Mitch Rapp was out the door like a shot, heading straight for the only piece of ship that wasn't below decks. He'd been on U.S. naval warships before and knew for the most part where to go. When he neared the towering superstructure a navy lieutenant approached him and extended his hand.

"Mr. Rapp," yelled the officer, "I'm Lieutenant Jackson. d.a.m.n pleased to meet you."

Rapp allowed the officer to pump his hand with enthusiasm.

Without having to look for the shiny trident on the officer's khaki uniform, Rapp immediately knew by the man's longish hair, physical build and goatee that he was a SEAL.

"You're just the man I wanted to see, Lieutenant."

Jackson grinned. He, like most of his colleagues, knew all about Mitch Rapp. His appearance on the Belleau Wood was a good sign.

"My orders are to bring you straight to the captain's quarters."

Jackson disappeared through the hatch and Rapp followed him.

They walked down the metal stairs for several decks and then down a narrow pa.s.sageway. They stopped in front of a gray door with the name CAPTAIN FORESTER stenciled in black.

Jackson rapped on the door twice with his knuckles and waited for permission to enter. It came almost instantly. Jackson crossed the threshold first and came to attention. He held a salute and said, "Captain, as you requested: Mr. Rapp."

Captain Sherwin Forester set down a book he was reading and stood. At six foot four, Forester looked cramped aboard the s.p.a.ce-conscious ship. The ceiling of his quarters was only a few inches from the top of his head.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. As you were." Forester strode across the blue carpet, raising a bushy eyebrow as he sized up his visitor. With a grin he said, "Well, Mr. Rapp, today marks a first for me. In my twenty-one years of service I have never received a direct call from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and most definitely not while I've been at sea."

Rapp smiled. There was something instantly likable about Forester.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing, sir?"

Forester chewed on the question for a second.

"I don't like waiting around sitting on my hands. Especially after what happened the other night. So I'm going to guess someone with a reputation like yours showing up on my ship like this just might be a good thing."

Rapp nodded. It appeared Forester was a warrior and not some bureaucrat masquerading as an officer.

"I think you're going to like what I have to tell you."

"Good. Let's sit down." The captain led the way over to a couch and four chairs. The suite wasn't big by normal standards, but as far as ships went it was huge. Forester and Jackson took the couch while Rapp sat across from them in an armchair.

"So, Mr. Rapp"-Forester crossed his long legs-"what are you doing so far away from home?"

Rapp had already thought about much of what lay ahead. It was going to be a busy day and he needed these two men fully committed to what he would eventually propose. Having worked in an environment that was obsessed with secrets had not always gone over well with Rapp. He could appreciate the need for it, but there were times when the entire cause would be better served if the people in the field knew what was going on.

In Rapp's mind this was one of those cases, plus these two naval officers were not a security risk. They all wanted the same thing; in fact, Forester and Jackson probably wanted it even more. They'd been out here on patrol for more than a month with the Anderson family fresh on their minds, and it had been their brethren who'd been gunned down on the beach not too many nights ago. They could be trusted.

"What I'm about to tell you can't leave this room. In fact, if you breathe a word of it to anyone, it could end your career." Rapp clasped his hands in front of him and looked at both men to make sure they got his message.

"Have I made myself clear enough?"

They nodded.

"Good." Looking at Forester, Rapp said, "The SEALs you put ash.o.r.e the other night that were ambushed their mission was compromised by a leak that we traced all the way back to Washington."

After a long pause Forester asked, "Where?"

"The State Department. Some of this you're going to hear in the press. a.s.sistant Secretary of State Amanda Petry sat in on the National Security Council briefings on the operation. She was told pointblank that she was not to share any information regarding the hostage rescue of the Anderson family with our emba.s.sy in Manila. Once the Andersons and all of our a.s.sets were safely out, we'd let the Filipino government know. If they got upset"-Rapp shrugged his shoulders-"our att.i.tude was tough s.h.i.t. The family's been held hostage for six d.a.m.n months, and they haven't done s.h.i.t to free them. In fact, we've discovered that they've actually hindered our efforts."

Hindered was a kind choice of words.

"After our boys were ambushed Director Kennedy launched an investigation. It appears that for some time she's had people at Langley monitoring the situation out here. What she discovered you're not going to like. Prior to the rescue operation Amanda Petry e-mailed Amba.s.sador c.o.x in Manila the general plans of the mission. Amba.s.sador c.o.x in turn relayed this information to someone in the Philippine government."

"Who?" asked Jackson.

After hesitating Rapp replied, "That I can't say."

"Can't or won't?" asked the ship's captain.

"Won't," conceded Rapp, "but that doesn't matter. It's the next part that you're going to be most interested in. Have either of you met General Moro?"

Forester shook his head while Jackson said, "Several times."

"What'd you think of him?"

Jackson seemed to consider the question carefully and then said, "I think he had a real hard-on for me and my boys. A big chip on his shoulder."

"Yeah," Rapp agreed.

"Like maybe he didn't like Americans running around on his little island?"

"That and the fact that he was always trying to prove that his boys were better than us."

Rapp sensed some potentially important information here.

"Were they?"

Jackson laughed.

"No way."

Rapp hoped the answer was based on more than bravado and unit pride.

"Be more specific. How'd they shoot? How were they in the jungle? What was their discipline like?"

"They were extremely disciplined. Moro was a real s.a.d.i.s.t in that regard. They were in great shape. They could handle the long marches, with the big packs and not a one of them would p.i.s.s and moan. I was a little disappointed in their shooting, but they don't fire anywhere near the amount of rounds as we do on the Teams."

This was important information.

"How were they in the jungle?

Were they good trackers?"

"It's funny you ask that," said Jackson, frowning.

"They were great trackers. They'd pick up s.h.i.t in the jungle before every single guy in my platoon with the exception of maybe one."

"Why's that funny?"

"Well, if they were such good trackers, why was it that they could never pick up the Andersons' trail? A couple times we strolled into camps that had been hastily vacated, and I'd urge Moro's men to press on, but there was always some excuse why we had to stay put. They'd sit on the radio for an hour waiting for orders while scouts fanned out looking for a trail."

"Did you ever try to pursue on your own?"

Jackson shot a sideways look at Forester.

"h.e.l.l, yeah. Moro threw a real s.h.i.t fit. He actually climbed into a chopper and came out to where we were. He reamed me in front of my men and his. Then he got a hold of my CO back in Guam and reamed him out too. I ended up with a letter of instruction in my file, and now they won't let me off the ship."

Rapp smiled.

"Well, Lieutenant, I think I might be able to get that letter removed from your file."

"Huh?" asked a confused Jackson.

"Just remind me when this is all over, and I'll make sure the letter of instruction is purged In fact, I'll make sure it's replaced with a commendation." Rapp could tell Jackson wasn't following.

"Your instincts were right, Lieutenant. General Moro was a traitor."

"Traitor?"

"That's right."

"I noticed," started Captain Forester, "that you used the past tense in regard to the general's status. Is that by accident or intentional?"

This is where things got tricky. The problem was not in acknowledging Moro's death. It would be public soon enough. The difficulty lay in who killed him and how they knew he was a traitor. Rapp decided to tell only part of the truth.

"General Moro has been accepting bribes from Abu Sayyaf." Rapp left out the information about China.

"As you pointed out, Lieutenant, he has no love for Americans."

"So Abu Sayyaf was paying him not to pursue them?"

"That's correct."

"Why that little-" Forester interrupted the junior officer's cuss.

"Did General Moro have anything to do with the ambush that was sprung on our men the other night?"

"I'm afraid so."

Forester remained calm despite the anger that boiled beneath the surface.

"So back to my other question. Is General Moro still with us?"

"No," answered Rapp without the slightest hint of remorse.

Jackson, knowing Rapp's reputation and that he'd been at the Special Forces camp this very morning, asked in a hopeful tone, "Did you kill him?"

Forester cleared his throat loudly and eyeing Rapp said, "Lieutenant, I don't think we want to ask that question."

Rapp appreciated the captain's discretion.

"That's all right. No, I didn't kill him. General Moro was shot by a sniper."

"A sniper," repeated Jackson.

"That's right. The camp's perimeter security was nonexistent. Abu Sayyaf got someone in close enough and they shot the general early this morning." Rapp paused to see how this was going over and added, "That's the official story. Now would you like to hear what really happened?"

Both men nodded, Jackson more enthusiastically than Forester.

"The information I'm about to share with you is highly cla.s.sified.

I can't stress this enough." Satisfied that they knew the stakes he said, "In the predawn hours this morning a U.S. Special Forces sniper team was inserted onto the island. They moved into position and sometime after sunup they took the shot."

Both officers took the news in silence.

"That's not all, however. While moving into position the team sighted the Anderson family and their captors. The four-man team split into two elements; one to follow the Andersons and the other to take out the general."

"We know where the Andersons are?" asked a cautious Jackson.

"Yep."

Forester uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.

"We know precisely where they are?"

"Precisely," replied Rapp, "and we're going to go get them."

THIRTY TWO.

Light flurries floated down from the chill March evening sky as black stretch limousines cued up along Pennsylvania Avenue waiting to disgorge their important pa.s.sengers under the north portico of the White House. The event was black tie; a state dinner for the Canadian prime minister. Irene Kennedy asked her driver to bring her around to the southwest gate. She didn't have time to wait in line.

A private word with the President was needed before the festivities started.

Trust was not something that came easily to the young director of the Central Intelligence Agency. She worked in a profession where things were not always as they first appeared, where people and countries were constantly attempting to deceive her, and even when she did trust someone there were motives to consider. Mitch Rapp was one exception to her rule. He was one of the few people who Kennedy could rely on.

G.o.d knows they had a different way of going about things, but Rapp was effective and his motives clear. He had nothing but disdain for the people who ran Washington. As the failed rescue mission in the Philippines had proved, the nation's capital had a habit of getting too many people, and too many agencies, involved in matters that could often be handled by a very small group. It didn't take a master of espionage to realize that the more players involved in an operation, the greater the chance for a leak.

This in essence was why the director of the CIA needed to speak with the President and General Flood this evening. Rapp had called to give her the good news about the Andersons, but then had made a somewhat unorthodox request. At first Kennedy didn't like it, but now, having had some time to think it through, she felt it held some real merit. It was cla.s.sic Rapp and one couldn't really argue with his track record.