Friday fun for me. Continuing in the first meet between Mitch Rapp and the girl I've selected for him.
He turned and left her office, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Back in the car, he put the key in the ignition but didn’t start it. Instead he took the envelope addressed to him and used his knife to slice it open. Unfolding the letter, he scanned the handwriting. Easy to read, so he began.
Hello, Mitch.
This is no doubt an unusual circumstance if you’re now reading this. I’m assuming I got to know you a whole lot more since writing this. We’ve met in passing, and I’ve talked to Stan about you. I won’t bother writing his colorful reply, but beneath all the rhetoric he had a certain gleam in his eye when he spoke of you.
I’m sure you can relate to that innate trust factor which very few people in this world inspire in us. It’s the nature of the beast. I knew the first time I spoke with you on the one assignment where our paths crossed that I had it in you. It was instantaneous for me, and, because of that, I’m writing this to you with specific instructions for my daughter which I know she’ll respect and obey.
Personal experience tells us there’s potential for our loved ones to come under threats and terrible danger – some we see coming, and those we don’t. I’ve done my best to educate my daughter and teach her “the ropes” of self-defense. You know the drill. Know this: if you ever have the pleasure of meeting her – which I hope the reason for that isn’t because she’s in terrible danger – she probably could’ve been one of us with her talents, but her tender heart would’ve prevented it, and I’m grateful for that. I’ve told her to change her name as a professional, but her real name I want you to know: Raven Christine – and you know my surname. Her first name was decided upon by something significant between her mother and me.
All of that brief background to say this: I’m asking you, if there’s any possible way that you can, if you will rescue her if she is in trouble. There is no one else I trust to do what will need to be done. Since her mother’s death, we’re all we have, and we don’t have near enough time together. And if I’m around when you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be there for you no matter what. Just, please, if you can, take care of my daughter if I’m unable to do so.
Daniel Wilson
Mitch lowered the letter to his lap and stared straight ahead through his bulletproof windshield. He remembered Daniel well as he’d told his daughter. Respected his skills, professionalism, but mostly his heart. He didn’t “eliminate” unnecessarily. Their “jobs” made them cynical at best, but he also noted it could make psychopaths out of some, sociopaths of others, and almost suicidal and broken operators of still more. As he’d noted to Christine, he’d wondered why and how he was still around – especially of late.
Should he read the letter addressed to Daniel’s daughter? Picking it up off the console where his dessert rested, he slit it open and began to read.
Hey, Sweet Girl.
No time to waste here if you’ve opened this. You must find a way to contact Mitch Rapp. If you can’t locate him quickly, get to Irene Kennedy for assistance immediately on one of those burner phones I told you to keep handy.
Mitch is the best of the best. I’ve worked with the best and have even been the best at one time, but Rapp is the absolute top of the line. He’s around your age, and if anyone can help, it will be him.
I hope you will meet him one day simply because you need to know that there are others out there giving their all in this thing we do. He’s young, focused, and utterly skilled. He knows good and evil and never confuses them. He’s had to do things – as I have – which are soul-crushing, but he’s withstood them and will continue to.
If you’re in trouble, find him, Sweet Girl. Do it quickly. Tell him I sent you. I love you more than life itself, and I hope I can always be there for you, but you know that’s not a given. Take good care, Raven. I love you.
Always,
Dad
What hit him first was that he wasn’t “young” anymore and was truly astounded that Daniel Wilson had given him that much credit so many years ago when the letter had been written, before he became more experienced – back when Irene was constantly running interference for him after his assignments.
And then it occurred to him that Daniel had an inkling of his own approaching death.
He inserted the letter back into its envelope, grabbed both letters and his dessert and got out of his car, locked it, and headed back to “Raven’s” office.
She tossed her purse to the floor and sat down hard on the chair, pushed off her shoes, folded her arms and crossed her legs. She forced back the tears and grief and frowned at her behavior. Completely at odds with how she’d conducted herself in front of Mitch Rapp, she admitted to herself that in person he personified the previously ill-defined cliché “larger than life”. Now she knew exactly how the expression translated in real time.
Over lunch, it had been easy. He, as expected, didn’t want to discuss himself and preferred she speak freely about herself which was easy to do on a surface level. Admitting her Christianity got the response she anticipated. Not negative. A moment of surprise quickly concealed.
A light knuckle tap on her door brought her abruptly to her feet giving a quick glance at the wall clock, knowing she had nothing expected for the rest of the day. She walked across the room to answer it after seeing Rapp on the camera image mounted beside her door. She quickly opened it wide for him and saw his dessert box and the two letters in hand. He walked in and she closed the door.
“We didn’t finish our lunch,” he said, continuing to the chair he’d adopted.
“You’re right.” She took her box off her desk, kicked her shoes out of the way, and once again sat across from him. “I have trays in the closet if you think we need them,” she offered.
“I’m good,” he said, placing the letters on the arm of his chair and opening his box.
It took him no time to unwrap the napkin and fork inside, taking a bite. “Wow. This is as good as the rest of the meal.”
She quickly sampled hers. “Mmmm.”
After a few bites, Rapp said, “So, Raven, I read both letters.” He looked directly at her, watching her startled expression.
Something happens inside a woman when a man she admires or is attracted to uses her real name and says it with deliberation, firmness, and just a hint of affection. Whether it’s actually chemical or some kind of romantic hit-piece to the heart, the sound taps a target, strikes its mark, and causes an unscheduled emotional reaction close to an inflamed melt-down – all of which must not appear visible to his naked eye.
With an extreme effort to keep her voice and expression neutral, she responded, “And . . .”
“Your assumption regarding your father’s intent in writing the letters is correct.”
Father, only you. Apart from you, I can do nothing. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Into the Fire 