Act of Treason by Vince Flynn

man was, and I will quote from your original draft, not the one that you are going to give to the president on Monday. In your first draft you wrote Agent Rivera saw a man holding a device and right before the explosion he suddenly ducked behind the tree.”
    “Agent Rivera was under a lot of stress at the time.”
    “Don’t start acting like one of those attorneys over at Justice. I can see from your face that you believe that BS about as much as I do.”
    “And you’re sounding like one of those crazy conspiracy theorists.”
    Baker laughed loudly. “Better than some shill for the government who’d rather bury evidence than face the facts.”
    McMahon was up off the couch with surprising quickness for his size. “I’d be careful about questioning people’s motives, Mr. Blackmailer.”
    “I did no such thing, and you know it, but I’m glad to see you’re angry. You’re going to need it if you’re going to get to the bottom of this.”
    “You’re out of your mind.”
    “And you’re in denial. You’ve accounted for every person at the scene of the crime that day except the man in the red hat.”
    “The man in the red hat doesn’t exist.”
    Baker stepped back and smiled. “Oh, really? If he doesn’t exist, then why does the Starbucks on Wisconsin have him on digital surveillance buying a cup of coffee roughly thirty minutes before the explosion?”
    “What in the hell are you talking about?”
    “Black-and-white surveillance tape. Red doesn’t look red. Your people had it right in front of them and they missed it. Go back and check. You’ll see.”
    McMahon was at a complete loss for words. This shark knew more about his own investigation than he did.
    “Watch your back, Agent McMahon. These guys don’t play by the rules, and neither should you, if you want to find the truth.” Baker turned to Kennedy. “One last thing. You know that Ross will move to get rid of you right after the inauguration.”
    “Yes.”
    “And anyone else he deems a threat.”
    “Are you thinking of anyone in particular?”
    “Mitch.”
    “Mitch Rapp,” said McMahon. “What in the hell does Ross have against Rapp?”
    “It’s a long story,” said Kennedy, not wanting to answer the question. “Cap, I know you have a plane to catch, so cut to the chase.”
    “I think it would be a good idea to bring in a fresh set of eyes on this.”
    “Are you sure you don’t mean you’d like to let the bull into the china shop and see what he breaks?”
    “Oh, that’s a tempting visual, but it’s not what I had in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of an assassin’s assassin. Someone who knows the ins and outs of this world.”
    “It’s not a bad idea.”
    What Baker and McMahon didn’t know, and what Kennedy was not about to tell them, was that she already had Mitch Rapp on the case. She had known about the mystery man in the red hat for almost a month, and Rapp and his team had been working quietly to find out who he was, and more importantly, who had hired him.

3
    L IMASSOL , C YPRUS
    H e was six inches taller than her and ten years older. “I think you should kiss me,” she said softly.
    Mitch Rapp ignored her and watched the door to the café across the street.
    “If we were really lovers you wouldn’t be able to take your hands off me.” She slid her chair closer to his and placed a hand on his thigh. She ran her hand through his long black hair. Streaks of gray were coming in on the sides. For three straight weeks she’d studied him. She knew every wrinkle and scar and there were quite a few of the latter. Some visible. Some buried in his psyche. She had no proof the mental scars were there, but they had to be. No body lived the type of hard life he’d lived and came out unscathed.
    She lifted her sunglasses off her nose just enough to reveal her hazel eyes. They were more green than brown, which she thought might be part of the problem. His ex-wife—no, that wasn’t right, his deceased