photos never failed to impress the naive teenagers. The size of the yacht, the opulence of the furnishings, the photographs, they overwhelmed the vulnerable young women. And if that wasn't enough, there was a full complement of drugs that could be used either overtly or surreptitiously to melt away their inhibitions.

Omar stepped from his yacht onto the pier. It was a clear night and the fresh air of the Mediterranean felt wonderful. Killing David had livened his senses. He couldn't wait for the rest of the evening's entertainment.

His cousins would immensely enjoy watching the tape of Chung strangling the insolent Palestinian. None of them liked him.

Omar had been very fond of David at first, but his impudent attitude had worn thin. His disapproving looks and his refusal to join in the sexual merriment became increasingly intolerable. He was only a Palestinian after all, and his place in the pecking order of the Arab tribes was at the very bottom. The fact that he didn't know his place in society and that he kept asking for more money was what had made the decision easy. Besides, Omar would sleep much easier knowing that David would not be telling or selling his secrets to the wrong party.

Rapp watched the portly Arab waddle down the pier in his shiny suit. His mountainous Chinese bodyguard walked in front of him, his head turning and his eyes deliberately sweeping the path before them like a spotlight atop a citadel searching for danger. Rapp had read the British surveillance reports, probing for a weakness. The boat would have been difficult, too many people and almost no set schedule. Someone was always up and moving about. There was the bathroom at the casino, and there was the party room at the hotel. There were all kinds of options that if Rapp absolutely had to, he could have made work, but he was short on time and forcing something often led to mistakes. In Rapp's line of work, mistakes could get someone other than the target killed or at a bare minimum cause an international crisis. Fortunately one very straightforward opportunity jumped off the page at him.

Rapp was not acting without orders. The President didn't know what he was about to do, but that had been intentional. In operations such as this it was best to insulate the President and the office from any blame. Rapp and Ke

Through his earpiece he could hear the operational chatter of Scott Coleman receiving updates from the other men. It was nothing more than background noise for Rapp. He could clearly see Omar and Chung from where he was stationed. The others were there as backup to monitor the local police frequencies and finish the job if for some reason Rapp fell short, which he had absolutely no intention of doing.

Chung reached the limousine first. Even though the casino was only a few short blocks away, Devon LeClair kept a limousine on twenty-four-hour standby. It was enough of an exertion for the Prince to amble the length of the pier; he was not about to walk down the sidewalk to the casino. Before opening the door, Chung took one last look around, giving a group of youths across the street a long hard stare. Then when Prince Omar was ready Chung opened the door for his employer and helped him into the vehicle. Chung then somehow managed to fold his frame in half, and squeeze into the dark backseat, closing the door behind him.

The first bullet struck him in the face. So did the second. The silencer on the tip of the gun minimized the muzzle flash to barely a spark. Chung never moved other than the slight jerking motion his head made as each hollow point round penetrated his forehead. He sat motionless like some ancient stone statue, his posture upright and his hands open and resting on his knees. He never had even a fraction of a second to realize something was wrong. All in all it wasn't a bad way to die.

Omar would not be so fortunate. The door locks on the limo clicked simultaneously and the vehicle began to move. Omar reached for an overhead reading light and pressed it. A narrow beam of light shone down on him, and he looked around nervously. Something strange was happening. There had been several unusual noises, a few weak sparks, but the usually alert Chung was sitting still, unalarmed.

Somewhere near the front of the compartment there was movement and Omar suddenly realized someone else was in the car. The danger of the situation still had yet to register as he asked, "Who is there?"

Rapp, who was dressed in black, blended in perfectly with the dark interior and heavily smoked windows of the limousine. He leaned forward and in Arabic said, "I am a friend of your brother's." His words were carefully chosen.

Omar's eyes opened wide and his right arm reached for Chung. It was at that moment that he realized something was seriously wrong.

He pushed Chung and the Asian man's lifeless body fell sideways into the door. Turning back to his assailant with panic in his voice he asked, "Who are you?"

"I am your executioner," Rapp answered, again in Arabic.

Omar, thinking the assailant in his car was a Saudi, said, "You ca

Rapp smiled and changed to English.

"I am an American, and as a favor to your brother I am going to kill you."

Omar's eyes grew even larger. He was shocked by the man's change of languages.

"For what?" he croaked incredulously.

"I have done nothing but honor my brother."

"You are a liar, and you have disgraced your family." Rapp again chose his words very carefully for every second of this was being recorded.

"I have done no such thing," stammered an unconvincing Omar.

Rapp looked back at him leaving no doubt that he didn't believe a single word the man uttered.

"You had your own cousin, Abdul Bin Aziz, killed."

"I did no such thing."

"And I suppose you never called your brother a fool, and a poor excuse for a man?"

The quote struck a note of familiarity with Omar and his expression changed in a very subtle way.

"I love my brother. I do not always agree with him, but I love him."

"Do you love him enough to admit that you had your own cousin killed?"

"I did no such thing!"

Rapp squeezed his left index finger and a 9mm round spat from the end of the silencer striking Omar in the knee. The Saudi Prince lurched forward and screamed in agony. In all of his pampered life he had never felt anything so painful.