American Assassin

“This might be a bigger fish than you think,” Ivanov said, with a hint of inside knowledge.

“What have you heard?”

“Things … rumors here and there. Nothing concrete, but I’ve been in this business long enough to smell a rat.”

“What things?”

“Hamdi Sharif.”

Sayyed thought of the recently deceased arms dealer. “Yes. I knew him well.”

“Who do you think killed him?”

Sayyed had heard two rumors. “Mossad more than likely, but there was something else I picked up.”

“What?”

Sayyed was not afraid to repeat the rumor. A man like Ivanov would take it as a compliment. “That he was stealing from you and you had him killed.”

Ivanov looked at him with unblinking focus, but did not respond.

“If that was the case,” Sayyed said, “then that was your right.”

Ivanov shook his head. “If he was stealing from me I would have known, and I would have killed him. But he was not stealing from me.”

“So it was the Jews.”

“No … I don’t think so.”

“Who then?”

Ivanov sat brooding for a half minute and finally said, “I would like to speak to the American rat you are keeping in that basement in Beirut.”

He had not told a soul in Damascus where he was keeping the CIA man, which meant either that Ivanov had obtained the information from one of Sayyed’s supposed allies or that it was a good guess. Whichever was the case, he would need to move the American as soon as he got back. “You are more than welcome to speak to him. You are welcome in Beirut any time. You know that.”

Ivanov began shaking his head at the mention of Beirut. “I ca

Sayyed tried to deflect by saying, “So you think the Americans are trying to get back in the game?”

“I don’t think so, I know so.”

Sayyed looked skeptical. “How?”

“Because Thomas Stansfield is finally in charge of their clandestine activities.”

“You think one man is capable of turning that mess around? They don’t have the stomach to get back into Lebanon. This man I caught…”

Ivanov pounded his fist on the table, cutting him off. “Let me tell you something about Thomas Stansfield. I had to go up against him early in my career. The man plots on more levels than you or I are capable of comprehending. He is a master of deception operations. He gets you ru

Sayyed had no idea what he meant. “More Russian than American?”

“He is the last of a breed of Americans who knew how to be every bit as dirty as the dirtiest enemy. Don’t let his grandfatherly image deceive you. The man is a street fighter with a big set of Russian balls.”

Sayyed wasn’t sure why the man’s balls were Russian. Beyond that, he thought Ivanov was overreacting. “The Americans haven’t bitten back in years,” Sayyed scoffed.

“I know, and that was because we had the CIA in a box and Stansfield didn’t have the power. But he is in charge of their clandestine service now, and I’m telling you he is going to stick his nose in our business, and we can’t allow that to happen. Trust me. If he gets so much as a toehold, we will be in for the fight of our lives.”

Sayyed still wasn’t convinced.

Ivanov leaned forward, then grabbed the Syrian’s hand. “I am asking you this one time. I will only ask it once. Will you give me the American, so I can find out what he knows? I know your Iranian friends want him, but I will make sure you are compensated.”

This was why Sayyed did not want to come to this godless frozen city. There was nothing in it for him, especially since he was not done dissecting the mind of Agent John Cummins. Unfortunately, there was no way out. If he did not bend to Ivanov’s wishes, he might not make it out of the country in one piece. With a heavy sigh he told Ivanov that he could have the American.

CHAPTER 30

HAMBURG, GERMANY

THE Hamburg operation was significant for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that certain people began to take notice. A single murder can be an accident or an aberration. Two murders in as many weeks, separated by time, but co

The old clandestine officer a

Rapp was not given all the details, but he got the distinct impression that Langley was upset about something. Hurley’s attitude had changed even before they left the States. They were to engage the enemy and make them bleed, and the prospect of finally getting back in the game had transformed Hurley. This time Rapp and Richards went in together. Or at least their flights arrived the same afternoon. Rapp arrived second. He saw Richards waiting for him on the other side of Customs. Rapp was carrying an American passport on this trip, and he handed it to a nice-looking older gentleman, who flipped through the pages with German efficiency. The backpack, jeans, and beat-up wool coat must have been enough to tell the man he was not here on business, because he didn’t ask that standard question, “business or pleasure.” He applied the proper stamps and slid the passport back. Not a glance or a question. Rapp laughed to himself. If only it was always this easy.

The two men shook hands and made their way to ground transportation, where they took a cab to the harbor promenade or Landungsbrücken, as it was known to the locals. A big cruise ship was coming into port. Tourists lined the sidewalk gawking at the massive ship that looked completely out of place so close to all the old brick buildings. Rapp and Richards did not gawk. They were on the move toward the warehouse district, where Hurley was waiting for them.

They passed a prostitute working the riverfront. Richards turned to Rapp and said, “Isn’t this where the Beatles got their start?”

Rapp cracked a small smile. He liked Richards. The guy was quirky in a normal way. They were in Hamburg to kill a man and Richards wanted to talk about the Beatles. “Never heard that,” Rapp said.

“Pretty sure they did. They played some strip club for something like two months straight.” Rapp didn’t say anything. “I’d like to see it while we’re here.”

Rapp cocked his head and gave Richards a long look before couldn’t help himself and started laughing.

“What?” Richards asked.

Rapp lowered his voice and said, “We’re here to kill a man, and you want to go hang out at some strip club where the Beatles played thirty years ago?”

“What’s wrong with that? That we do what we do for living doesn’t mean we can’t do what normal people do?”

Richards had a much easier time transitioning between their two worlds. “You have a point. I can’t wait to see the look on Stan’s face when you ask him.”

“Ha … you watch. If it involves booze and strippers, my bet is he’s all in.”

“You’re probably right.”

The flat was located in one of the hundred-year-old warehouses that had been converted into condominiums near the river. It was damp and cold. A lot like London. Hurley informed them that the majority of the units in the building were as yet unsold. The one they were using was owned by an American company that had purchased it as an executive apartment. Rapp didn’t concern himself with certain details beyond the target, but Richards was more curious. He tried to find out which American company the unit belonged to and if it was a former spook who let them use it. Hurley said if there was something he needed to know he’d tell him. “Otherwise … don’t worry about it.”