Kill Shot (Mitch Rapp Series #12)
  • Kill Shot (Mitch Rapp Series #12)
  • Kill Shot (Mitch Rapp Series #12)

Kill Shot (Mitch Rapp Series #12)

4.0 608
by Vince Flynn

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#1 New York Times bestselling author Vince Flynn is back with another nail-biting political thriller that follows the young Mitch Rapp on a deadly mission to hunt down the men responsible for the Pan Am Lockerbie terrorist attack.

For months, Mitch Rapp has been steadily working his way through a list of men, bullet by bullet. With each kill,

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#1 New York Times bestselling author Vince Flynn is back with another nail-biting political thriller that follows the young Mitch Rapp on a deadly mission to hunt down the men responsible for the Pan Am Lockerbie terrorist attack.

For months, Mitch Rapp has been steadily working his way through a list of men, bullet by bullet. With each kill, the tangled network of monsters responsible for the slaughter of 270 civilians becomes increasingly clear. He is given his next target: a plump Libyan diplomat who is prone to drink and is currently in Paris without a single bodyguard.

Rapp finds him completely unprotected and asleep in his bed. With confidence in his well-honed skills and conviction of the man’s guilt, he easily sends a bullet into the man’s skull. But in the split second it takes the bullet to leave the silenced pistol, everything changes. The door to the hotel room is kicked open and gunfire erupts all around Rapp. In an instant the hunter has become the hunted. Rapp is left wounded and must flee for his life.

The next morning, the news breaks in Washington that Libya’s Oil Minister has been killed along with three innocent civilians and four unidentified men. The French authorities are certain that the gunman is wounded and on the loose in Paris. As the finger pointing begins, Rapp’s handlers have only one choice—deny any responsibility for the incident and pray that their newest secret weapon stays that way, avoiding capture and dying quietly. One person in the group, however, is not prone to leaving things to chance. Rapp has become a liability, and he absolutely cannot be allowed to be taken alive by the French authorities. But it will soon become clear that nothing is more dangerous than a wounded and cornered Mitch Rapp.

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Editorial Reviews

Mitch Rapp is back, but don't fret; he hasn't retired to a cushy CIA desk job. In the twelfth installment of Vince Flynn's fast-throttling series, our workaholic counterterrorism agent is still scratching off his hit list of the killers behind the Pan Am Lockerbie bombing. Next on the agenda is a loathsome Libyan diplomat who Rapp tracks down in Paris. The single shot fires; the execution seems perfect; but then all hell breaks loose. Gunfire erupts, killing eight people, including, inexplicably, the Libyan Oil Minister. Rapp himself is wounded, but worse, he's now a hunted man, sought now as a terrorist himself. Without protectors, he is a man on the run in search of a solution. A perfect fit for fans of Vince Flynn and Jason Bourne.

Sessalee Hensley

Product Details

Pocket Books
Publication date:
Mitch Rapp Series, #12
Product dimensions:
5.30(w) x 8.20(h) x 1.20(d)

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

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

Three weeks earlier Rapp had been in Athens. His target walked the same bustling sidewalk every morning from his apartment to his office. Rapp had considered shooting him on the sidewalk, as there was plenty of cover and distraction. It wouldn’t have been difficult, but witnesses were always a concern, and 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 one more cup of coffee and then went down the hall with his newspaper and took a prolonged visit to the men’s room.

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

Most of the kills had been like that. Unsuspecting fools who thought themselves safe after years of the United States doing little or nothing to pursue them for their involvement in various terrorist attacks. Rapp’s singular goal was to take the fight to these men. Bleed them until they began to have doubts, until they lay awake at night wondering if they were next. It had become his mission in life. Inaction was what had emboldened these men to continue with their plots to attack innocent civilians. The belief that they 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 aware that something was wrong. Too many men had been shot in the head in the last year for it to be a coincidence. Rapp’s handler had reported the rumors. Most suspected that the Israelis had resurrected one of their hit teams, and that was fine with Rapp—the more disinformation the better. He was not looking for credit. In spite of his hot streak, tonight would be it for a while. The powers that be in Virginia were getting nervous. Too many people were talking. Too many foreign intelligence agencies were allocating assets to look into this rash of deaths among the world’s most notorious terrorists and their network of financiers and arms dealers. Rapp was to return 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 wanted to observe him. Make sure some part of his psyche hadn’t wandered down a dark corridor never to return. The thought brought a smile to Rapp’s face. Killing these assholes was the most therapeutic thing he’d ever done in his life. It was more effective than a decade of psychotherapy.

He placed his hand over his left ear and focused on the tiny transmitter that was relaying the sounds of the luxury hotel suite two floors below. Just like the night before, and the night before that, he could hear the portly Libyan wheezing and snoring. The man was a three-pack-a-day chain smoker. If Rapp could only chase him up a flight of stairs, he might be able to accomplish his task.

Rapp followed a delivery van as it quietly passed beneath on the Quai Voltaire. Something was bothering him, but he couldn’t place it. He scanned the street for the slightest evidence that anything was out of place and then turned his attention to the tree-lined walking paths that bordered the Seine River. They too were empty. All was as it should be, but still something was gnawing at him. Maybe things had been too easy of late, one kill after another, city after city, and not so much as a single close call. The law of averages told him that sooner or later, something would go wrong, and he would end up in a jam that might land him in a foreign jail or possibly cost him his life. Those two thoughts were always in the back of his mind, and depending on what country he was in, he wasn’t sure which would be his preference.

There was little room for fear and doubt in what he did. There should be caution and a keen eye to detail, but fear and doubt could incapacitate. He could stand up here all night thinking up excuses not to proceed. Stan Hurley, the tough SOB who had trained him, had warned him about the pitfalls of paralysis by analysis. Rapp thought about the stern warning that Hurley had given him and decided it was more than likely his handler’s anxiety. She had warned him that if the slightest thing didn’t seem right, he was to abort the mission. An American could not be caught doing this kind of dirty work in Paris. Not ever, and especially not now, given the current political climate.

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

Rapp asked himself one more time if he should be concerned that the Libyan was traveling without security. There was a good chance that the man felt safe in his position as his country’s oil minister. As an important member of the diplomatic community, he probably thought himself above the dirty games of terrorists and assassins. Well, Rapp thought to himself, once a terrorist, always a terrorist. Dress him up in a suit and tie and put him up in a thousand-dollar-a-night suite in Paris, and he was still a terrorist.

Rapp scanned the street and listened to the Libyan snoring like a pig. After half a minute, he made up his mind. The man would not see another sunrise. Rapp began to move in an efficient, almost robotic way as he went over his gear one last time. His silenced Beretta was secured in a 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; and a smaller 9mm pistol was strapped to his right ankle. These were merely the offensive weapons he’d brought along. There was a small med kit, a radio that was tuned to the hotel’s security channel, flex cuffs, and a perfectly forged set of documents that said he was a Palestinian recently immigrated from Amman, Jordan. And then there was the bulletproof vest. Wearing it was one of several things that had been beaten into him during his seemingly never-ending training.

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

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

He had the layout of the suite memorized. It was one big room with a sitting area on the left and king-sized platform bed on the other. Rapp listened to the noises on the other side of the doors. The prostitute was more than likely there, but Rapp couldn’t hear her over the obnoxious snoring and wheezing of the Libyan. Everything was as it should be. Rapp drew his Beretta and slowly began to place pressure on the brass door handle with his gloved hand. He moved it from the three o’clock position down to five, and then it released without so much as a click.

Rapp pulled the door toward him and swung it flat against the side of the building. He placed his free hand on the seam of the blackout curtains and pushed through in a low crouch, his pistol up and sweeping from left to right. It was six steps from the balcony to where his target was sleeping. The bed was up so high that the platform had a step that wrapped around three sides. A massive, gaudy mirror served as the headboard. The elevation put the target at waist height for the six-foot-one Rapp. With the tip of the silencer only four feet from the Libyan’s head, Rapp stole a quick glance in hopes that he could locate the prostitute. The best he could do was get a sense that she was somewhere on the other side, buried under a jumble of pillows and blankets. He would never shoot her, but he might have to pistol-whip her in the event she woke up and started screaming.

Rapp moved a half step closer and leveled his weapon. He placed the orange dot of his front sight on the bridge of the man’s nose and then brought the two rear dots into position. The pressure was already on the trigger, and without so much as the tiniest flash of hesitation, Rapp squeezed and sent a bullet into the man’s head. The suppressor jumped one inch, fell back in line, and Rapp fired the second shot.

He looked down at the Libyan. The second shot had enlarged the dime-sized hole by half. Death was instantaneous, which meant that the snoring had stopped. In the new silence of the room, Rapp’s eyes darted to the jumbled pile on the far side of the bed, and after three seconds of no movement he dropped to his knee and reached around the back of the nightstand. The fingertips of his right hand had just found what he was looking for when he felt the floor beneath him tremble. The vibration was intense enough that Rapp knew it could be caused only by one thing. He withdrew his hand, leaving the listening device where it was, and rose enough so that he could look over the bed to the hotel room’s door.

There, in the thin strip of light under the door, Rapp saw one shadow pass and then another. He cursed to himself, and was about to make a break toward the balcony, when the door crashed open, flooding the suite with a band of light. As Rapp began to drop, he saw the distinct black barrel of a submachine gun, and then a bright muzzle flash.

© 2012 Vince Flynn

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“The voice of today’s postmodern thriller generation, Flynn has never been better.” —Providence Journal

“There’s a reason [Vince Flynn] is No. 1 on the bestseller list." —The New York Post

“Flynn is a master — maybe the master — of writing thriller novels in which the pages seem to turn themselves.” —

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Kill Shot 4 out of 5 based on 1 ratings. 608 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Dear Rapp Fans, As some of you may or may not know, I was diagnosed with stage III metastatic prostate cancer in November of 2010. My treatments have gone well and the cancer has for the most part remained in my prostate and the right ischium at the base of my pelvis. Kill Shot was on schedule, and as is my habit, I was planning to lock myself away at my cabin for June and July so I could finish the book. Unfortunately, the cancer did not cooperate. In early June the tumor on my prostate spread and got a hold of a nerve bundle. At the same time the cancer on the ischium began to eat away at the bone, which caused some muscles and tendons that run down the back of my leg to snap off. The pain that this caused made it nearly impossible to sit still and concentrate, which is a fairly important part of writing a book. My doctors and I had been discussing radiation since the very beginning, and we made the decision to begin treatment in late July. By the end of August the pain was beginning to subside. During this time I was holding out hope that I could refocus on Kill Shot and still get the book out in time for Christmas. I made it through the first half of my forty treatments with very few side effects, and then around September 1, fatigue began to set in. Once again I found it extremely difficult to focus on the book for more than an hour or two. I have never missed a pub date and it pains me to come up short on this one. I desperately wanted to keep my commitment to my publisher, the trade, and most important, you. Even though my condition has continued to improve, my doctors have told me I will not be back to full strength until the first of November. After that, they say I will feel better than I've felt in two years. Rather than hand in a substandard Rapp novel, my agent Sloan Harris, my editor Emily Bestler, and I decided that we would move the pub date of Kill Shot to February 7, 2012. I apologize for any inconvenience this has caused you, and I promise that I will do my best to make sure the extra few months are worth the wait. Thank you for your patience, prayers, and goodwill. Keep the faith! Vince Flynn
Nancy20 More than 1 year ago
Did anyone else preordered this book and are you having trouble with the preorder line in the way of the book and not being able to read it today since it came out today?
Howee More than 1 year ago
Wishing you the very best. GOD BLESS YOU?
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The reason this is taking so long to get out to his readers is that Vince Flynn was diagnosed with Prostate Cancer last year. He has been unable to write this book as soon as he wanted. Be patient.
CandidCandi More than 1 year ago
We are all awaiting the next adventure of Mitch Rapp. Thank you, Anonymous, for sharing the fact that Vince Flynn has cancer. I heard about this the other day and was greatly saddened ~ he is so young. But I also heard that he is doing much better and pray for his complete recovery! February will be here before we know it!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I discovered Vince Flynn and the Rapp series when i was serving in Iraq. A Flynn paperback was a standard stowaway anywhere i traveled. Rapp stories helped me pass some nerve-racking lulls away. Your fans are behind you Vince -we'll wait as long as you need. Speedy recovery boss - chin up. USAF!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
BN took money out of my account but I can not open the new book on any of my devices. They have also not responded to my email about the situation. I am sure that I will give the book a real 5 star rating if I could only read it. Get well soon Vince. Am looking forward to many more books from you.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Take all the time you need and get well. We'll all wait. We'll just have to read your lousy competitors and it'll increase our anticipatory delight! Funny how you can get attached to an author, isn't it? There's a lot of people in your cheering section.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I was counting the days to get the book but a couple of more months won't hurt. Thank you so much Flynn for taking your time to let your fans know how is going with you and the book. Love your Mitch Rapp series and I can't wait to read #12 "Kill Shot". Hope you have a speed up recovery.
liz mclamb More than 1 year ago
Praying for you.... keep your head up.... even through all the stuff you are going through, thank you for keeping us updated...
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Terrific read!! I inhale these Rapp novels and end up going back and reading them over and over as I wait for the next one. Even with his cancer battle going on Flynn has still managed to put out another very well written Rapp episode. I love meeting up with the already known characters from the sequels in the now written prequels. I got better intel on the relationship between Mitch and Stan Hurley in this installment so can relate to their mutual respect and consideration of each other. I have read each and every one of the twelve(12) Rapp novels and will continue to do so. You keep writing them Mr Flynn and I will continue to read and recommend them to everyone. They are a big hit with my buddy veterans at my local VA Medical Center. Vetlass in Louisville, KY
hjbdcj More than 1 year ago
Dear Vince Flynn: My family, my neighbor and I are all praying for your complete and pain free recovery from this awful illness. We have read each of your books and were able to hear you talk at a luncheon sponsored by Northern Trust in Newport Beach, CA. You demonstrated knowledge of your subject, a great sense of humor and refreshing skill at public speaking. You signed our 4 copies of "Extreme Measures" and were personally charming. I am so glad that you are determined to complete "Kill Shot." I've been missing my 2011 annual pleasure in reading your latest novel. I look forward to reading it in 2012. At this time in history we need Mitch Rapp more than ever. With all best wishes to you and your family, Your devoted reader in Orange County, CA
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
it would be nice to read, but it won't upload to my Nook Tablet. This turns me off !! I Prepaid for this book 21 Jan. Where is it?
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Can not open
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Dear Mr. Flynn, My family and I are wishing you a speedy recovery, I believe I know what both you and family are going through over the past year. Last April 2011, I lost my older brother Michael after cancer took him. It's times like this when families and friends are brought together to share in our bond of love for the sick and injuried. I can only hope that during this holiday season your friends and family can bring you their love and remove some of the pain you are currently going through. I wish both you and your family and happy and merry holiday season. Sincerely, Rick Tallent Fort Lauderdale, FL. Semper fi
KenCady More than 1 year ago
I give five stars to Mr. Flynn in his fight against cancer. The novel, however, is only a 3 star story. I say this as a fan of the series, but in this look back at the beginning of Mitch Rapp's career, not much of interest happens. Mostly what we see is some infighting among bureaucrats. Yes, there is also some killing, a love interest for Mitch, and the story of how he learned to trust Irene Kennedy. It's not bad, but just not a five star story. there seems to be excess verbiage and filler stories to give the book some heft. Just like Rapp needed to lie low for awhile, so does Mr. Flynn. Rest, take care of yourself, and come back with a super story for your loyal fans.
CARlovesbooks More than 1 year ago
I have been eagerly waiting for this book to come out and it does not disappoint. It is great to go back and learn more about the early years. I can't wait for the next one.
doc101 More than 1 year ago
Having read all the Mitch Rapp books at least twice (or more) I anxiously waited for this one. Unfortunately, it did not live up to my expectations. The interactions between the hero and the others was described on a very superficial basis. The action descriptions, other than multiple shootings, were superficial and week. The denoument was illogical. I hope Mr Flynn has a good recovery and, with his next book, I can go back to 4 or 5 star ratings.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Thanks Vince, they have been as much fun to read as, I am sure they were for you to write. Good luck with everything. My thoughts and prayers are with you.
AVIDREADERDA More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Not sure what was wrong with this book but I just could not stay interested, no matter how hard I tried. It was a good book just not up to par on what I am used to from Flynn. This is my favorite series of any author I read and I read a few. My Dad who is a big Flynn fan said the same thing. Just not what I expected but I still recommend the book. It is Rapp after all :)
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Once again Rapp, Hurley and crew held my attention from beginning to end. Seemed to be bloodier than past books probably because the number of bad guys Rapp had to eliminate. Will be waiting for the next volume. Highly recommend if you like fast paced action. Descriptive enough that it is easy to imagine yourself watching the action take place.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I hate preordering from the Snook. It won't open when promised, but they sure want their money on time. Is the Kindle this bad? Mac
Wsolivan More than 1 year ago
Due to my own chronic illness I have been bedridden a lot and by accident discovered your books which I love. I had never read fiction before and I'm thoroughly enjoying your Mitch Rapp series although accidentally read them out of order. I still need to catch up with some of the missing ones I don't have. I am so sorry to hear about your illness and very hopeful you will recover and can continue to write. You have opened my eyes to a newly found interest and kept me company and interested during some of my worst health episodes. I can't wait to get this new book. Please don't kill Mitch yet and definitely don't give up on yourself.
Anonymous 9 months ago