The Last Man by Vince Flynn Page B

out of this room in the next five seconds you can kiss your pension good-bye. As it is, your ass is in hot water. Joe Fuckin’ Rickman got snatched on your watch. Do you have any idea how bad this is?”
    “I . . .”
    “Never mind. Just get the hell out of here. We’ll talk about this in your office. Go . . . now . . . move it.”
    Sickles had tried to call Kennedy three times this morning and Kennedy had not taken any of his calls. Maybe Rapp was telling the truth. The station chief got up and left the room without saying another word.
    When the door was closed again, Rapp looked at Poole and said, “If you’d prefer to leave as well you won’t hear me complain.”
    “I’ll stay.”
    “Fine.” Turning his attention back to Vinter, Rapp said, “You might think you’re connected . . . you might even think you’re important and in certain circles you might be, but not this time around.”
    “Oh, really?”
    “Yeah . . . Let me explain how this works. We’re the guys they call in when the shit hits the fan. Go ahead and call your boss when we’re done. She’ll tell you the same thing. In fact I’m pretty sure she’ll tell you to do what we ask and then get the hell out of our way.”
    Vinter shook her head. “The secretary of state has complete confidence in me. After I tell her what you did to Commander Zahir this morning, you’re the one who’s going to be praying they let you keep your pension.”
    “You go ahead and make that call, but just remember, I warned you. This reintegration crap is a circle jerk and everyone who’s anyone in D.C. knows it. It’s a gimmick so we can declare victory and get the hell out of here. Joe Rickman getting snatched is serious shit and they all know it. You see, his head is full of a lot of nasty secrets that will embarrass your boss and a lot of other heavy hitters back in D.C. They don’t like being embarrassed, so your little circle jerk is going to take a backseat to my problem for a while. I don’t really care if the papers print nasty stuff about your boss or anyone else, but I do care about all the agents that work for us who will more than likely end up dead if we don’t find Rick and find him quick.”
    “You have no idea who you’re screwing with, Mr. Rapp.”
    “Actually, I have a really good idea. You’re some spoiled brat who’s gotten her way her entire life.” He pointed at her wedding ring and added, “Your husband is miserable. Some poor browbeaten son of a bitch. You probably keep his balls in a little box on your desk, and based on your selfish attitude this morning I’d say there’s a pretty good chance you’ve been having an affair with the colonel here. The point is I don’t give a shit who you are, but you’d better care who I am and understand that I’m the meanest son of a bitch you will ever meet. That’s why the president sent me over here. Because he wants results and he knows I won’t put up with people like you. So you go ahead and call your boss and anyone else you need to and after they’ve all told you what I’ve just told you, you will hand over every shred of information you have regarding Joe Rickman and the scumbags you had him making deals with. And if you don’t, I can guarantee you will be the one on the next flight out of here.”
     
     

Chapter 11
     
    Jalalabad, Afghanistan
    He lay on the floor wearing only a pair of U.S. Army–issue boxer shorts, curled up in the fetal position, his face and body battered to a pulp. Joe Rickman tried to open his eyes, but they were either too swollen or too caked with dry blood to yield. He had never felt such pain. Never even imagined that it could be so bad. His trainers back at the Farm had warned him, and he had nodded as if he understood everything they were saying at the time, but they said he didn’t. Anyone who hadn’t been through it could never really understand just how bad it was. Now Rickman understood. He’d kept it together so far, but just barely.