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Stansfield asked his security detail to prepare for the vehicular version of a shell game. Langley kept a number of nondescript, windowless vans in the motor pool for just this type of thing. As the Operations boss, Stansfield did not have to inform anyone of his needs. His security detail only had to show up and take what was available. The detail had access to extra license plates and a variety of magnetized decals to help facilitate the deception. At seven-oh-four they left the back service gate at Langley in a white van with the Red Carpet Linen Service logo on the sides.
They headed for Tyson's Corner and once inside the busy parking structure, Stansfield was moved to a Ford Taurus. Fifteen minutes later, he found himself standing alone, under a tree next to the main entrance of George Mason University. The Dodge minivan was parked across the street. Stansfield waited for five minutes and then the vehicle flashed its brights. After climbing into the backseat he handed Joe, head of his security detail, a piece of paper with an address on it. The driver memorized the address and handed the paper back to his boss. He briefly consulted his road atlas and then put the car in drive. Five minutes later they were at the office park.
"Joe," Stansfield said, leaning forward, "take us around back. There's a call box and a code for the door."
When they reached the back of the building Stansfield got out and punched in the code. He trusted Joe, but the fewer people who had the numbers, the tighter the circle remained. Stansfield motioned for Joe to pull in and then pressed the big red button to close the door. Four cars and a motorcycle were already parked inside. To the right, shelves, like the kind you'd find in a library, jutted out from the near wall. They were filled with software titles that were legitimately being shipped overseas. To the left were pallets and boxes and then a sea of darkness.
Stansfield headed for the offices and asked Joe to stay with the car. There was a cipher lock on the door. He punched in the four-digit code, leaned into the door, and was immediately aware of loud shouts coming from just ahead.
Stansfield frowned and wondered first and foremost why the conference room hadn't been soundproofed. He also wondered why these supposed professionals were incapable of keeping their tempers in check. As he stepped into the room, he almost didn't notice the man sitting at the break table reading a magazine.
"They've been at it like that for almost an hour."
Stansfield recognized the face instantly. "Mr. Rapp, I presume."
CHAPTER 26
RAPP didn't know who the man was, but there was something about him that instantly garnered respect. The gray hair, charcoal suit, shiny wing tips, discerning eyes, and the fact that he'd just walked unannounced into the secure building told him he was standing before someone who more than likely had an office on one of the top floors at Langley. After he gave him the onceover, he couldn't help but think the man reminded him of a more slender version of Spencer Tracy. Rapp decided he'd better stand. He offered his hand and said, "Yes. And you are ...?"
Stansfield gave him a grandfatherly smile. "George."
Rapp studied him with suspicion. "That's not your real name, is it?"
"No," Stansfield said.
After a moment Rapp said, "Any chance you're the guy running this show?"
Stansfield gave him a relaxed smile. "When you get to my age you better be running something, or it's time to retire. Please sit." He motioned with his right hand toward the chair Rapp had been sitting in. Rapp returned to his seat. Stansfield smelled coffee and found a pot on the counter. He helped himself. "Would you like some?"
"No thanks."
After joining him at the break table, Stansfield blew on his coffee and said, "I hear you've been making waves again."
Rapp wasn't sure how much he should say, so he shrugged his shoulders and kept his mouth shut.
"Would you care to walk me through your decision?"
"What decision would that be?"
"Why you decided to act on your own in Istanbul?"
Rapp's dark eyes narrowed. He studied the old man for a few seconds. He was in enough hot water for breaking their damn rules. He wasn't about to break another. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
Stansfield grinned. "I'm afraid you do."
"I'm at a bit of a disadvantage. If you're who I think you are, you know I can't discuss any of this with someone unless they give me the green light." Rapp jerked his head toward the conference room door.
"Good point. You don't know me, and that's for good reason, but I know you."
Rapp gave him a dubious look that changed into a humble one as the silver-haired man recited his life story, including date of birth, Social Security number, parents' names, a long list of athletic accomplishments, and his relative strengths and weaknesses. It wasn't until the last part, though, that Rapp began to feel vulnerable.
"Three days ago you used a 9mm Beretta pistol to execute a man at point-blank range. Here and here." Stansfield touched his heart and then tapped the bridge of his dark glasses. He looked at the door to the conference room and said, "You have one avid supporter, another who thinks you have great potential, and one very forceful detractor. They are in there deciding your fate right now. If you want to continue on your current career path, I am more than likely your best hope. So if you have anything you'd like to say, now is the time to do it."
That this man knew so many details about his life and was able to recite them, chapter and verse, without a single note, told Rapp all he needed to know. "You seem to have most of the facts." He carefully turned the question back on George by saying, "I'm sure you've formed some opinions."
Stansfield sat back and crossed his left left over his right. "I'm hearing conflicting stories. That is why I decided to meet you in person."
"What are the conflicting stories?"
