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“Tell him the truth. Tell him Warch called you, and said I had something important to discuss with the director. I wanted to keep it real quiet. If Ross flips his lid, he can call Jack. Jack and the president are tight. He’ll be fine, and let’s just say if Ross wants to take it all the way to the president, I’ll be happy to lock horns with him.”
“Sounds good to me.”
The elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened. Two men, who were slightly smaller versions of Small, were standing post to the right. Small nodded to both men; they’d already been told what was up. Small led Rapp through a reception area and into an outer office where two administrative assistants were manning the phones and pecking away at keyboards. Small peeled off to address one of them and Rapp just kept going straight for the door. The older of the two women started to come out of her chair.
“Excuse me, the director is in a meeting.”
“That’s all right,” Rapp said without turning. He could hear Small telling the woman that Rapp was from the CIA. “We’re old friends,” Rapp half shouted as he grabbed the door handle, twisted, and pushed. He stepped into the office and closed the door quickly.
Director Ross sat at the head of an oval conference table immediately to Rapp’s left, opposite a massive oak desk. The office was not very big. Maybe a fifth the size of Kennedy’s. Not very plush. He was sure that pissed off the new director of National Intelligence.
Ross looked up at Rapp, his head turned slightly. His expression froze and his brow furrowed. He was in a white dress shirt with French cuffs, replete with fancy links, and a really bold red power tie. He looked very important. The other three people at the table were all wearing their suit coats.
Rapp walked right over. It was only three quick steps.
“Don’t get up.” He intentionally used the same line Ross had used when he barged into Kennedy’s office earlier in the week. “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”
Ross slid his chair back and stood. He was the type of guy who preferred to meet someone eye to eye. There was a slight smile on his face, but it was obvious he was irritated by the unannounced interruption.
Rapp stuck his right hand out and grabbed the director’s with a firm grip and an over-the-top enthusiasm. Instead of looking Ross in the eye, he glanced across the table at Gordon and placed his left hand on the shoulder of whoever it was he was standing behind. Rapp was dead set on mimicking Ross’s unannounced intrusion into Kennedy’s office.
“Jonathan…good to see you again.” Rapp released Ross’s hand and looked down at the other two individuals who he did not know. Before he had the chance to introduce himself, something on the surface of the conference table caught his eye. Rapp stopped and stared at the grainy black-and-white photo on the table. His blood pressure started to rise almost instantly. His lips parted. Nobody moved.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Rapp reached down and grabbed the photograph.
It was a surveillance photo of a warehouse. Rapp had been there many times. Parked in front was a large Ford Excursion and standing next to it was a man with blond hair. The man was Scott Coleman. Rapp’s face was now flushed with anger. The man sitting beneath his hand started packing up the contents that were laid out on the table. Rapp grabbed the guy between the collarbone and clavicle. His fingers dug in.
“Don’t touch a thing.” Rapp reached over and placed the photo on the table. He released the man’s neck and put both hands on the back of his chair. He stepped to the side and wheeled the chair with the man in it away from the table. These people were anonymous. Underlings of some sort. They did not need to be involved in this. Looking at the other person who he had not met, Rapp said, “Would you two please excuse us for a minute?”
The men got up and left without a word. The solid door closed with a dull thud. Gordon stayed seated and to his credit remained calm. Director Ross on the other hand did not.
“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked furiously.
“Saving you from stepping in it your first month on the job.” Rapp didn’t bother looking up. He was leafing through the files on the table. Coleman’s service jacket from the Pentagon was there, his last five years of personal and corporate tax returns and a nifty little surveillance file that looked to have been compiled over the last few days. Rapp held up the surveillance file.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He looked Ross right in the eye and resisted the urge to reach out and whack him across the head with the file.
Ross began to shake, he was so angry. “Get the hell out of my office right now!” He pointed at the door for good measure.
Rapp grabbed Ross’s finger like he was snatching a fly out of mid-air. He bent the index finger back and forced the director down in his chair. Men like Ross were always shocked by physical contact. Most of them had never been in a fight, or if they had, it had been a long time ago.
“What kind of a control freak are you?” asked Rapp. “You have over a hundred thousand people spread over I don’t even know how many agencies. Your job is to make these agencies work better together. That’s it. It’s not to run operations or investigate people, but you meet Scott Coleman for all of two minutes and you don’t like the way he answers you, so you start trying to dig up dirt on him.”
Ross’s face was twisted with anger. “You wait until I talk to the president. You have finally gone too far. You have no right barging in here like this.”
Rapp grabbed his cell phone from his hip. “Let’s call him right now. I’ve got his private line right here on speed dial.” Rapp thrust his phone in front of the director’s face. “You didn’t even know he had a private line, did you?”
The look on Ross’s face betrayed the truth.
“We can tell him,” said Rapp, “how good a job you’re doing of micromanaging the various intelligence agencies. We can tell him how you called up one of your lackeys over at the IRS, and told them to audit Scott Coleman…who the president knows and likes by the way. A decorated veteran. The president will be furious. While we’re at it, why don’t we call a few of your old buddies on the Hill and tell them how you’re using your staff to spy on private citizens?” He waved the file in front of Ross’s face. “That’s what this is by the way. It’s spying on a private citizen, you fricken hypocrite. And you spent twelve years up on that fucking hill pissing and moaning about the CIA. Grandstanding in front of the cameras and saying that we’d better not be spying on American citizens…suspected terrorist or not.”
The file was arranged with thumb tabs. One of the tabs was labeled Phone Records. Rapp opened it and started looking at the calls. “You have a subpoena for these records? Did you go to a judge? I didn’t know you had investigative powers. I don’t think the press knows you were given investigative powers. I’m sure they’d love to write about it. Get you all bogged down and ineffective before you even had a chance to make any reforms.”
Ross was indignant. He yelled, “I demand to know what the two of you are up to, and I demand to know right now! Neither of you are private citizens! You work for me!”
This time Rapp couldn’t resist. His anger got the best of him. The file was about an inch thick. He cracked Ross across the left side of his head with it. Ross’s perfectly combed hair went askew, with a clump falling across his forehead, partly obscuring his left eye.
Rapp grabbed him by the front of the shirt. “Listen, you idiot. I don’t answer to you. I answer to the president. I hunt terrorists for a living, and the last thing I need is some hack like you, who doesn’t know jack shit about what we’re up against, looking over my shoulder and telling me what to do.” Rapp released his shirt and shoved a shocked Ross back into his chair.
