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“I think it was Hank Clark’s idea.”
The president scoffed at the accusation, and Kaiser rumbled, “You don’t honestly expect us to believe that, do you?”
“What is this all about? I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out it came from a lying, senile, corrupt old man.” Rudin pointed his beaklike nose at Stansfield.
The president beat the speaker to the punch this time. Hayes slammed his clenched fists down on the table, creating a dull thud that caused Rudin to blink. “Albert, if you so much as utter one more offensive word toward Director Stansfield, I will crush you.”
Kaiser jumped in. “What in the hell were you doing meeting with Midleton and Clark?”
“Nothing. We were talking about intelligence issues.”
Kaiser looked to Rohrig. “What’s the name of that young hotshot who wants to challenge Albert for his seat?”
“Sam Ballucci. He’s going to make a very good congressman someday.”
“Mr. President, would you be willing to raise some money to help Sam Ballucci win the party’s nomination?”
“How does twenty million sound, and I’ll throw in half a dozen appearances with the young man. Maybe I could even speak to the delegates at the state convention?”
“I think that would be a good idea,” answered Rohrig.
Rudin’s crinkled face had taken on an angry red sheen. “I can’t believe you are doing this to me. After all I have done for this party.”
“All you’ve done for this party?” challenged Kaiser. “In my opinion, you’ve been nothing other than a major pain in the ass. Would you mind telling me what in the hell you were doing when you called Dr. Kennedy before your committee this week?”
“I would say I was doing my job.”
“You now consider throwing wild, unfounded accusations at the director of the CIA’s Counterterrorism Center your job? Accusations that do nothing more than harm our president, a fellow Democrat?”
“I take oversight of the intelligence community very seriously,” snapped Rudin.
“Albert, so help me God, if you don’t lose that irritating tone of yours and start showing some remorse for your stupidity, I will leave this meeting, and before noon I will have you stripped of your chairmanship.”
Rudin pushed his chair away from the speaker and blinked. This was so unfair. All of this anger should be directed at Stansfield, not him. He was the one trying to protect Congress.
“For the last time, Albert, what did you talk about with Hank Clark?”
Rudin licked his dry lips and looked down at the shiny table. “We discussed the need to find a suitable candidate to run the CIA after Director Stansfield leaves.”
“Did Dr. Kennedy’s name come up?”
Rudin reluctantly answered. “Yes.”
“How so?”
“We didn’t feel that she was the right person for the job.”
Kaiser shook his head in disgust. “There are two things about this, Albert, that really chafe my ass. The first is that it is not your job to find a suitable appointee to head the CIA. That’s the president’s job. The second thing that really, and I mean really chafes my ass is that you and that windbag Charles Midleton decided to recruit a Republican to help conspire against the president’s nominee. Do you know what that makes you, Albert?” Kaiser didn’t give him a chance to answer. “It makes you a goddamned Judas, that’s what it makes you.”
It was after nine when Rapp showed up. The streetlights were on, and there were plenty of open meters. He eased his black Volvo S80 into a spot on F Street. Before getting out of the car, he checked all of his mirrors. Then, when he stepped onto the asphalt, he casually scanned the street, first to the west and then the east. If the last week had taught him anything, it was that he needed to be paranoid, especially here in Washington. He had sensed that something wasn’t right in Germany, and he’d been careless enough to ignore those instincts. It was a valuable lesson, one he hoped he’d never have to learn again.
Rapp started walking toward 17th Street and the looming Old Executive Office Building. He had to admit he lived a strange life. Here it was, a Friday night, he’d been sitting on the couch with Anna and their new dog Shirley, and he had gotten a call telling him that the president would like to see him. Rapp actually had the nerve to ask Kennedy if it could wait until the morning. Kennedy told him to get over to the White House and hung up. They were all tired and frustrated. Peter Cameron was turning into a dead end, and Rapp knew that it would only get worse with each passing day. He didn’t know if he had it anymore—the energy to keep this frantic and dangerous lifestyle going. And there was the bigger question of Anna. She wouldn’t tolerate it. She’d said so, and the recent week’s events would only solidify her opinion.
It didn’t bother Rapp in the least that he was wearing a pair of jeans and a black leather jacket. If the president couldn’t wait until morning, this was what he’d get. As Rapp dragged his tired bones across 17th Street, he couldn’t help but wonder what the president wanted from him at this hour. Rapp feared he knew the answer. It wasn’t as if he were being called on to receive a commendation or medal. They didn’t hand those out for what he did. Rapp was one of the dark weapons in the national security arsenal. People didn’t even talk about what he did, let alone acknowledge it either privately or publicly. There was only one thing the president could want from Rapp, and he wasn’t so sure he would accept it. He was an assassin, and he was sick of killing. It was time for them to find someone else. With more than 250 million people in the country, there was surely some other poor bastard whose life they could ruin.
Rapp walked up to the Secret Service checkpoint on the west side of the EOB. There were several men standing watch. “I’m here to see Jack Warch.”
One of the men from the Secret Service’s Uniformed Division eyed him suspiciously, while the other one called the special agent in charge of the presidential detail. “There’s a man here to see you.” The officer lowered the phone. “What’s your name?”
