American Assassin

Rapp had been trying to decipher the organizational structure of the team that was centered on the Lake A

Ke

“Maybe.”

“Technically you don’t work for the CIA.”

“But I work for you.”

“That’s correct. The important thing is that you have no record of ever working for the federal government, and we’d like to keep it that way.”

Rapp thought long and hard about what he was about to say. “So I’m a hired gun.”

Ke

“How about assassin?”

She frowned. “No.”

“By my estimate, I’ve fired around twenty thousand rounds of ammunition since arriving here.”

“And you’ve become quite the marksman.”

“And what’s the point of all of this training? To keep shooting paper targets … or to eventually sink a bullet into a target’s head?”

“You know the answer.”

He did. “Remember the first time we met?”

She nodded.

“You told me there are people in Washington who think that we need to take a more aggressive approach with these terrorists.”

“Yes.”

“But they don’t have the courage to say so publicly.”

“It would be foolish for them to do so. We live in a civilized society. They would be thrown out of office.”

“And a civilized society would never condone assassination, even in instances where it involved national security.”

“Not unless we were at war, and even then it would be tricky.”

Rapp digested that for a moment and then said, “I’m not into semantics. Private contractor, hired gun, operative…” he shook his head, “killer … The point of all of this is to go out, find the enemy, and put a bullet in his head. Right?”

“I suppose that is an accurate definition. I suppose the answer is yes.”

“So I’m an assassin.”

“Not yet,” she offered with a sly smile. “You haven’t killed anyone.”

Rapp looked in the mirror at his reflection and wondered if he really knew himself. The college athlete looked back at him with the i

Rapp secured the silenced Beretta in a shoulder holster and covered it with a lightweight blue and silver reversible ru

Whenever possible, reco

He took off at a trot. From studying the file, Rapp knew there was a park a block down the street from Sharif’s apartment. The previous night he’d found a low wall that offered a decent vantage point where he could stretch and keep an eye on Sharif’s building without drawing too much attention to himself. It was a mile and a half to the park. After one mile Rapp stopped at a public phone and punched in an international calling card number using the knuckle of his forefinger. When he heard the dial tone he punched in the number for the phone service. Five seconds later he heard the prerecorded greeting. At the beep he left a coded message in Arabic that told Hurley everything was proceeding according to plan, which technically was the case, but probably not for much longer.

Rapp carefully placed the phone back in the cradle and took off for the park. He circled the entire area twice and saw nothing that would lead him to believe that there was any surveillance. There were a few doormen who were out sweeping, a couple of early morning exercisers, and some people walking their dogs, but no police. Rapp entered the park at seven-forty-one and settled in by the wall. He started stretching his calves; first his right for thirty seconds and then his left. He’d positioned himself so that he had a clear view of the front of Sharif’s apartment building. There was no wind and Rapp guessed the temperature was in the high fifties. According to the Brits, Sharif’s apartment was one of two on the fifth floor. It was a big place, totaling forty-five hundred square feet. His mother, his wife, and one of his daughters lived with him.

Rapp started on his calisthenics and kept track of the people entering and leaving his corner of the park. Every minute or so a pedestrian passed just outside the park. None of them paid him an ounce of attention. It was the same the world over. Most of these people had been sound asleep thirty minutes ago and they were now off to start their daily grind. They would be lucky if they were fully awake by the time they reached their offices.

Rapp did fifty push-ups, followed by fifty sit-ups, and then stretched some more. At eight he checked the apartment door and his pulse quickened just a touch. At eight-oh-five he frowned and started to doubt the accuracy of the surveillance report. Then at eight-oh-seven the apartment building’s doorman stepped outside and held the door open for a plump man and a little brown Dachshund. The man was wearing sunglasses and a long black trench coat. He had his collar turned up against the morning chill. The sunglasses, coat, and dog all matched the photos from the surveillance report. It was Sharif.

Rapp glanced at the open park bench about eighty feet to his left and started doing more sit-ups. Every time he rose, he could look over the wall and see Sharif moving closer with his dog. Every time he lowered himself to the ground he thought of his orders. The plan was for Rapp to arrive two days early and conduct countersurveillance to make sure they weren’t being watched. He would then call the service and flash them the all-clear. Hurley and Richards would arrive on the third day and they would begin direct surveillance on the target for a minimum of five days. If all went well, they would then make their move.