All of this would be a side show to the main event, though. What Kennedy really wanted to do was remind everyone in Washington with a security clearance that this was serious business. It was not up to any given individual to decide what secrets they could and couldn't discuss.

These were not just bureaucratic rules, they were laws. And to break those laws would mean public embarrassment, prosecution, and if a judge and jury saw fit, jail time.

The other file was going to be handled more subtly, and in a much more final way. Kennedy knew just the man to take care of both problems.

She had been tempted to recall him from his honeymoon, but decided it could wait another twenty-four hours. Things were about to change in Washington, and Mitch Rapp was going to play a crucial role.

Kennedy knew Rapp better than anyone. She had recruited him, she oversaw his training and she had been his handler through the most stressful of times and delicate of situations. Over the years she had grown to love him like a brother. His sense of commitment and honor was of the highest order. When he got back from his honeymoon and found out what had happened he would need no direction, no prodding, no explanation of the bigger picture. The only thing he might need was restraint, and Kennedy had yet to decide if she would even attempt to calm him when he heard the news. There would be those at the White House who would want to keep this entire mess out of the papers. They would want to sweep it under the rug and have the offenders in question transferred to different jobs. That could not be allowed to happen this time, and Kennedy knew Rapp was the one man in Washington who would tell the President in the roughest and most graphic terms that heads needed to roll.

David took a sip of orange juice and looked out upon the vista of Monte Carlo. It was a place of serene beauty. With the warm sun beating down on him and the peaceful sounds of the harbor he could almost allow himself to fall asleep, but there was too much to be done. He checked his watch. In front of him only a few scraps of his exquisite breakfast remained. The Prince had a team of chefs that accompanied him wherever he traveled. It had been thirty minutes since Devon had left to awaken the Large One, and although David did not expect the Prince to bound out of bed and come meet him, he truly wasn't going to wait around all day.

The Prince had summoned him in the midst of the final stages of preparation for their grand plan, and for that, David was not going to leave without exacting a heavy fee from his benefactor. Despite his irritation at the interruption, it was time that if they were going to discuss business, it was better to do it in person. Conducting such matters over the phone was always risky. One never really knew what the Americans could pick up with all those damn satellites of theirs.

David had many talents, but there was one area in particular where he was exceptionally gifted. It was getting wealthy people to part with their money. The key, David had learned, was to show them a return on their initial investment. He'd perfected that skill while working for a small venture capital firm in Silicon Valley after he'd graduated from the University of California at Berkeley. David had specialized in bringing in wealthy Saudi oil money, and that was how he had met the man whose boat he was now on.

He felt the Prince before he actually heard him. A slight tremor rumbled across the deck and tiny ripples spread across the surface of his water glass. David looked over his shoulder just in time to see the Large One step through the glass sliding door and onto the covered part of the sun deck. The Prince's ring-studded hand protected his eyes from the offending light of day. In Arabic he yelled a command, and instantly a man appeared at his side with a gold tray and a pair of sunglasses placed perfectly in the middle. The Prince snatched them and somehow managed to squeeze them onto his fat head.

Looking at David sitting in the sun, Prince Omar began shaking one of his beefy fingers at him and cursing him in his native Arab tongue.

David stifled a smile and apologized effusively for interrupting the Prince's sleep. Switching over to English he said, "You know' Your Highness, that I would not have interrupted you if it were not important."

Rather than come out into the sun, Prince Omar plopped his ample body down on a large couch overflowing with pillows. Chung, the mountainous bodyguard, took up his post on the other side of the sundeck so he could both keep an eye on things and stay out of the way of the servants who constantly buzzed about the Prince. After adjusting his white silk robe, Omar began stuffing and throwing pillows about until his fleshy body was supported just right.

David watched all of this with amusement. He had seen photographs of the Prince in his younger years. Omar had once been a handsome and slender man. He had been an international playboy. One of the world's wealthiest men, he jetted from one continent to the next, always attending the best parties. Now in his early fifties, he was a gluttonous wreck. All of the hard years had finally caught up with him.

After his fiftieth birthday he entered a downward spiral of depression sparked by the realization that the party would not go on forever. With his depression came great mood swings and a seemingly insatiable thirst for a plethora of vices.

Three servants in crisp white tunics and black pants stepped onto the sundeck and formed a conga line just to the side of the Prince.

They all held gold trays overflowing with various things the Prince might desire. Just serving the Prince was not enough. These men were to predict his needs so that when the Prince decided he wanted something it appeared as if they had anticipated his every whim. The first servant presented a tray with cigarettes. Omar snatched one and the servant held a diamond-studded gold lighter to it. When the cigarette was lit the man bowed and peeled away only to be instantly replaced by the second man who held a tray of drinks for the Prince to choose from. There was an orange one, a red one, a pink one and even a blue one, and all them were perfectly garnished with skewers of fruit or vegetables. Omar's bejeweled fingers danced above the glasses while his tongue tried to decide which one it wanted. He picked the pink one, took a sip and then put it back with a sour expression on his face.

Quickly, he zeroed in on the red one, which David assumed was a Bloody Mary.

After taking a long sip through the straw, he waved the servant away and stared at David for a long moment. Prince Omar admired the Palestinian. He had guts, he had brains and he was dashingly handsome.

If anyone other than one of his family members had just awakened him, he would have told Devon to have Chung throw them into the sea. In fact, now that he thought about it, there were several family members he'd like to have thrown into the sea anyway, and they hadn't even interrupted his sleep.

Omar finally said, "David, come, tell me why you are in such a hurry." The third servant appeared at the Prince's side holding a tray overflowing with pastries. Omar gestured for the tray to be placed on the table before him.

David walked across the sundeck and stepped under the canvas awning. He sat in a chair across from the Prince and watched him devour a pastry with some type of cream filling.

"Why do you wish to irritate me like this, my friend?" asked the Prince.

A Cheshire-cat grin spread across David's lips. He knew the Prince liked him for the very reason he was scolding him. When you spend your every waking moment surrounded by sycophants it can be refreshing to be treated with a little insolence.