RAPP slowed his stroke to the point that he was in danger of sinking to the bottom of the pool. Anna pulled even with him a couple of seconds later, making up for her lack of technique with flailing determination. They reached the other side together, and Rapp used his superior reach to touch the tile edge just before her. She put her arms up on the deck, panting wildly as he pushed himself up and sat.
“You almost got me.”
She clearly wanted to agree but couldn’t get in enough air.
The sun was dropping toward the horizon, creating drawn-out shadows as the light passed through Nicholas Ward’s house. It was a strange building, with exterior walls made of wood louvers that, when open, turned the structure into something akin to a fenced patio. Rapp looked through it, past the industrial kitchen and stylish furniture to the mountains beyond.
“Your arms are too long!” Anna said, finally capable of lodging her protest. “You barely even have to swim to get across.”
“A poor craftsman blames her tools.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
He pointed. “Do another lap. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
She took a few more seconds to catch her breath and then pushed off defiantly.
“Stop lifting your head all the way out of the water!” Rapp shouted. “Just turn it to the side when you want to breathe!”
She did her best to comply, and he paid just enough attention to make sure she didn’t drown. The remainder of his mind turned to Claudia. Would she have been so anxious to get together with him if she’d known he’d end up in a death match with the president of the United States? Of course she’d say yes, but would she really mean it? In many ways, Claudia behaved like she owed him a blood debt for her involvement in the death of his wife. And now it looked like she might end up paying it.
He could kill Enzo Ruiz, Josef Svoboda, and every other enemy she’d ever made. He could take out the president or sacrifice himself to remove the object of Cook’s obsession. But none of it would matter. With Legion, the fuse had been lit.
“Mitch!” Anna said, punching one of the legs he had submerged in the water.
He hadn’t been fully conscious of the fact that she’d successfully completed her lap of the pool.
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. Why?”
“You look sad.”
He glanced at his watch. “I’m not sad, I’m late. We’ve got to go.”
“Can I stay? Just for a little longer?”
He looked down at her and frowned.
“Come, on, Mitch. I promise I won’t get in the pool without you here. I’m just going to sit in one of the chairs till I’m dry and stuff.”
“You promise you won’t get in the pool?”
She grinned. “One hundred percent!”
“Okay, then.”
He lifted her out and handed her one of the towels rolled up next to him.
“Can I have one of Mr. Ward’s root beers?”
He thought about it for a moment. “One. But that’s it. If he comes home and his fridge is empty, you’re going to be in serious trouble.”
“He can afford more,” she grumbled.
“Anna…”
“Sorry.”
“And what else are you not going to do when you’re inside?”
“Sit on his furniture in my swimsuit.”
He stood. “Exactly.”
“Where’s Anna?” Claudia said as he approached, still drying his hair with a towel. Kennedy was already present, sitting in the shadow of the bungalow to escape the afternoon heat. The fact that there were no snacks or drinks confirmed his impression that Claudia was hanging on by a thread.
“She wanted one of Nick’s root beers.”
“But she’s not going to get in the pool.”
“I made her promise,” he said, sitting next to her and tossing the towel on the stoop. “Have we come up with anything?”
Neither of them responded.
“What?”
“I’ve thought through some options,” Kennedy said, “but there’s something we should talk about first.”
“And that is?”
“About an hour ago, I got a call from Darren Hargrave.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons. First, he wants to set up a system for confirming your presence here. Second, he wanted to warn you that the Agency’s picked up chatter about Legion being hired to kill Claudia.”
Rapp kept his expression impassive, wondering silently what Kennedy would make of this. She had an understandable bias against going to war with the democracy she’d served so long. Would that affect her judgment? If so, it would be a first, but they were living in a world of firsts right now.
“It was the call I was hoping I’d never receive,” she continued. “Hargrave doesn’t know that Grisha contacted you or that you visited Ruiz. In light of that, it was in his best interest to tell you about the Legion threat.”
“Because if I’m not fighting Legion, I have time to spend on his boss. Plus, it makes him look like he’s on my side. Once again, credit where credit’s due. If it weren’t for Grisha, we might have even fallen for it. Smart play.”
“Yes,” she said, sounding a little defeated. “Smart.”
“So, am I right in saying that you no longer have any doubts about the Cooks’ involvement in all this?”
“There’s no other credible explanation,” she admitted.
“Then I think we should deal with them. Cook’s security isn’t getting any lighter as time goes on.”
“I think we need to take care of Legion first,” Kennedy said. “After that, we can discuss the Cooks.”
“Are you telling me you’ve figured out a way?”
“Maybe.”
Rapp waved her on. “I’m listening.”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“I’m guessing you’re right. But let’s hear it anyway.”
“Okay. What we need to focus on is that we have an advantage that no one else ever has.”
“What’s that?” Claudia asked.
“We know Legion’s coming.”
“No,” Rapp said, shaking his head. “I already know where you’re going with this. We’re not using Claudia as bait.”
“That’s my decision,” Claudia shot back. “Not yours.”
“It’s no one’s decision,” Kennedy said. “Exposing you isn’t going to be necessary.”
“Then what?” Rapp said.
Kennedy handed him her tablet. It contained the picture of Claudia included in the dossier sent to Grisha Azarov and Enzo Ruiz. She was quite a bit younger, sitting at what looked like a Paris café wearing sunglasses and a scarf that covered part of her chin. It had been taken in less-than-ideal conditions, leaving it slightly grainy.
“I’m still not following you,” Rapp said.
“It’s not a very good picture,” Kennedy pointed out.
“But they included my address and a detailed analysis of my daily habits,” Claudia said. “I mean, it’s always nice to have multiple high-res shots, but in this case, it’s not really necessary.”
Kennedy pulled a single piece of paper from the pocket of her jacket. On it was printed an equally distant and grainy shot of Claudia wearing the same sunglasses and scarf, but this time standing in front of a brick wall.
“That’s not me,” Claudia said.
Rapp leaned forward. Upon closer inspection, she was right. This woman was thinner, with higher cheekbones and blond strands visible around where Claudia’s hair had been photoshopped on. There was something familiar about the partially obscured face and when he realized what it was, he shoved the picture back in Kennedy’s direction.
“No way in hell.”
“Who is she?” Claudia asked.
Kennedy seemed reluctant to say the name aloud, so Rapp was forced to do it for her. “Sadie Hansen. Also, Sadie Griffith. And Hanna Larson. And Hailey Tolstoy. Have I missed any?”
“At least five,” Kennedy said.
Sadie was a young, beautiful psychopath who also suffered from manic depression, possibly a touch of Asperger’s, and a compulsion for shoplifting. On the other hand, she also had the best situational awareness Rapp had ever seen and seemed impervious to fear or panic. But more in a suicidal way than a courageous one.
Sadie was a British national recruited and quickly abandoned by MI6. The Agency picked her up a while back over Rapp’s objections, but then he’d had to eat crow when she’d proved critical to resolving a devastating attack on America’s power grid. Kennedy was fond of saying she was no worse than her other, even more infamous, recruit: an angry kid with no appreciable skills named Mitch Rapp.
“Sadie’s an inch taller and about five pounds lighter,” Kennedy said. “Right now, her hair’s longer and blond but it’s about the same texture so that’s an easy fix. So are her skin tone and eye color. Plus, she’s good at accents.”
“Probably because she’s schizophrenic,” Rapp said.
“The medication’s done wonders.”
He let out a long breath. “So, let me get this straight. You’re proposing that Sadie and I go back to the house in South Africa, and we use her to draw in Legion.”
Kennedy nodded. “Also, we bring in Bebe as your new live-in help.”
Bebe Kincaid was yet another misfit—a former FBI agent with an honest-to-God photographic memory. That, combined with the fact that she was overweight, middle-aged, and blessed with extraordinarily unmemorable features, had made her the best surveillance operative in the business. The problem? Her inability to forget made it increasingly difficult for her to differentiate recent memories from distant ones. And that was driving her slowly insane.
“So, we keep Sadie inside the walls and let Bebe go out,” Rapp said.
“Exactly. If anyone’s watching you, she can be counted on to notice.”
“What about Anna?” Rapp asked.
“She’d stay here with Claudia. Based on the state of the house, it’s perfectly reasonable that you wouldn’t bring her back with you. The idea is that you’d be working on getting renovations started. Not really a safe or healthy environment for a girl her age.”
Claudia, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during this, finally spoke up. “No. I don’t want someone standing in for me. What if she gets killed?”
“Then Legion moves on,” Rapp said. “We still have a lot of problems, but at least one’s off the table.”
“That seems callous, even for you,” Claudia said.
He shrugged. “It’s just Sadie. I doubt she’d care.”
“No reason to speculate,” Kennedy said. “We can ask her. In fact, Claudia, why don’t you do it? Give her a full reading of the risks and ask her if she wants the job. She’s a private contractor, so if she doesn’t, she can say no. If she does, she can name her price.”