Dear Liz,

I hope all is well. I need you and Michael to do me a favor; and please don't ask any questions. Call Bella at the cottage, and tell her you really need to talk to her.

Whatever you do, don't mention my involvement or name over the phone. Something has gone wrong, and I need her to stay with you for a few days. When she gets to your house, you can tell her that I'm safe, that I apologize, and I will explain everything when I get home. Under no circumstance are you to let her go back to the cottage or her apartment. Tell Michael to exercise caution and call Scott C. if he needs help.

Sincerely, Syracuse

P. S. I know all about Seamus, Michael, and Scott C.

She could barely believe what she was reading. Bella was Annabella Rielly, her best friend, and Syracuse had to be Anna's boyfriend, Mitch Rapp. She feared she might know who Scott C. was, and if she was right, just how in the hell did Mitch Rapp know about that dreaded chapter in her family's history? Liz looked up from the screen in disbelief, her perfect Saturday afternoon ruined.

«Honey, I think you'd better take a look at this.»

Peter Cameron sat in one of the plush leather seats of the brand-new Cessna 750 Citation X executive jet. The plane could be configured to carry up to twelve passengers, but for this trip there were only four, not counting the pilots. A woman and two men were sitting at a small table studying maps and photographs. Cameron had with- held the Jansens' full profiles. The less these people knew, the better. As far as Cameron was concerned, the less everybody knew, the better. This problem needed to be dealt with swiftly. Like the first twenty-four hours following the out- break of a disease, this next day was crucial. Nip it in the ass now, and everything would be fine. Leave any unfinished business on the table, and things could spin out of control.

One of the men got up and came over. He sat down across from Cameron so he could study him. His name was Gus Villaume. To a few people in his line of work, he was known as the Frog. A French Canadian from Montreal, Villaume had worked for the CIA in the seventies and early eighties as an agent inside the Dassault Aviation Company. In 1986, he had decided to break out on his own and work as a freelancer. The money was much better, and his work hours were whatever he chose.

Villaume studied Cameron with his hawklike eyes. The Frog had wondered about this Cameron for some time. He was competent enough but a little too quick to use force. He was a yes man, Villaume guessed. Someone else was giving him orders. The way the former civil servant threw money around, it was obvious that his boss was an individual with substantial financial assets. The unknown identity of Cameron's employer was beginning to bother Villaume. When working among thieves, knowledge of that sort could be used as insurance if things got bad.

Villaume stroked the edges of his black mustache and asked Cameron, «So, who are these two individuals?»

«Nobody. They were asked to do a job, they blew it, and now they have to pay.»

Villaume noticed how Cameron used a casual tone as if these people were being fired for lack of performance. «So now they die?»

«They knew what they were getting into.»

Holding up two black-and-white photographs, Villaume asked, «This is all you can give me? No background on them?»

«You don't need any more information. It's going to be an easy job. In and out.»

Villaume studied Cameron's face. «I'll be the judge of how easy the job will be.»

«If it'll make you feel any better, I'm planning on taking the shots.»

This caused a smile to fall across the other man's face. Leaning back, he said, «Really?»

«Yes, really. Why does that amuse you so much?»

«I've never seen you get your hands dirty before, let alone kill someone.»

Cameron let his displeasure show. «There's a lot you don't know about me, Gus.»

«I'm sure there is, but all the same, I'd like to know more about these two targets.»

«All you need to know is that this will be easy, and you're going to be paid well.» Cameron's voice had taken on an agitated tone.

Villaume kept his own tone even. «I will not take my team into a situation without more information. If you refuse, we'll get off this plane when we land in Colorado Springs and take the first plane back to Washington.»

Cameron didn't like that idea at all. «For Christ sake, Gus, if I thought this thing was going to be messy, I would have called Duser.»

Villaume looked over at his two team members for a brief second. The reference to Jeff Duser had got their attention. Duser was a former U.S. Marine who had been court-martialed and run out of the Corps for a list of offenses too long to recap. A decade later, the sadist was well into his thirties but seemed mentally still stuck in his teens. He and his crew of pumped-up cronies were about as subtle as a sledgehammer. How he had ended up in this line of work Villaume had yet to figure out, but he had a good idea that the man sitting across from him had something to do with it. Duser was not well respected by other freelancers. As a general rule, contracts were to be carried out in as quiet a manner as possible. If possible, a hit should be made to look like a suicide, or, given the right situation, the body should simply disappear.

«Maybe you should call Duser… that way, you can guarantee front-page coverage in Sunday's Denver Post.»

«What is that supposed to mean?»

«Peter, if you need me to explain that to you» – Villaume shook his head – «you should find a new line of work.»

«Hey, Duser and his boys get results.»

«And headlines.»

«I'm not going to sit here and argue with you, Gus. This job is a cakewalk. Maybe you're getting too old for this.»

Villaume kept his stare focused on Cameron's dark pupils. At fifty-two, he had lost very little, and what was gone in terms of physical ability he had more than made up for in increased knowledge and instinct. And at this moment, his instincts were telling him that Cameron was lying. Villaume had learned long ago that in this line of work, you should use great caution before you threaten another business associate. Once that hand was shown, there was no taking it back, and if often forced the other person to make plans of his or her own. It was clear that Cameron was a man who could not be trusted. The Frog did not like it, but it was time to raise the ante. «I will ask this question one last time. If you don't give me an answer, our participation in this mission is over. If you spread any false rumors about why we backed out, I will have Mario pay you a visit.» Villaume glanced over at the large man sitting on the other side of the aisle. He had one continuous eyebrow that ran across an incredibly large head attached to a neck and body that weren't any smaller.

Cameron squirmed in his seat and looked over at Mario Lukas. The man gave him the creeps. Half Frankenstein, half Baby Huey, he followed Villaume as if he were the second coming. Cameron had no doubt he would be dead within seconds of Villaume giving the word. Cameron decided it wasn't a good idea to fight this particular battle. Villaume and his people could be dealt with later.

As if this was all a giant waste of time, Cameron asked, «What would you like to know?»

Villaume responded with a fake smile.» Are they cops?»

«No.»

«Do they have any military experience?»

Cameron paused. «Yes.»

«Both of them?»

«Yes.»

«Which branch?»

There was more hesitation on Cameron's part.» Army.»

«Any Special Forces training?»

«I can't get into that.»

Villaume scoffed. «The hell you can't.»

«I've given you all of the information you need.» Cameron held up his sat phone. «If you want out, tell me right now, and I'll call Duser.»