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Clark reached out and placed a hand on Rudin’s bony forearm. Not yet, my friend, he thought to himself. I’ll let you know when it’s time for that. Clark patted Rudin’s arm. “Let’s try and stay civil. I don’t think Jonathan is the problem.”
“Well, I’ll tell you who the problem is. It’s that bitch Irene Kennedy.”
Secretary of State Midleton frowned. “I don’t think that kind of language is necessary.”
Rudin, never one to be concerned with decorum, scoffed at the secretary’s concern. “Get off your high horse, Charles. This is no time to worry about etiquette. This is serious shit. I think the CIA killed Count Hagenmiller, and I think that bitch Irene Kennedy came before my committee this morning and lied about it.”
Jonathan Brown’s face was as white as a sheet, and Midleton was busy pursing his lips and shaking his head in disgust. Clark sat back and enjoyed. It was Brown who spoke first. His voice was a little shaky.
“I can assure you that the CIA has taken no such action.”
“Oh, can you?” Rudin’s voice was filled with doubt. “You’re not going to like this, Mr. Brown, but I don’t think you have the faintest idea what Thomas Stansfield does and doesn’t do. He runs that agency like a dictatorship.”
Brown was on the defensive. “I have found Director Stansfield to be honest and fair.”
“That’s because you haven’t bothered to dig too deep.”
“Listen,” Brown stuck his hands out in an attempt to slow Rudin down. “If you have evidence of such illegal action by either Director Stansfield or Dr. Kennedy, bring it to me, and I will make sure explanations are given.”
“Bring it to you! Do you think I’m an idiot? If I had any evidence, I’d haul their asses before my committee, and I’d sic the Justice Department on them.”
Clark could tell Brown was about to snap. As a former federal judge, he was not used to being addressed in such a manner. Clark grabbed Rudin’s arm again and said, “Take it easy, Albert.”
“Yes, ple
ase do,” added Midleton. “Your behavior is embarrassing.”
“Oh, don’t give me that horse shit, Charles.” Rudin wheeled around and faced the secretary of state. “You wipe your ass just like the rest of us. Just because you’re not on the Hill anymore doesn’t mean you’re any better than the rest of us.”
Rudin had overstepped his bounds. Midleton hadn’t become secretary of state by letting people run him over. He spun his chair around and faced Rudin. “I have always been better than you, you emotional little hack, and I always will be better than you. Now, I suggest you keep your tongue in check, or I will have a little meeting with the party leadership and demand that you be stripped of your pathetic little committee.”
This was almost too good to be true, Clark thought. If only his colleagues could see it. It was time to settle things down, though, and get back to the plan. Clark grabbed Rudin’s shoulder with one beefy hand and pulled him away from Midleton before he could do any more damage. “Albert, calm down and shut your mouth for a minute.” Rudin tried to speak, but Clark stopped him. “This is coming from one of your best friends. Just shut your mouth. I understand why you’re upset. So does Charles, and I think Jonathan does, too, but you’re not doing anybody any good by taking this out on the wrong people.”
Again, Rudin tried to speak, but Clark held up a finger and silenced him.
“If you are right about Kennedy and Stansfield, and I’m not so sure you are, then we need to work with Jonathan to try and get to the bottom of this. We don’t need to beat him up over something he had no control over.”
“If I may,” Midleton interjected. “I see some potential conflicts over separation of powers.”
“Listen.” Clark sighed as if he wanted nothing to do with any of this. “My position has always been clear on this issue. I think the CIA is a very important part of this nation’s national security. My friend and I disagree on this.” Clark gestured to Rudin. “The last thing I want to see is the CIA weakened by hearings.” Clark looked Midleton in the eye and prepared to address his real concern. “I like President Hayes. He’s a good man. I mean no harm to his administration, and I think you know that, Charles. You and I sat across the aisle from each other for years. Have you ever known me to put party politics before national security?”
Midleton shook his head. “No. You were always very honorable, Hank.”
“Thank you. And so were you, Charles.” Clark took a drink of scotch and shifted gears. “I don’t think we can go back and change the past, gentlemen. We need to look to the future. Director Stansfield is dying. I’ve heard he has about six months left.” The men nodded. “Our job, as I see it, is to help the president pick someone who can bring the Agency into the twenty-first century. Someone who will be respectful of the concerns of the Congress.” As Clark looked at the other men, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment that he had almost perfectly maneuvered all of the pieces of the puzzle into place. Just as he was about to put one more very important piece into play, the phone next to him buzzed and stopped him short.
Clark snatched the phone from its cradle. “Hello.”
“Sir, I need to speak with you immediately.”
It was Peter Cameron. Clark remained calm, even though the man’s timing couldn’t have been worse. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“This is really important. I’m in the briefing room across the hall from you.”
Clark thought about it for a second. Cameron sounded very serious. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right over.”
Cameron scratched his beard and tried to figure out what to do. He was standing in the parking ramp at George Washington University. After hanging up on Rapp, Cameron was forced to make a practical decision: use his own car, or find other transportation. As he huddled behind a concrete pillar in the ramp, he went over the phone conversation, trying to figure out how Rapp had found him. Something occurred to him. Rapp had never used his real name. He only called him Professor. Cameron put himself in Rapp’s shoes. If he were the one doing the confronting, he would use the person’s real name, not an alias. Hell, he wouldn’t even call them, he’d show up on the person’s doorstep with a little muscle and beat the truth out of them.
Cameron had decided it was Villaume. That slimy little frog had gotten hold of Rapp and given him the phone number. That was the only thing that made sense; otherwise, Rapp would be all over him. Cameron checked the underside of his car for tracking devices and left the ramp. He took his time driving to the Hill. The normal ten-minute drive took forty-five as Cameron zigzagged his way across the city. When he finally pulled into the underground garage of the Hart Senate Office Building, he was pretty confident that he had not been followed.
