The Third Option Read Online Free PDF Page B

keeping an eye on Kennedy, and I think she just might self-destruct before the process gets that far.»
    Rudin eyed the big man sitting next to him. «What information do you have that I don't?»
    Clark let a big old grin crease his face and raised his drink. «If you're good to me, Albert, I just might let you see someday.»
    Rudin was mad at himself for asking the question. He knew firsthand that Hank Clark liked to keep tabs on people, friend and foe alike.
    The old congressman from Connecticut scratched his nose and asked, «What type of information are we talking about? Is it personal or professional?»
    Clark smiled. «I think it would be considered professional.»
    Rudin scowled. He hated begging for details. Besides, he had learned a long time ago that Clark would tell him only when he was ready and not a moment before. Sniveling for info would do no good.
    «I assume you will let me know when the time is right.»
    Clark nodded as he took a drink. «I'll keep you in the loop, Albert.»

4
    Mitch Rapp put the finishing touches on his make-up. A rinse dye had turned his black eyebrows and hair light brown. Special contacts transformed his dark brown eyes to blue, and the makeup made his olive complexion more pale. Rapp looked down at the black suit jacket and long black leather overcoat on the bed and checked his equipment one last time. The leather overcoat contained hidden compartments that were loaded with Rapp's premission laundry list. Near the bottom of the knee-length overcoat were three passports and ten thousand dollars in cash of various European currencies. One passport was American. It had Rapp's real photograph, an alias, and stamps indicating that he had entered the country through Dresden. The second passport was French and contained a photograph of Rapp with a goatee and short hair, and the third passport was Egyptian and contained no photograph. Each passport had a matching credit card. They were his way out of Germany if something went wrong. No one at Langley knew about them. If things fell apart, Rapp wanted to be able to disappear.
    Rapp had memorized most of the main roads and railway lines that would get him out of the area, but he carried a tiny GPS unit the size of a deck of cards to make sure he knew his exact location. A matte-black combat knife was concealed in the right sleeve of the jacket, and four extra clips of 9-mm ammunition were stashed away in various places. In the back of the jacket was the newest model in the Motorola Saber line of handheld encrypted radios. To wear a headset in an urban environment was too obvious, so Rapp had developed a system. Threaded through the lining of the jacket were wires that led to a small speaker in the left collar, a microphone in the lapel, and volume and frequency controls in the sleeves. The jacket had a few other goodies that Rapp had ordered, bringing the total weight of the garment to twenty-three pounds.
    His current credentials were in the left pocket of the suit coat. For this evening Rapp would be Carl Schnell of the Bundeskriminalant, or BKA. To its counterparts in English-speaking countries the organization was known as the Federal Office of Criminal Investigation. It was Germany 's version of the FBI. The credentials would be his way past security and into the house.
    Rapp grabbed his leather shoulder holster and put it on over his white dress shirt. Slung under his right arm was a 9-mm Glock pistol. The serial number had been removed from the weapon. Two extra clips of ammunition were stashed in the holster's pockets under his left arm. Each clip held fifteen rounds, and with four more clips stashed in the leather overcoat, Rapp had enough for a small battle. It was all for backup. He was planning on getting the job done with one shot.
    Rapp slid on a pair of well-worn black leather gloves and picked up the long, sleek, silenced Ruger Mk II from the bed. It fired a. 22-caliber cartridge and was almost completely silent. Its only