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Vince Flynn is often a graduate in the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul, Minnesota. He lives within the Twin Cities together with his wife and three children. Visit his website at www.vinceflynn.com.

George Guidall has recorded over 800 unabridged novels and may be the person receiving two Audie Awards for excellence in audiobook narration. His 40 year acting career includes starring roles on Broadway, an Obie award for the best performance Off-Broadway, and frequent television appearances.

CHAPTER 1
PARIS, FRANCE

RAPP secured the gray nylon rope to your cast-iron vent stack and walked for the edge from the roof. He glanced at the balcony two floors below and after that looked out over the City of Light. Sunrise would happen to be a couple of hours off along with the flow of late-night revelers had faded with a trickle. It was that rare moment of relative inactivity that a city as vibrant as Paris fell under once each day. Every city had its very own unique feel, and Rapp had learned to pay for attention towards the ebb and flow of these natural rhythms. They'd their similarities exactly like people. For all of the hang-ups about individuality, few understood that to the most part, people’s actions were habitual. They slept, woke, ate, worked, ate some more, worked some more, ate again, watched TV, then visited sleep again. It was the fundamental drumbeat of humanity the planet over. The way people lived their lives and met their basic needs.

All men also had their very own unique attributes, which often manifested themselves in habits—habits that Rapp had learned to exploit. As a rule, the best time for this to strike was this witching hour, between dusk and dawn, once the overwhelming majority from the mankind was asleep, or trying to sleep. The physiological reasons were obvious. If it took world-class athletes hours to warm up before a significant event, how would a man defend himself when yanked from deep sleep? However, Rapp can't always pick the appointed hour, and occasionally a target’s habits created a job opening that's so painfully obvious, he simply couldn’t overlook the opportunity.

Three weeks earlier Rapp had been in Athens. His target walked a similar bustling sidewalk every morning from his apartment to his office. Rapp had considered shooting him around the sidewalk, as there were plenty of cover and distraction. It wouldn’t have been difficult, but witnesses were always a concern, along with a police officer could always stumble by on the wrong moment. As he studied his target, he noticed another habit. After coming to work, the man had one more mug of coffee and after that went down the hall together with his newspaper and took a prolonged visit to the men’s room.

Other than catching people asleep, the next most sensible thing was catching them using pants down. On the fourth day, Rapp waited inside the middle stall of three and with the appointed hour his target sat documented on his right. Rapp stood about the toilet seat, leaned in the divider, called the man’s name, after which after their eyes met, he smiled and sent an individual 9mm hollow-tipped round with the top with the man’s head. He fired an additional kill shot in the man’s brainpan for good measure and calmly left the building. Thirty minutes later, he was on a ferry slicing with the warm morning air with the Aegean Sea, headed for the island of Crete.

Most from the kills have been like that. Unsuspecting fools who thought themselves safe after years from the United States doing little or absolutely nothing to pursue them for their involvement in a variety of terrorist attacks. Rapp’s singular goal was to look at the battle about bat roosting men. Bleed them until they began to have doubts, until they lay awake during the night wondering if these folks were next. It became his mission in life. Inaction was what had emboldened these men to carry on making use of their plots to attack innocent civilians. The belief that these were secure to continue to wage their war of terror had given them a smug confidence. Rapp was single-handedly replacing that confidence with fear.

By now, they were conscious something was wrong. Too many men ended up shot inside the head within the a year ago for it to be a coincidence. Rapp’s handler had reported the rumors. Most suspected how the Israelis had resurrected considered one of their hit teams, and that has been fine with Rapp—the more disinformation the better. He had not been looking for credit. Regardless of his hot streak, tonight will be it for any while. The powers that have Virginia were getting nervous. So many people were talking. Too many foreign intelligence agencies were allocating assets to consider this rash of deaths on the list of world’s most notorious terrorists and their network of financiers and arms dealers. Rapp was to send back stateside for some rest and relaxation when he finished this one. At least that’s what Rapp’s handler had told him. Even following a quick year, however, he knew how things worked. Rest and relaxation meant which they wanted to observe him. Ensure some part of his psyche hadn’t wandered down a dark corridor not to return. Thinking brought a grin to Rapp’s face. Killing these assholes was one of the most therapeutic thing he’d ever done in the life. It was more effective than the usual decade of psychotherapy.

He placed his hand over his left ear and focused about the tiny transmitter that has been relaying the sounds with the luxury hotel suite two floors below. Just like the night before, as well as the night before that, he could hear the portly Libyan wheezing and snoring. The man would have been a three-pack-a-day chain smoker. If Rapp could only chase him up a flight ticket of stairs, he may be capable to accomplish his task.

Rapp followed a delivery van as it quietly passed beneath for the Quai Voltaire. Something was bothering him, but he couldn’t place it. He scanned the trail for your slightest evidence that anything was beyond place after which turned his attention to the tree-lined walking paths that bordered the Seine River. They too were empty. All was as it should be, however something was gnawing at him. Maybe things was too easy of late, one kill after another, city after city, instead of a lot like a single close call. The law of averages told him that sooner or later, something would go wrong, anf the husband would find yourself in the jam which may land him in a very foreign jail or possibly cost him his life. Those two thoughts were always inside back of his mind, and depending on the country he was in, he wasn’t sure which can be his preference.

There was little room for fear and doubt as to what he did. There should be caution along with a keen eye to detail, but fear and doubt could incapacitate. He could stand up here all night thinking up excuses to never proceed. Stan Hurley, the tough SOB who had trained him, had warned him in regards to the pitfalls of paralysis by analysis. Rapp considered the stern warning that Hurley had given him and decided it absolutely was more than likely his handler’s anxiety. She had warned him if the slightest thing didn’t seem right, he ended up being to abort the mission. an American couldn't be caught doing this kind of dirty operate in Paris. Not ever, and particularly not now, because of the current political climate.

In the big picture, the mark was a link. Another name to cross off his list, but to Rapp it absolutely was always more personal than the big picture. He wanted to make every last considered one of these men pay for what they’d done. Each kill would grow more difficult, more dangerous, plus it didn’t bother Rapp in the least. He welcomed the challenge. In fact, he took sincere joy within the fact that these assholes were looking over their shoulder every day and going to sleep every night wondering who was simply hunting them.

Rapp asked himself one more hours if he ought to be concerned the Libyan was traveling without security. There was obviously a pretty good possibility how the man felt safe in the position as his country’s oil minister. Just as one important member with the diplomatic community, he probably thought himself over the dirty games of terrorists and assassins. Well, Rapp shown to himself, once a terrorist, always a terrorist. Dress him up in a suit and tie and hang him up inside a thousand-dollar-a-night suite in Paris, and the man was still being a terrorist.

Rapp scanned the road and listened to the Libyan snoring like a pig. After half a minute, he constructed his mind. The man would not see another sunrise. Rapp begun to move in an efficient, almost robotic way because he went over his gear one last time. His silenced Beretta was secured in a very shoulder holster under his right arm; two extra magazines were safely tucked away under his left arm; a double-edged four-inch combat knife was sheathed in the small of his back; and a smaller 9mm pistol was strapped to his right ankle. These were merely the offensive weapons he’d brought along. There was obviously a small med kit, an invisible which was tuned to the hotel’s security channel, flex cuffs, plus a perfectly forged pair of documents having said that he was obviously a Palestinian recently immigrated from Amman, Jordan. Then there were the bulletproof vest. Wearing it turned out considered one of several issues that ended up beaten into him during his seemingly never-ending training.

Rapp flipped in the collar on his black jacket and pulled a thin black balaclava over his face. He hefted the coil of climbing rope, looked within the edge of the building, and told himself, “Two shots on the head.” It was a bit redundant, but that's the point, and the essence products this entire exercise was about.

Rapp gently allow rope play its way to prevent it then swung both legs in the lip of the roof. In one smooth move, he hopped over ledge and spun 180 degrees. His gloved hands clamped onto the rope and slowed his descent until he previously dropped fifteen feet and the man could reach out and put one foot for the railing in the balcony. Holding firmly for the rope, he gently stepped down onto the little black iron grating. He was careful to keep himself off to a single side regardless of the fact how the blackout drapes were pulled. Dropping with a knee, he took the rope and brought it around the railing so it might be around should he need to create a quick exit. He'd disabled the lock on the balcony door when he’d planted the listening device two days earlier. If there were time, however retrieve the device, but it absolutely was nothing special. Rapp always made sure to make use of devices that couldn’t be traced back to one in the high-end manufacturers that Langley used.

He had design of the suite memorized. It was one big room having a sitting area on the left and king-sized platform bed about the other. Rapp liste...