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Brown relaxed a little. “Why did you want to see me?”
“We’ve suffered a bit of a setback, but I don’t want you to get upset.”
The brief respite of relaxation vanished. “What happened now?”
“I have been put into a position where I have been forced by Director Stansfield and the president to back Dr. Kennedy’s nomination to become the next director of the CIA.” Before Brown could get too upset, Clark cautioned, “But don’t worry. She will never make it through the confirmation process.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Clark grinned. “I think between the two of us, we can prevent that from happening.”
“What about me?”
“After Kennedy has been humiliated and torn apart by the committee and the press and quite possibly indicted, I will very quietly whisper in the right ears that you are the only man to clean up the mess. Your credentials as a judge are impeccable…you have already been at Langley for a year…you will be the natural choice to clean up the mess created by Stansfield and Kennedy.”
“And if not?”
“If not, I will take care of you, as I have always said I would.”
Brown wasn’t so sure. He’d seen the dark side of Clark, and he never wanted to see it again. “Well, I can’t say I’m thrilled about this.”
“Neither am I, Jonathan, but you have to trust me on this. Once Stansfield is dead, we will be able to move a little more freely, but until then we need to watch our step.” Clark rose from the chair. “I think we should have a celebratory drink.” The senator ambled over to the bar and grabbed two glasses, filling them halfway with ice and vodka. With his back turned to Brown, Clark relinquished the control on his emotions and allowed a large smile to spread across his face. This was life; this was the ultimate game. The spoils to the victors, and to the weak, like Charles Midleton, it was death. Clark could feel himself growing stronger. Things had turned out far from perfect, but he had proven once again that he could maneuver undetected among the very people he was seeking to destroy. With a little more patience, all would be his.
Clark returned with the drinks and handed one to Brown. Holding his glass out, he said, “To your future, Jonathan.”
The two men clinked their glasses, and Brown repeated the phrase to Clark. Whether he liked it or not, his success was linked to the senator’s.
Clark sat back down in his comfortable leather chair and put his feet up. He took a sip of the cold vodka and said, “Now, tell me more about this Mitch Rapp fellow.”
