The likely bet was that one of her late husband’s enemies had come crawling out from under a rock for some petty revenge. It was the kind of amateur bullshit that really pissed Rapp off and he was there to set an example that would discourage the next asshole.
It was another reason not to get Irene Kennedy’s people involved. As the director of the CIA, there were lines she shouldn’t cross. And his plan to identify the people stalking Claudia and then mail them back to their employer in FedEx envelopes was probably one of them.
CHAPTER 2
THE light from the setting sun moved slowly up the side of the mountain, creating a lengthening shadow at its base. Rapp set his pace to stay just below the transition from dark to light, a location that would generate the most visual distortion for anyone looking up from ground level.
The terrain was steep enough that he had to use his hands for balance and loose enough that his boots occasionally sent a cloud of dirt and gravel cascading to the valley below. Like most plans created on paper, the climb he’d mapped out was in constant need of on-the-fly revision.
He came to a gap in the narrow ledge he was following and stopped for a moment, looking down more than a hundred feet to the tops of the trees he’d parked beneath. The mountain offered an ideal vantage point. The rural highway leading to town was just visible in the distance and he had full view of the dirt road that led to Claudia’s house. A couple hundred more feet in altitude would give him a view of her fence line.
Range would be almost a mile and a half to the house. That would make it impossible for a shooter to use this position to cover an attack on her home-something he’d made sure of before he approved its purchase. Unfortunately, the curving road came within a quarter mile of the base of the cliff. A reasonable distance for a gifted sniper with the right equipment.
In truth, the property had never been ideal. Rapp would have preferred to put Claudia and her daughter in one of the heavily secured condo buildings in Cape Town’s business district. The complexities of getting to her in the crowded city center were far more daunting than they were in this quiet rural area.
There were factors to consider beyond security, though. What kind of childhood would Anna have in the city? While his views on children had gone out of style over the past few decades, he’d always thought they needed room to run. What would he and his brother have done if they’d been stuck in a concrete and glass box as kids? Most likely gotten into even more trouble.
The gap in the ledge in front of him was narrow enough to jump, but the landing was strewn with rocks that would make an unacceptable amount of noise when his body weight came down. Instead, Rapp detoured up a gently overhanging cliff that led to flatter terrain. He went hand over hand, following a prominent crack system as the wind started to pick up.
He moved as quickly as he could. Despite his having selected clothing roughly the color of the rock, his outline would stand out against the wall of stone. Throwing an arm over the top, he slipped onto a ledge and went still, scanning the valley for any sign of humanity. Nothing. For now, things were going his way.
The snap of falling rock sounded above and he slid his Glock from beneath his jacket, rolling onto his back as a stream of dust and debris just missed him. He centered his sights on a flash of movement and tracked a furry torso for a few moments. Four baboons in total, including a large male that he’d rather not tangle with. Given a wide enough berth, they wouldn’t be a problem and might even provide some cover for his movements.
Rapp continued upward, taking the most vertical route until he was well above what he considered the optimal position for taking out Claudia and her daughter. Having secured the high ground, he traversed south, keeping an eye on the tangle of ledges below. It took only a few minutes to find what he was looking for.
A lone shooter lay prone on a stone outcropping about twenty yards below Rapp’s position. He was wearing gray-and-green fatigues, sighting through a scope attached to a Barrett M82 sniper rifle. All Rapp could see was the back of his head, most of which was covered by a baseball cap. A black wire led from his right ear to his jacket, suggesting that he was in contact with the ground team and probably with the man in charge of the operation.
Rapp studied the terrain between him and the sniper, deciding to continue south and then angle down toward him. The sun had disappeared behind the peaks to the west, but there was still enough of a glow that it was wise to keep it at his back. Combined with the foliage clinging to the sheer walls, the glare would be enough to obscure his approach. The problem was sound.
He moved slowly, lowering himself down the steep sections with his arms in order to avoid kicking off a rock, and crawling on the flatter terrain. Despite the short distance, it took him just over eighteen minutes to close to within ten feet of the shooter. A dense bush bordered his position and Rapp stopped behind it for one last recon.
The sniper’s position didn’t seem to have changed at all. He was statue-still, confirming his experience and discipline. Rapp slid the Glock from his jacket and inched forward. The man stayed focused on his scope, unaware that he was being hunted until the barrel of Rapp’s gun pressed against his ear.
He jerked a bit and then went completely still again.
“Get up. And unless you want to take the fast route down to the valley, be careful how you do it.”
CHAPTER 3
ILYA Gusev lit another cigarette and stubbed the old one out in an overflowing ashtray. The shades were drawn, leaving the room in darkness broken only by the glow of the computer monitor he’d paid cash for earlier that week.
He scanned an image transmitted from a camera mounted to the back of a truck, but little had changed. The same empty dirt road cast into shadow by the setting sun. Most of the other video feeds set up in a grid across the screen were still blank. They were reserved for the men carrying out the operation and wouldn’t be turned on until it started in earnest.
The only other feed had a space blocked out in the bottom of the monitor. He expanded it and studied the view of the operation’s entire theater being transmitted through the riflescope of a man perched high on a cliff face.
While it had been a great honor to be chosen to lead this operation, Gusev’s initial nervousness was quickly turning to fear. The men he’d been forced to use-with the exception of the mercenary on the cliff-were completely unreliable. No, not unreliable. That implied someone who might or might not do his duty in a workmanlike manner. These men were insane. Uncontrollable and utterly incompetent.
His own men, while not exactly army special forces, were at least known quantities. At a minimum, they could be counted on to react to a given situation like human beings. Albeit a brutal and remorseless branch of the species.
These ISIS crazies were another matter entirely. While he understood the necessity of having a few of them involved, one or two would have been more than sufficient. Unfortunately, his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. At least he’d been able to convince his masters to give him the mercenary. If things went wrong, he would act rationally and professionally. The question was whether it would be enough.
Gusev squinted at an empty road near the center of the scope image and poured himself a glass of vodka to calm his nerves. Who was this woman? Based on the information he’d been given, Claudia Dufort was a thirty-six-year-old French national who had been provided a generous trust fund by her grandparents. Other than that he knew little. Based on his surveillance, he could only say that she was strikingly beautiful, did not hold a regular job, and had a young daughter.