As Rapp slipped through the trees, he reflected on the things Nash had said to him back in that clearing. Was it possible there was a kernel of truth in it? Over the course of their relationship, they’d probably disagreed more than they agreed, but Rapp had always taken the man seriously. Sometimes more seriously than he was willing to admit.

Son of a bitch.

Above all things, Rapp hated doubt. It was almost as bad as regret on his scale of bullshit wastes of time. But there he was. Walking through the jungle wallowing in it. Setting a pace designed to ensure that he never caught his target.

By God, he’d make Nash suffer, though. He’d keep running him up this hill until the forest opened onto farmland and forced the man to double back. He’d keep shooting at random, suspending the man at the edge of panic. Then, eventually, he’d collect Coleman and the guys and just slink away. Nash would stay hidden in the woods—probably for days—starving his ass off, getting eaten by bugs, and hopefully ingesting some amoeba that would cause truly catastrophic diarrhea. Eventually he’d emerge, filthy, unshaven, and dehydrated. Separated from his Agency support and his family. Not knowing whom he could trust.

When he finally slipped back to the United States, he’d be Kennedy’s problem. Maybe she’d ship him off to surveil a Siberian weather station for the rest of his career. Or shove him in a forgotten warehouse full of Cold War intelligence reports in need of filing.

The sunlight intensified just ahead, indicating a break in the trees. Rapp turned to skirt its edges before spotting a figure near the middle.

Nash.

He hesitated for a moment, but then moved into a position where he’d be visible but still have reasonable cover. Nash had taken no such precautions. He was out in the open with his gun hanging loosely from his hand.

“You’re even slower than I thought,” Rapp said.

“I didn’t figure there was any hurry. Just putting off the inevitable, right? I’m not going to let you push me up this hill until I drop. I’d like to die with a little more dignity than that. If I’m going down, I’ll damn well do it with a shirt free of puke and the crease in my pants still holding.”

“Whatever works for you.”

“It’s been a wild ride, huh, Mitch? The things we’ve done? The things we’ve seen? Even if we could talk about it, no one would ever believe it.”

Rapp just shrugged.