“Look, Nick. I like you. And I respect what you’re trying to do. But I’m not your man. Thanks for the beer, though.”

Rapp stood and started for the nonexistent door but only made it a few feet before Ward spoke again.

“Would you at least talk to Irene about me?”

Rapp jumped to the ground but didn’t look back. “Next time I see her. Sure.”

19

FRANSCHHOEK

SOUTH AFRICA

RAPP slowed the SUV to let a young couple cross the street in front of him.

No hurry, he reminded himself as they settled into a seating area in front of a café bathed in afternoon sunlight. Other than this quick errand, he didn’t have anything else that had to get done that day. Absolutely nothing. How many times had he been able to say that in his life?

Rapp yawned as he accelerated up the picturesque street, feeling a familiar sense of exhaustion settle into him. Not from the Uganda op, though. From the ninety-mile training ride he’d done that morning with a group of amateur racers about half his age.

His power output had been way below his triathlon days, he’d suffered like an animal, and he was still too heavy. Despite all that, though, they hadn’t been able to shake him off until the last climb. In a few months, the roles would be reversed. He’d make them wish they’d never been born. And he’d do it without a gun, blowtorch, or set of pliers.

His phone rang over the SUV’s sound system, forcing him to try to figure out how to pick up. It was Claudia’s vehicle, and he didn’t have much experience with the endless array of modern conveniences. Finally, he managed to connect on the fifth ring.

“Hello? You still there?”

“I’m here,” Claudia said in French. “You couldn’t find the button again, could you?”

“It’s complicated.”

“We could always get something smaller and sexier.”

“Haven’t we had this conversation?”

“This isn’t the CIA, Mitch. I don’t just salute every time to speak. Conversations can be revisited.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a salute every now and then. Maybe you should try it.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

“What’s up? I’m on time. ETA under one minute.”

He was on his way to pick up Anna, a chore Claudia normally dealt with personally. She didn’t have a lot of faith in his ability to carry out life’s more mundane tasks and was likely checking up on him again. To her credit, though, she always made an effort to come up with some lame excuse. That they needed milk. That she was afraid she’d left the gas tank almost empty. That she wasn’t sure if he’d prefer a steak for dinner or Mexican.

“I just got a call from Ahmale’s mother.”