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"Your former employer sometimes thinks they don't have to follow the rules like everyone else."
"You'll get no argument from me. Judge." After a few steps, Steveken asked, "What about your new employer, Judge? Do they like to play by the rules?"
"That's an interesting question." Brown watched Sparky dart off the path again. "Who asked you to come see me?"
Steveken didn't answer right away. He thought about ignoring the question but decided if Brown was going to trust him he'd have to take some gambles. "Congressman Rudin."
"Ah Albert. He's no fan of my current employer."
"Would that be the federal government or the CIA?"
"No, he's a big believer in the federal government, it's the CIA he takes issue with."
"Congressman Rudin seems to think Dr. Kennedy is a bad choice to be the next director."
"Dr. Kennedy is a very competent person."
"So I've heard. Does she like to play by the rules, or does she like to bend them from time to time?"
Brown looked warily at the man Senator Clark had told him to expect. "What are you getting at, Mr. Steveken?"
"You were awfully hard on the FBI. I'm just wondering if you have a new set of standards or if you're using the same ones you had when you were on the bench?"
"Are you questioning my integrity, Mr. Steveken?"
"Not at all, your honor. I know the difficult position you're in, but I'm here to tell you that it's only going to get worse. If Kennedy is confirmed next week, you're stuck."
"This is a dangerous game you're asking me to play."
"It doesn't have to be. The congressman doesn't want you to get dragged into this. In fact, he thinks you should be the one going through confirmation right now. Not Kennedy."
"That changes nothing. Lets just say hypothetically that I'd seen some things. If I went before the congressman's committee I'd never get another job in this town."
"The congressman knows that. He has no desire to ruin your reputation and turn you into a whistle blower. All he's looking for right now is enough information to slow down Kennedy's confirmation." Steveken stopped and grabbed Brown by the arm. "Something legitimate that he can take to the press. Something from an unnamed source at Langley."
"He wants to slow down Kennedy's confirmation or derail it?"
Steveken grinned. "I'm sure he'd prefer to derail it. I've already told you, he'd rather see you at the helm."
Brown started walking again. "I'll need some time to think about this"
"I'm sorry, Judge, but we don't have a lot of time. The Senate Intelligence Committee is scheduled to vote on Monday afternoon."
Brown stopped abruptly and extended his hand. "It was very interesting meeting you, Mr. Steveken." Brown pumped his hand twice and then leaned in close. He whispered, "Come back tomorrow evening, and we'll talk some more." With that. Brown released Steveken's hand and walked away. In the darkness of the coming night a smile creased his lips. The real world of plotting and trading secrets was far more exhilarating that he'd ever imagined.
Andrews Air Force base, Maryland, Friday morning
the united states Air Force executive jet was on approach for landing. It had left the U. S. Air Force Base in Aviano, Italy, just prior to sunup. There were only two passengers on board, one was sleeping, and the other had been and wished he still was. He'd slept for the first part of the flight, but despite badly needing more, he could not attain the elusive state of rest. His mind simply would not allow it. There was too much to think about.
Mitch Rapp stared out the window at the dark countryside beneath. Porch lights, street lights and headlights dotted the predawn rural Maryland countryside. He had to admit that the power of the United States was, at times, awesome. Five minutes after Anna had stormed out of their hotel room, a van was waiting for Donatella and him by the side door. There was no time to go after Anna, no time to write a note, no time to try and reason with her. He had to get Donatella out of Italy fast.
Waiting for them outside the hotel was a man who introduced himself only as Chuck. The Agency had sent him. Twenty minutes after leaving the hotel, Rapp and Chuck were carrying Donatella through the back door of a clinic on the outskirts of Milan. They were met by a doctor who was on the CIA's payroll. The elderly man re-cleaned, packed and dressed Donatella's wound. He typed her blood and replaced two liters through an IV. He gave her more antibiotics and another shot of morphine for the pain. After just two hours at the clinic, the doctor gave Rapp an extra liter of blood plasma to bring with him and specific directions on how to monitor her blood pressure. He told Rapp that her wound was not life threatening and that as long as she continued taking her antibiotics and didn't exert herself for the next four or five days, she'd be fine.
They left the clinic shortly before one in the morning and began their journey across the northern part of Italy, passing through Verona and Venice and then heading north toward Udine. Donatella slept during the entire three-hour drive. Rapp could not afford to. He'd never met this Chuck fellow before, and he wasn't about to trust his life with a complete stranger. When they reached the base they were waved through security and escorted to the waiting plane. Within minutes they were airborne and headed for America, no customs, no police, no video cameras. Rapp had virtually passed out after takeoff. He and Donatella were alone in the spacious cabin portion of the plane. The flight crew had been told not to disturb their two passengers. A little over four hours into the flight, Rapp had woken up suddenly. He was agitated and disturbed. He'd been having a nightmare. Anna was in his dream. She was in his house with another man. Someone he'd never seen before. They were happy, laughing, holding hands and kissing. Rapp was outside looking in. Anna noticed him in the window and shook her head at him as if to say, You had your chance and you blew it. It hurt. He loved her dearly, but the way she'd handled things back at the hotel had given him pause.
Staring out the small window of the plane he was rocked by a barrage of emotions over the entire disaster. He was mad at Donatella and her crazy Italian passion. She didn't need to tell Anna that they'd been lovers. It was hardly the time for the confession. Rapp would like to have thought that it was the morphine talking, but he knew Donatella well enough to know that she was more than capable of such verbal confrontations wh
en she was sober. He could be mad at her for her lack of tact and timing, but that was it. In light of the information he'd been given by her, he had to let the other stuff go, and besides, she'd been very loyal over the years.
