Kill Shot (Mitch Rapp) [Kindle Edition]

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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 could be the recipient of 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 a cast-iron vent stack and walked to the edge with the roof. He glanced in the balcony two floors below and then looked out across the City of Light. Sunrise would are actually a couple of hours off and the flow of late-night revelers had faded to a trickle. It was that rare moment of relative inactivity that a good city as vibrant as Paris fell under once each day. Every city had its unique feel, and Rapp had learned to pay attention on the ebb and flow of these natural rhythms. That they had their similarities just like people. For all in the hang-ups about individuality, few understood that for your most part, people’s actions were habitual. They slept, woke, ate, worked, ate some more, worked some more, ate again, watched TV, and after that attended sleep again. It was the essential drumbeat of humanity the planet over. The way people lived their lives and met their basic needs.

All men also had their particular unique attributes, that often manifested themselves in habits—habits that Rapp had learned to exploit. As a rule, the best time in your case to strike was this witching hour, between dusk and dawn, if the overwhelming majority of the human race was asleep, or looking to sleep. The physiological reasons were obvious. If it took world-class athletes hours to warm-up before an important event, how would a person defend himself when yanked from deep sleep? However, Rapp couldn't always select the appointed hour, and occasionally a target’s habits created a job opening that was so painfully obvious, he simply couldn’t overlook the opportunity.

Three weeks earlier Rapp ended up in Athens. His target walked the same bustling sidewalk each morning from his apartment to his office. Rapp had considered shooting him for the sidewalk, as there was clearly plenty of cover and distraction. It wouldn’t are already difficult, but witnesses were always a concern, along with a police officer could always stumble by at the wrong moment. As he studied his target, he noticed another habit. After arriving at work, the man had an additional mug of coffee after which went along the hall together with his newspaper and took a prolonged visit on the men’s room.

Other than catching people asleep, another smartest thing was catching them using their pants down. On the fourth day, Rapp waited within the middle stall of three and in the appointed hour his target sat recorded on his right. Rapp stood on the toilet seat, leaned over the divider, called your man’s name, after which after their eyes met, he smiled and sent just one 9mm hollow-tipped round through the top of the man’s head. He fired another kill shot in to the man’s brainpan permanently measure and calmly left the building. Thirty minutes later, he was over a ferry slicing through the warm morning air with the Aegean Sea, headed to the island of Crete.

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

By now, these were conscious something was wrong. Too many men was shot inside head inside the a year ago for it to become a coincidence. Rapp’s handler had reported the rumors. Most suspected that the Israelis had resurrected one of their hit teams, and that's fine with Rapp—the more disinformation the better. He was not trying to find credit. Regardless of his hot streak, tonight would be it to get a while. The powers that maintain Virginia were getting nervous. Many folks were talking. Too many foreign intelligence agencies were allocating assets to check into this rash of deaths among the world’s most notorious terrorists along with their network of financiers and arms dealers. Rapp was to come back stateside for some rest and relaxation when he finished this one. At least that’s what Rapp’s handler had told him. Even after a quick year, however, he knew how things worked. Rest and relaxation meant that they planned to observe him. Make certain some a 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 probably the most therapeutic thing he’d ever done as part of his life. It was more effective when in comparison to a decade of psychotherapy.

He placed his pay his left ear and focused for the tiny transmitter that has been relaying the sounds from the luxury hotel suite two floors below. Just much like the night before, along with the night before that, he could hear the portly Libyan wheezing and snoring. The man would be a three-pack-a-day chain smoker. If Rapp could only chase him up a flight of stairs, he could possibly be capable of 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 path to the slightest evidence that anything was beyond place and then turned his attention to the tree-lined walking paths that bordered the Seine River. They too were empty. All was because it should be, but nevertheless something was gnawing at him. Maybe things ended up too easy of late, one kill after another, city after city, and not a great deal as being a single close call. The law of averages told him that sooner or later, something would go wrong, and he would wind up inside a jam that could land him in the foreign jail or even cost him his life. Those two thoughts were always within the back of his mind, and depending about what country he was in, he wasn’t sure which could be his preference.

There was little room for fear and doubt with what he did. There ought to be caution along with a keen eye to detail, but fear and doubt could incapacitate. He could remain true here all night thinking up excuses to never proceed. Stan Hurley, the tough SOB who had trained him, had warned him about the pitfalls of paralysis by analysis. Rapp contemplated the stern warning that Hurley had given him and decided it was over likely his handler’s anxiety. She had warned him that if the slightest thing didn’t seem right, he ended up being to abort the mission. an American cannot be caught carrying this out sort of dirty operate in Paris. Not ever, especially not now, due to the current political climate.

In the big picture, the mark was a link. Another name to cross off his list, but to Rapp it was always more personal compared to big picture. He wanted to generate every last one of these men pay for the purpose 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 inside the fact that these assholes were looking over their shoulder daily and planning to sleep every night wondering who was simply hunting them.

Rapp asked himself one additional time if he needs to be concerned how the Libyan was traveling without security. There would happen to be a pretty good possibility that the man felt safe in his position as his country’s oil minister. As a possible important member from the diplomatic community, he probably thought himself over the dirty games of terrorists and assassins. Well, Rapp thought to himself, once a terrorist, always a terrorist. Dress him up in a very suit and tie and set him up in a very thousand-dollar-a-night suite in Paris, and that he used to be a terrorist.

Rapp scanned the trail and listened towards the Libyan snoring being a pig. After half a minute, he comprised his mind. The man would avoid seeing another sunrise. Rapp did start to move in an efficient, almost robotic way as they went over his gear one last time. His silenced Beretta was secured in the 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 at the small of his back; as well as a smaller 9mm pistol was strapped to his right ankle. They were merely the offensive weapons he’d brought along. There would be a small med kit, a radio that was tuned on the hotel’s security channel, flex cuffs, plus a perfectly forged pair of documents having said that he was a Palestinian recently immigrated from Amman, Jordan. Then there is the bulletproof vest. Wearing it turned out considered one of several things that had been beaten into him during his seemingly never-ending training.

Rapp flipped inside 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 in the building, and told himself, “Two shots to the head.” It was obviously a bit redundant, but that was the point, along with the essence of the this entire exercise was about.

Rapp gently let the rope play its exit and then swung both legs within the lip in the roof. In one smooth move, he hopped off of the ledge and spun 180 degrees. His gloved hands clamped on surface of the rope and slowed his descent until he'd dropped fifteen feet and he could touch base and put one foot on the railing of the balcony. Holding firmly to the rope, he gently stepped down onto the little black iron grating. He was careful to maintain himself off to one side inspite of the fact that the blackout drapes were pulled. Dropping to some knee, he took the rope and brought it across the railing so it will be accessible should he need to create a quick exit. He previously disabled the lock on the balcony door when he’d planted the listening device two days earlier. If there was clearly time, however retrieve the device, but it had been nothing special. Rapp always guaranteed to use devices that couldn’t be traced to one from the high-end manufacturers that Langley used.

He had design in the suite memorized. It was one big room which has a sitting area about the left and king-sized platform bed around the other. Rapp liste...