Double Tap: A Mitch Rapp Novel by Don Bentley - Hardcover

Flynn, Vince; Bentley, Don

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1668045915 ISBN 13: 9781668045916

Publisher: Atria/Emily Bestler Books, 2026

Synopsis

Vince Flynn’s #1 New York Times bestselling Mitch Rapp series continues the American Assassin storyline, taking the young CIA operative on his first deep-cover mission in which he infiltrates a jihadi organization bent on unleashing a weapon of mass destruction—written by Don Bentley.

Mitch Rapp signed up to be an assassin.

A lone wolf who hunts and kills his nation’s enemies on their turf.

Now, he has a new mission.

When Mitch’s target—a Pakistani chemical weapons scientist for hire—is snatched from the streets of Verona, the American assassin must penetrate the jihadi cell responsible for the brazen kidnapping before they can make use of the scientist’s deadly expertise.

But Mitch isn’t the only one interested in the scientist.

The Pakistani represents an existential threat. A threat that will fray alliances, force enemies to seek common ground, and resurrect long settled vendettas. As the events triggered by the kidnapping cascade out of control, Mitch Rapp must stop the chain reaction before the Middle East reaches critical mass.

About this title

About the Author

#1 New York Times bestselling author Vince Flynn (1966–2013) created one of contemporary fiction’s most popular heroes: CIA counterterrorist agent Mitch Rapp, featured in thirteen of Flynn’s acclaimed political thrillers. All of his novels are New York Times bestsellers, including his stand-alone debut novel, Term Limits.

Don Bentley is the New York Times bestselling author of multiple books in several series including the Matt Drake novels, the Tom Clancy Jack Ryan Jr. series, and now the Vince Flynn Mitch Rapp series. Don is a former FBI Special Agent, SWAT team member, and Army Apache helicopter pilot. Learn more at DonBentleyBooks.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1
FOUR YEARS LATER

VERONA, ITALY

MITCH Rapp eyed the man he intended to kill.

He wasn’t much to look at. Average build and average height, thick hair, and a clean-shaven face. He didn’t give off an air of menace or evil genius. He didn’t have a soldier’s wariness or a spy’s relaxed mannerisms. His clothing choices were distinctly European, and his dark complexion could have signified a home in any number of countries from Greece to Spain.

Taken in whole, the man was completely and utterly unremarkable.

Except for his eyes.

A pair of wire spectacles with round frames gave him a slightly John Lennon vibe, but Mitch thought the glasses served another purpose. To distract. The man’s eyes did not belong to a musician or poet. Nor were they those of a banker or painter. Neither love, knowledge, nor art shone from their depths. Instead, the dark orbs burned with something beyond zeal or passion.

Rapp had seen eyes like this before. He knew what they signified.

Hunger.

A hunger for money.

“Mi scusi. Could you take our picture?”

Rapp turned from the man to the happy couple to his left. Though the first half of the request had been rendered in fairly respectable Italian, the man and woman were decidedly American. They were young—early twenties probably—and doing their best to avoid the stereotypes most often ascribed to their fellow countrymen. Neither wore the typical American tourist wardrobe of garish T-shirt, ball cap, cargo shorts, and tennis shoes. The woman was dressed in a stylish short-sleeved blouse, tailored shorts, and sandals.

Her husband was slightly more formal in linen trousers, an untucked white cotton shirt, and loafers. She had shoulder-length chestnut hair, a pale complexion, brown eyes, and a bright smile. He was the tall and dark to her fair and slight, with thick black hair, a goatee, and a trim build. Judging by the way the husband kept toying with his wedding ring, it was a fairly new accessory.

Rapp’s mother would have termed them precious.

Which was a shame, because they were about to be robbed.

“Sure,” Rapp said with a smile, accepting the camera. “Honeymoon?”

Rapp did not often agree to take pictures for happy couples or make small talk with strangers. But today, he was not Mitch Rapp. Instead, he was a Canadian tourist on holiday to the City of Love, and Canadian tourists were nothing if not friendly.

“Is it that obvious?” The wife blushed, but her eyes sparkled. To his credit, the husband seemed more wary of the friendly stranger. He smiled, but also laid a protective hand on his wife’s shoulder.

His instincts were correct, but his target identification needed work.

Rapp chuckled. “Lucky guess. We’re at Juliet’s window, right? Besides, you two embody young love.”

Keeping the bitterness from his voice was difficult.

He too had once embodied young love.

The woman’s blush deepened, and her smile widened. Even the husband seemed to relax. His tense shoulders loosened, and his posture softened.

Everything was great.

Everything but the pickpocket angling in from behind them.

“A little to the left,” Rapp said, raising the camera to his eye. “I want to frame you beneath the balcony.”

Unlike the happy couple, his smile was strained.

This was partially because their obvious affection hit a little too close to home.

His version of young love had come to a flaming end only a few months prior. Though he was also in his early twenties, Rapp had loved deeply twice, and both of those relationships ended tragically. The first with the death of his girlfriend Mary. The second had been a different sort of death. The kind that happened when two people realized their worlds were incompatible. The second ending hadn’t been as tragic as the first, but it was just as final. His chance at relational happi-ness wasn’t over, but he suspected he wouldn’t experience this couple’s bliss again anytime soon. It didn’t help matters that the blushing bride bore more than a passing resemblance to Mary. For a moment, he found himself wondering how his life might have turned out if the world had been a gentler place.

But it wasn’t a gentler place.

Rapp understood this at a visceral level even if the couple did not. He might not be able to single-handedly rid the world of evil, but he could keep it from infecting the happy pair.

At least for today.

“Perfect,” Rapp said, triggering the camera’s shutter.

Whether or not the shot was perfect would remain a mystery until the newlyweds developed their film. This was because Rapp’s attention wasn’t on the couple, the scenic backdrop, or the camera’s viewfinder.

Instead, he was focused on the piece of Eurotrash edging toward the wife’s purse.

“One more,” Rapp said. “Turn a little to your right.”

They did.

Besides providing the perfect shot of Mr. and Mrs. Americana, the new angle gave the purse snatcher an opportunity to lift the wife’s handbag from her shoulder. It was a knockoff Chanel, so Rapp wasn’t terribly concerned about the metal buckles snapping or the leather fraying. He was, however, worried that the husband might feel obliged to try something heroic. Something that might end with his spleen impaled on the glittering switchblade clearing the purse snatcher’s pocket.

With a career criminal’s smooth motions, the purse snatcher slit the fabric binding the leather strap to the purse’s body, and relieved the woman of her burden. She felt the weight lessen and turned, her toothy smile transforming into a frown. Her husband proved to be more in tune with his surroundings. He seemed to grasp the significance of the figure sliding past, but couldn’t get to the man without trampling his bride.

Rapp didn’t have that problem.

“Here you go,” Rapp said, stepping toward the couple and holding out the camera like he intended to hand it back.

He did not.

Instead, Rapp’s careful choreography accomplished two things—one, the husband was out of play. Two, he stood between the thief and freedom. Rapp turned as if surprised to see the purse snatcher, and for a fraction of a second, they made eye contact. He knew what the other man saw—an olive complexion, thick black hair, a muscular build, and eyes that were so dark as to be black. Nothing that would suggest Rapp was anything but what he purported himself to be—a friendly tourist assisting a honeymooning couple.

The thief faced a choice—go around the human obstacle or through him.

He made his decision.

And Rapp made his.

The thief dropped his shoulder, intending to bowl Rapp over. Rapp obliged the man by dropping something of his own. An elbow directly into the bridge of the thief’s nose. Cartilage shattered with a satisfying crunch.

The thief dropped the purse and reached for his broken nose. His face contorted into a mask of rage as blood spurted between his fingers. His eyes narrowed as if seeing Rapp for the first time.

Moment of truth.

Rapp stepped back, clearing an avenue of escape.

The purse snatcher hesitated for a fraction of a second, questioning whether this was too good to be true. Then he bolted. Rapp watched him go for a beat. Only once he was sure the thief was actually fleeing did he crouch down and retrieve the purse.

Turning, he offered it to the stunned woman.

“I think you dropped this.”

Like most people not intimately familiar with violence, she appeared overwhelmed. She took the offered purse along with her camera, and babbled something.

Her new husband was on stronger footing.

“Thank you,” the man said, grasping Rapp’s hand. “Truly.”

Rapp returned the handshake with his best Canadian grin even as he tracked the thief’s progress out of the courtyard and into the crowd. Contrary to his smile, Rapp was not amused. His sense of right and wrong didn’t like that the purse snatcher had escaped justice. The man’s shattered nose and looming dual black eyes would temporarily keep him from practicing his nefarious trade, but this was a short-lived solution for a permanent problem.

Rapp lived in a zero-sum world.

A world in which, absent sheepdogs, wolves preyed upon the weak. The purse-snatching wolf had been lamed, but he hadn’t been exterminated. Once he finished licking his wounds, the thief would be back to his old tricks. Next time the purse snatcher’s shiny knife sought a target, Rapp wouldn’t be there to guard the herd.

But that couldn’t be helped.

While he was a force for good, Rapp was not a superhero. He’d come to Verona for a very specific purpose and that purpose was not yet fulfilled.

He still had a man to kill.

Edition details

• Publisher: Atria/Emily Bestler Books
• Publication date: 2026
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1668045915
• ISBN 13: 9781668045916
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 416