The reek of cash for access offended him—as did the supercilious, sycophantic exchanges among arrogant men who actually despised one another. Since most of his clients came from either D.C. or New York, he often had to hold his nose and venture to the home base of America’s ‘ruling’ class. But in order to hire him, Rafe insisted prospective clients meet him on his turf. To retain his services, he forced them to traipse to his elaborate retreat center in the Pocono Mountains. When he needed to travel, Rafe shanghaied one of his seven private jets, two of which were luxuriously outfitted for his frequent international forays. In his years as an upstart Delta Force operative Rafe earned the label “hard to handle” from his superiors. Which was an accomplishment, considering his associates. Rafe’s superiors weren’t far off the mark. From the time he was a kid in the violent slums in Paris, Rafe never met a rule he didn’t break or an authority figure he didn’t despise. His current company, International Security Associates, operated so far off the grid, it didn’t formally exist.
