Kill Shot: An American Assassin Thriller (A Mitch Rapp Novel)
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Vince Flynn’s intensely suspenseful #1 New York Times bestseller puts the young, hungry, and lethal superagent of American Assassin in the crosshairs even as he kills with impunity.
In the year since the CIA trained and then unleashed him, Mitch Rapp has dismantled, kill by untraceable kill, the network of monsters behind the Pan Am Lockerbie terrorist attack. The hunt leads to Paris, where a deadly trap is sprung as the bullet leaves Rapp’s silenced pistol—followed by the discovery of nine bodies, including Libya’s oil minister, in one of the city’s finest hotels. Washington wants no part of the international crisis, and Rapp is deemed a liability by Stan Hurley, one of his handlers. But as he slips outside their control to operate on his own, it will soon become clear that nothing is more dangerous than a wounded and cornered Mitch Rapp.
problem, sir, is that he sees too much of himself in Mitch and it drives him nuts that he can’t control him.” Stansfield couldn’t disagree. Dr. Lewis had alluded to this very problem in several of his reports. In a soothing voice he said, “Irene, we prepare for the worst on something like this, and the truth is everything will more than likely turn out fine.” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” “I know you don’t like the way Stan deals with things, but he does have a very good record of
urgently, and the deputy director of Operations was not surprised. CIA headquarters was just five minutes from their house, and it was common for him to be called in on a moment’s notice for the simple reason that most of his conversations had to be held in a secure environment. Kennedy plopped down in one chair and Lewis took the other. Stansfield returned to the couch and looked at Kennedy. “What’s the problem?” She had been thinking about how much she should tell Stansfield, and in the time
salary that Tarek was on your payroll.” It was Simon who reached out and touched his boss this time. “Francine, we need to go.” Simon, looking at the exchange from afar, realized that Neville had more than likely hit uncomfortably close to the truth. It would be a legal nightmare trying to get the DGSE to open the files they kept on Tarek. “I am not afraid of you, Paul. I know how you like to do things in the shadows. You can’t stand being exposed in the open like this. Mark my words, you will
rolled through the spacious neighborhoods. Paris was older and more cramped by American standards, but compared to many of Europe’s other gems it was downright spacious. At night, the space was like a tunnel, but Rapp wasn’t worried. This was a gentrified neighborhood, and if he happened to run into a criminal it would be the other man’s unlucky night, not his. He took one last look around and then disappeared into the darkness. He had been in the apartment before. It had been a breach of
ensuing hours it seemed that he lost it every thirty minutes. Hurley was stuck at the Embassy, knowing if he left it was highly likely that his new friend Paul Fournier would snatch him off the street and conduct a thorough, not very gentle interrogation. After his sixth or seventh tirade, Kennedy had reached her limit. She told Hurley, “I’ve listened to you for the past two hours, and I haven’t said a thing. But let me give you a little advice. You’re putting a lot of faith in a man who has some