"What makes you think this will be our last job?" she asked.

"Because the payday is huge."

She looked into his eyes and said, "You are making me nervous."

Wait until you hear the name of the target, he thought. Without really believing it this time he said, "You worry too much."

"You," she said with an edge, "do not worry enough."

"That is why we are the perfect team." He leaned in and kissed her.

She pushed him away. "Do not try to distract me. Why do you think this will be our last job?"

"Because the contract is worth seven million dollars."

"Seven million dollars," she repeated with a little gasp. Claudia liked the independence wealth offered, but any job worth that much money had to be exceedingly dangerous.

"The dollar amount impresses you?" Louie asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It scares me, and it should scare you too."

He shrugged. "It's just another job."

"For seven million dollars…I doubt it. Who does he want you to kill?"

Louie took a gulp of wine and then said, "An American."

She crossed her legs. "Please tell me we do not have to travel there. You know I do not like working in America."

" 'Don't,' " he corrected her. "Remember, Americans don't say 'do not'; they say 'don't.' "

Her nostrils flared ever so slightly. "This is not a time for you to lecture me about syntax or idioms or whatever it is you call these things. Answer my question."

"We will more than likely have to work in America."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Who is the target? And don't say the president."

"No, it is not the president." He laughed.

She was running out of patience. "Name! I want a name!"

"Shhhhh…" He tried to place a hand on her knee but she slapped it away.

"Tell me right now!"

"Mitch Rapp."

She blinked once and then twice and then slowly set down her glass. She stood and walked to the window. She checked the street, and then came back and in a voice barely above a whisper asked, "Why?"

"I didn't ask him why. It is not my place."

She folded her arms across her chest and said, "I thought you admired this man Rapp."

"I do."

"Then why do you want the job?"

"You don't think seven million dollars is a good enough reason?"

"You have to be alive to enjoy seven million dollars."

"I am not going to get killed."

"You do not know that. This isn't some banker, like the other day in London. This is Mitch Rapp. He bites back."

"He will never see me coming."

She walked from one end of the tiny apartment and back. "Who wants him dead?"

"Abel was not about to tell me."

"I bet it's the Saudis."

"He didn't say."

"I'm not asking," she snapped. "Abel has been doing dirty work for them for some time." She blew a loose strand of hair from her face and said, "I'm not crazy about the idea of working for them. Mitch Rapp happens to be on the side I believe in. As you like to say, he's one of the 'good guys.' "

"I've told you I don't know how many times…leave politics out of this, but as long as you're on the subject, I find it interesting that you would label Rapp 'one of the good guys.' I can think of about a billion Muslims who would disagree with you."

Her face flushed and she pointed her finger at him. "Don't start this with me. You hate the Catholic Church because of your father. 'It's a religious war,' she mocked him, 'that goes back thousands of years and the Catholic Church has been wrong more than it has been right.' "

"And I still stand by that."

"You are naпve, Louie, just like I was when I grew to hate my own father. We are in the here and now. Not a thousand years ago. The Catholic Church has nothing to do with this. This is about a bunch of racist, bigoted, sexist, small-minded men trying to hold on to their arcane way of living as the world passes them by." She pointed to herself. "And I for one have no desire to help them."

He almost told her to relax, but then thought better of it. That would only upset her further. "I wouldn't argue with a thing you just said."

"Good. Then we are going to tell the German no."

"I did not say that."

"I thought you agreed with me."

"I do, but there is a lot more to it than what you just said."

"Like what?" She began tapping her foot.

"Like settling down and having a baby." He could see the mere mention of offspring stopped her in her tracks.

He was right but for the wrong reasons. Claudia desperately wanted to talk about this, but now was not the time. Not while they were angry. "How do I have your baby if you are dead?"

He stepped around the table and grabbed her hands. "I know this isn't easy for you, but I promise I will be careful. If it takes six months, I will wait. He does not know I'm coming. The German has no idea who we are. Rapp will never see me. I will kill him, and we will be done."

She was tempted, but something told her they should run from this job as fast as possible. "I don't know."

"That's fine. Sleep on it. Think about finally being done with looking over our shoulders, moving every month…finally settling down. Think about a house on the beach filled with little kids." He took her in his arms and held her tight. "I promise you, nothing bad will happen. I will be extra careful."

She looked up at him. "You really think you can walk away from this lifestyle?" It was a subject they had visited on more than one occasion.

He smiled and said, "Yes," even though he wasn't sure he meant it.

She looked into his eyes. They were intelligent, caring eyes, but she knew what lurked just beneath. She had seen him kill, and it had shocked her how little it affected her. It was even beautiful to watch. He was so skilled and effortless in his actions. She rationalized her feelings by hanging her conscience on the fact that the men he killed were guilty of some crime or transgression against humanity. But Mitch Rapp was a different matter. He was someone she admired. This one would be hard to rationalize. In the end, though, it was the promise of walking away from it all, once and for all, that tempted her forward. Things were coming to a head whether Louie wanted them to or not. Their life was moving ahead and it was time for them to put all of this behind them.

Traffic was light, but Rapp nonetheless drove aggressively. It was a little after six in the morning and they were making good time. There was no reason to rush, but Anna wasn't about to tell him to slow down. They'd been down that road before, and he had been characteristically inflexible. Whenever possible Mitch liked to drive her to work. The thirty-minute commute without traffic was a nice way for them to spend time together and since they were both headed in the same direction, it made sense. They had settled into a routine. Mitch drove fast, his head on a swivel, checking his mirrors constantly, noting the faces of drivers as he passed them, and trying as much as possible to vary the route they took. It was all second nature to him, ingrained from years of living in hostile environments.

Anna, for her part, kept her face buried in the New York Times and the Washington Post. Her job required a heavy dose of reading. As a White House correspondent she had to not just follow the goings-on at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, but keep an eye on all things Executive Branch. In addition to that she had to at a bare minimum be aware of what the president's opposition was up to. There was a lot to keep up with and the dirty secret of most TV journalists in DC was that they relied heavily on print reporters to do their work for them. The Post and the Times were a must. Read both, encapsulate, and take to the air with a thirty-second blurb about whatever scandal was brewing at the White House. In theory, if there was time, and if you could get anyone at the White House to talk to you, you would ask a few questions. In reality, however, the "stay on message" attitude of the White House and time constraints meant that more often than not you encapsulated and regurgitated. So while her husband drove like a bank robber fleeing the feds, she tried her best to ignore everything that was going on outside the armored vehicle that was their family sedan.