The Third Option (15 page)

Brown cleared his throat and appeared to be choosing his words carefully. «I just received a call from Chairman Rudin.» Brown looked genuinely troubled. «He wants everything we have on what transpired in Germany this past weekend.»

The assassination of Count Heinrich Hagenmiller had taken on mythic proportions in just a few days. Even within the secretive bubble of Langley, it was being discussed by almost everyone. The three top suspects were the United States, Israel, and Iraq. But as of yesterday, the British, the French, and even the Germans were added to the list. The British were added because they were the British, and they'd been doing just this type of thing better and longer than anyone else. The French were added to the list because it was said Hagenmiller had cut them out of the deal. And the Germans, it was being said, killed the count because he was an embarrassment. Kennedy didn't mind any of this. The more speculation, the better. This was, after all, the intent of the operation, to send a message to all who dealt with Saddam. The more governments to be suspicious of, the better.

Brown looked in the direction of Kennedy and said, «And he would like to see you in front of his committee first thing in the morning, Irene.»

Salmen let out a moan, and Kennedy said, «All right. Would he like anything specific?»

«He didn't say. He just asked me to remind you that you'd be under oath.» Brown said this with all of the reverence of a former federal judge.

Salmen scoffed at the comment and said, «What a joke!»

Brown did not like dissension. «Is there a problem, Max?»

«Yeah. Rudin is the problem.»

«Pardon me?» Brown seemed to be in an even more serious mood than normal.

«Chairman Rudin is a frustrated little man who's had a bug up his ass since day one about this Agency:»

Deputy Director Brown did not think the comment was funny, and two of the other deputy directors were forced to stifle their reactions to Salmen's candid and accurate analysis. Kennedy, as always, kept a neutral expression on her face.

«I would appreciate it if you'd show the congressman from Connecticut a little more respect.»

This caused Salmen to laugh out loud. «The congressman and I have had a hate-hate relationship for years. If I started to respect him at this stage of the game, he'd be very upset.»

Brown decided to move on. Looking to Charles Workman, the deputy director of Intelligence, he said, «I want a report on my desk by five. Anything and everything you have on what went down in Germany.» Workman dutifully replied that he would personally take care of it. Brown turned back to Salmen. «Is it true that we had Hagenmiller under surveillance?»

Salmen stuffed his hands under his armpits and shrugged. «That's on a strictly need-to-know basis.»

Brown's face became flushed over Salmen's blatant disrespect. «I am in the need to know, and I expect a report from you on my desk by five.»

Salmen remained defiant. «I will give you no such report until Director Stansfield tells me to do so.»

«Listen, Max, I have done nothing to deserve this from you. I am the DDI, and for all intents and purposes the acting DCI. When I tell you I want something on my desk by five, I mean it.»

Salmen appeared to back off just a touch. «Jonathan, I mean no disrespect, but I've been doing this a hell of a lot longer than you. The bedrock of this agency is the philosophy of 'need to know.' When Director Stansfield tells me you need to know, I'll tell you.»

«Max, Director Stansfield isn't going to be around to protect you forever. And when he's gone, I'm going to relish putting you out to pasture.»

Salmen stood. «Yeah, well, until then, Your Honor… you can kiss my big white ass.» The deputy director of Operations turned and left the conference room with a broad smile across his face.

After a period of uncomfortable silence, Kennedy looked to the DDI and said, «Sir, I would like to apologize for Max. He has been under a lot of stress lately. As you know, he and Director Stansfield are very close. I don't think Max is taking his poor health very well.»

«You don't need to apologize for him.» Brown appreciated Kennedy's comments. She was one of the most competent and professional people he had ever worked with. It was too bad she was going to end up being a casualty of this whole mess.

«I know I don't, sir, but please don’t take it personally. Max is just very cranky, and on top of that, he doesn't care much for Congressman Rudin.»

«Yes, I know. I can assure you that the congressman feels the same way about Max.» Brown looked at his notes for a second and then said, «I want you to be completely forthright when you go before the committee tomorrow; The last thing we want is to have Director Stansfield's career end in disgrace.»

Kennedy nodded in agreement, but internally she was deciphering Brown's real intent. Stansfield had let it leak that he would last six months to a year. Kennedy knew he'd be lucky to last a month. Brown's concern had nothing to do with Thomas Stansfield's reputation. It had everything to do with his own career. Scandals in Washington were a media and political feast to be savored, death by a thousand cuts to be drawn out over a period of years not months. Brown, not Stansfield, would be the one in the hot seat if a congressional investigation were launched. And it was extremely rare for someone's career to survive such a bloodletting.

Rapp drove west on Georgetown Pike in a black 1994 Volkswagen Jetta. It was dark out, and rush-hour traffic was starting to dwindle. The car was registered under the name of Charlie Smith. Rapp had a Maryland driver's license in his pocket with the same name. The CIA had taught Rapp many things over the years, but two of the most important were to be thorough and paranoid. A shrink had once told him to use the word cautious because of the negative connotations associated with the word paranoid, but Rapp had only laughed. He had always been cautious, it was second nature to him, but paranoid described his current mental state perfectly. When you were on your own, up against the world's largest and best funded- intelligence agency, there was no more appropriate word.

Rapp had an advantage over most, though. He was an insider. He knew how the Agency operated, and despite all of their technological advancements, they were stil11imit- ed. If a person was proactive and paranoid enough, disappearing was easy. And Rapp was both. That was why three years ago, he had set up the Charlie Smith alias and paid eight-thousand dollars cash for the Jetta. That was why he kept it in a storage yard up in Rockville along with a few other items that might come in handy. Rapp had been the hunter long enough to understand that someday he might become the hunted. And when that happened, it was best not to waste time trying to buy weapons and steal vehicles.

As they passed under Interstate 495, Shirley let out a yawn. Rapp looked over his shoulder to see how she was doing. She looked back at him with her big brown eyes and licked her lips. Rapp had picked her up at 7319 Georgia Avenue NW. For a mutt, she was a good looker. The people at the Washington Humane Society had been very helpful. He'd asked for a medium-sized dog that was mellow and, if possible, didn't bark too much. They had brought him back to the kennels and showed him Shirley. She was part collie, part Labrador, and part something else. She'd been with them for three weeks, and no one had claimed her, which surprised the woman who was showing Rapp around. It appeared Shirley had been very well trained. When Rapp asked the woman how they had come up with the dog's name, she told him they went down a list of names until she responded to one. «It could be Curly, Burley, Hurly, or anything that sounds like Shirley, but I picked Shirley. She looks like a Shirley.» Rapp didn't argue. Shirley was fine with him. After picking her up, he stopped at a pet store and got a leash, some dog food, and a few treats to help woo her.

At Linganore Drive, he took a right off the pike and then took his first left onto Linganore Court. Rapp drove the car to the end of the street, turned it around, and parked. He grabbed Shirley from the back seat and went over to the walking path. It ran between two houses and into the Scotts Run Nature Preserve. The preserve consisted of three hundred eighty-four acres of wooded land overlooking the Potomac River in McLean, Virginia. The hiking trails were well used during the day and especially the weekends, but on a Tuesday night they would be empty. Rapp and Shirley «disappeared into the darkness and broke into a jog.

IRENE KENNEDY ARRIVED at 7:20. She had left Langley at six and stopped at home just long enough to make Tommy a bowl of macaroni and cheese and eat a salad for herself. After spending exactly forty-three minutes with her son, she handed him off to Heather, the teenager who lived next door. There was no need to brief Heather on the rules and numbers to call if anything scared her. They had run through the routine at least a dozen times. Kennedy set the security system and left, getting in back of the government sedan with her protector behind the wheel. The ride to Stansfield's house was filled with guilt and doubt. More and more, Kennedy was feeling like a bad mom. When she wasn't at Langley working, she was at home working. Tommy was spending a frightening amount of time glued to the TV.

The demands put on her time were growing with fewer respites between the flare-ups. The life of a single parent was hard enough, but with her job, it was nearly impossible. She didn't blame her ex, though. It was better that they had parted when Tommy was little. The man was out west and out of their lives. At least he would never get close enough to disappoint his son the way he had disappointed her.

Kennedy felt torn between her obligation to her son and her obligation to a very serious job. A job that saved lives. But something was going to have to give. She couldn't go on like this. Her work would suffer, and so would her relationship with her son. As they turned into Stansfield's driveway, Kennedy forced the thoughts from her mind. She needed to focus. The last thing her mentor needed right now was to worry about her. The car stopped in front of the garage, and Kennedy got out. She walked up to the front door, where she was met by one of Stansfield's bodyguards. Kennedy went down the hall and entered the study, where she found Thomas Stansfield sitting in his leather chair, his feet up on the ottoman and an afghan on his lap. She walked over and kissed him on the forehead. All things considered, he looked good.

Leaving her hand on his shoulder, she asked, «How are you feeling today?»

«Just fine, thank you. Would you like anything to drink?»

Kennedy knew he wasn't fine. He couldn't be. The doctors had told her the cancer was very painful. But that was Thomas Stansfield. He wasn't about to feel sorry for him- self, and he didn't want anyone else to, either. Kennedy declined the offer of a beverage and sat on the sofa across from her mentor. «Congressman Rudin wants me on the Hill first thing in the morning.»

«I’ve heard.»

Kennedy didn't bother to ask how. She'd stopped wondering years ago how the man got his information. «What else have you heard?»

«He wants to know if we were in Germany and, if so, if we had a hand in the Hagenmiller business.»

«And how would you advise me to answer that question?»

«Very carefulIy;» replied the older man.

«At the very least, I was planning on doing that.»

«I'm sure you were.» Stansfield thought about Rudin for a second and then said, «If he is so bold as to hold the committee in open session, you should answer nothing and politely refer him to me.» Stansfield frowned. «As much as he hates us, I don't think he would be so brash.»

«Neither do I.»

Stansfield pondered the question further and finally said, «You have to tell him that we had the count and his corporation under surveillance. Layout the same case that the president did to the German ambassador yesterday. Despite Rudin's deep hatred of us, we have enough allies on the committee to block him. Once they find out what Hagenmiller was up to, any interest in pursuing the matter further will die.»

Kennedy wasn't so sure. «Maybe we could have the president call him? Rudin is a party man through and through. He'll do whatever President Hayes asks of him.»

Stansfield shook his head. «No. I want the president kept out of this. It's become far too murky. We can handle it on our own.»

Kennedy reluctantly agreed and then said. «We're missing something here.»

«In regard to Rudin?»

«In regard to the whole thing.» Kennedy stared out the window. «I don't know… there are leaks we haven't identified. Someone is out there working against us, and for what reason I still haven't figured out.»

«I'm working on that.»

«Do you have any ideas?»

«It's all a question of motive, Irene.»

«Motive for what?»

«Did you know that Rudin and Midleton met with Senator Clark at Congressional Country Club this morning?»

«N.»' Once again, he amazed her with his network of informants.

«They had breakfast together.»

«What did they discuss?»

«I don't know, but I do know their motives. Rudin despises me personally and would like nothing more than to see me take my last breath. Midleton and I are cordial, I but he would like to have more of a say in what the CIA is up to.»

«What about Clark?»

Stansfield adjusted the afghan on his lap and thought about the question. «I'm not sure about Senator Clark. For the most part, he has always been good to us, but I sense no loyalty in the man. In the end, I think he is looking to serve only himself.»

«What are they after?»

Stansfield looked at Kennedy and decided it was time.

«We need to discuss something.»

Kennedy tensed a bit.» All right.»

«I've spoken to the president, and he has agreed that you will be his nominee to succeed me as DCI.»

Kennedy had not seen this coming. She had wondered who would succeed Stansfield but had honestly never thought of herself as a candidate. «I'm very flattered, but I don't think I'm qualified.»

In a rare show of emotion, Stansfield grinned. «You are more than qualified.»

«But what about all of the other people…»

«You are the best candidate for the job.»

«I disagree.» Kennedy slowly shook her head. «I can barely keep up with things as it is. It's to the point where I'm lucky if I spend an hour with Tommy a day, and then I have to try to tear him away from the TV.»

«Right now you have the hardest job at the Agency. Things will get easier when you become director.»

«How?» asked an incredulous Kennedy.

«You surround yourself with good people, and you delegate.»

Kennedy was still filled with disbelief. How could a job with more responsibility translate into fewer hours? It didn't compute.

«Irene, how many Sundays have you seen me work since you've known me?»

Kennedy thought about it for a second. «Not very many.»

«Correct.»

The more she thought about it, the more she knew he was right. The CTC was a pressure cooker. «I'm not qualified.»

«You are more than qualified.»

«I'm too young.»

«You're a little young for the job, but that is balanced out by your success with the CTC.»

«I don't know, Thomas. I don't know if I want your job, and that's assun1ing they'll confirm me.»

«Oh, they'll confirm you. The Republicans love your hard stance on terrorism, and they won't want to look like sexists. The Democrats… well, they'll follow the president. He might have to grant a few favors, but that's nothing unusual.»

Kennedy took a deep breath. This was a little too much of a surprise. «I'll have to think about all of this.»

Stansfield smiled. «Of course you will, but keep in mind that the Agency needs you. It needs someone like you to protect it from the likes of Chainnan Rudin and Secretary Midleton.»

Kennedy frowned as a piece of the puzzle fell into place. «Is that what this meeting tomorrow is really about?»

«I don't know for certain, but I think so.» Stansfield looked at Kennedy with steely gray eyes. «They fear you, Irene, just like they fear me. They fear us because they can't control us.»

IT TOOK RAPP and his new four-legged friend eight minutes to reach the far side of the preserve. After that, it took several more to find the house he was looking for. Rapp had been to the house before, but he had been invited and had arrived by car – not on foot through the woods. He almost mistook the neighbor's house for Stansfield's.

They were similar-both colonials. The neighbor had a small storage shed in the back corner of his lot that was adjacent to Stansfield's. Rapp and Shirley walked through the tall grass and took up a position behind it. The complete lack of security that was placed around; high-ranking U.S. officials here in America never failed to amaze Rapp. With the exception of the president, the vice president, and the first family, protection was a joke. When officials were out of the country, it was much better, but here at home, they usually had no more than a glorified home security system and a chauffeur who doubled as a bodyguard. He expected Stansfield's to be a little better than most, but still nothing he couldn't overcome.

Rapp pulled a small pair of field binoculars out of his jacket and started checking the windows. All of the lights were off on the second floor. On the first floor was a woman in the kitchen who appeared to be washing some dishes. Rapp wondered about the woman briefly and then decided she must be domestic help. There was a car in the driveway. Rapp focused the lenses on it and saw a driver sit- ting behind the wheel of a government sedan. Something looked vaguely familiar about the man, but the top half of his face was obscured by the visor. Taking Shirley, he went back into the tall grass and worked his way down toward the river. Midway down the property line, he found something interesting. Set up to look like landscaping lights next to a flower bed were two laser tripwires. Rapp grabbed his night-vision pocket scope and held it to his eye. The red beams invisible to the naked eye popped to life on the small scope. Rapp followed them around the perimeter. They wouldn't be a problem.

He and Shirley continued around the back of the property line until they had a view of the other wing of the house. Rapp had a pretty good idea that this was where Stansfield would be. He wanted to talk to the man. He wanted to find out the truth. And for Thomas Stansfield's sake, Rapp hoped he had some answers. After that, he would go to Kennedy's to see if her story could withstand some intense scrutiny. He'd labored over the decision for several days, but he had decided it was the quickest and most effective way to get to the bottom of what had happened in Germany.

When Rapp reached the far end of the lot, he brought the binoculars up and found Stansfield sitting in his study. He looked frail, a good ten pounds lighter. He was talking to someone, but Rapp couldn't see who, so he moved to a different spot. When he focused in on the woman sitting across from Stansfield, his throat became dry. Rapp brought the binoculars down and stood motionless. His paranoia had just gone into overdrive.

As he worked his way back to the neighbor's storage shed, he began to cling to the hope that neither of them had anything to do with it, but a sickening feeling in his gut told him otherwise. As Rapp prepared to make his move, a pair of headlights flashed across the front lawn. A car was coming down the driveway. Rapp put his plan on hold for a second and kneeled down next to Shirley. She hadn't made a peep so far, and he hoped her good behavior would continue. The car was actually a four-door SUV: Rapp watched with increasing interest as the driver got out. As the man walked across the driveway toward the front door, he knew instantly who it was. The sight of him sent Rapp's pulse racing and his mind scrambling to come up with a reason for this person nom his past to be here on this night. The man was like him. He was a killer, but one whom, until now, he thought he could trust.