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Jose grabbed his copy of the Times and read, “According to an anonymous senior CIA official, Mitch Rapp’s methods and lack of control have been a growing concern for some time.” Juarez slammed the paper on the table and said, “It sounds like you wrote it yourself.”
Workman’s pale complexion turned bright red and he snapped, “How dare you accuse me of having anything to do with this.”
Kennedy watched with a critical eye as Juarez and Workman bandied back and forth. She had also wondered who the senior CIA official might be. She was about to intercede and end the argument when her office door opened unexpectedly. Juarez and Workman continued shouting across the table, completely oblivious that an interloper had just entered the Agency’s inner sanctum. Kennedy’s face revealed nothing, but inside she was fuming that this man had yet again barged in on her office without so much as a phone call or a knock.
Vice President–elect Ross strode across the room and stopped at the far end of the conference table. He was in a charcoal gray wool suit with a white shirt and a silver-and-blue tie. In his manicured right hand he held a copy of the Times. He threw it down on the conference table, unbuttoned his suit coat, and placed a hand on each hip.
“I have great appreciation for how difficult this business is, but this can’t continue. I’m trying to save your jobs right now.” Ross pointed to each of the four. “I’ve explained to Josh that we have a good team at Langley. I don’t agree with everything you do, but I’ve told him you are competent people. Now, this morning I wake up to this, and I’ve got the next president of the United States asking me if I’ve lost my mind.”
Ross paused. He looked at Kennedy. There she sat at the head of the table with her damn unreadable expression. “I explained to him that this is a business where batting a thousand is not possible. Even if these accusations are true, they need to be tempered against Rapp’s past successes. His response was that if even half of what was printed in the article is true he wants me to come out here and clean house.” Ross waved his hand above them as if in one fell swoop they could all be dispatched. He leaned over and stabbed his index finger on top of the newspaper. “You know what really boils my blood about this article? This quote in here from a senior CIA official. You people think this is Hollywood, where you settle your disputes by calling up a reporter and stabbing one of your colleagues in the back?”
No one answered. In fact Kennedy was the only one who looked at him.
Ross’s fiery eyes settled on her. “I’m under direct orders from President–Elect Alexander to get to the bottom of this and put it behind us as quickly as possible. Please tell me this reporter has got it all wrong. That there is a simple explanation for why Mitch Rapp shot this man four times.”
Kennedy’s antennae were up. There was spying, there was subterfuge, and then there was espionage. Real old-fashioned espionage where it wasn’t enough to simply steal the enemies’ secrets, one had to launch double, triple, and quadruple feints and get them to turn on themselves. Misdirection layered upon misdirection until the enemy couldn’t trust their best friend. During the Cold War the Russians had been masterful at sowing distrust among CIA officers. They even went so far as to send real intelligence assets over as defectors. These men and women were so good they were impossible to tell from the real defectors. The damage they did was incalculable.
Kennedy couldn’t help getting the feeling that Ross was up to something. The man did not like her. He did not care for the greater good of the Agency. He cared for himself first and last. Kennedy had guessed some time ago that he was a borderline obsessive compulsive with narcissistic tendencies. In everyday parlance that meant he was a backstabbing control freak. Just simply winning for these types wasn’t enough. It was boring. They needed the thrill, the drama of the fight. Winning through subterfuge was nirvana. It helped validate the narcissistic ego. It proved that they were smarter than everyone else.
Kennedy could have easily taken the memory stick from her safe and showed Ross the mountain of evidence that they had against the man Rapp had arrested, but she decided to keep it from him. There was still too much to learn, and her instincts told her Ross could not be trusted.
“Sir,” Kennedy said, “the entire matter is under investigation, and I think it would be a disservice to comment on it before all the facts are in.”
“That sounds like damn lawyer speak,” Ross snarled.
Kennedy remained calm. “If you had called, sir, and informed me that you were coming, I might have been able to put together a preliminary report, but I’m not sure what you expect out of me on such short notice?”
Ross’s nostrils flared in anger. He hesitated for a split second before answering and then said, “I expect you to do your job, and I expect you to follow the law. Get this mess sorted out and do it fast, or you’re all going to be looking for new jobs. And that comes straight from Alexander himself.” Ross turned and marched out of the office.
Kennedy had studied his every move. The man could have been a stage actor. The way he turned his emotions on and off at a moment’s notice. She’d made the calculated decision to push his button and find out if he would drop the savior act and he had. He had displayed genuine anger that she had dared to defy him.
Kennedy pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “That’s all for this morning.”
“We’re done?” a surprised Billings asked.
“Yes. We’ll reconvene right here at one.”
All three men grabbed their stuff and got up to leave. Kennedy looked at Juarez bringing up the rear and said, “Jose, I’m leaving for the White House in twenty minutes. I want you to come with me.”
“Do I need to bring anything?”
“No.” Kennedy followed the men across the room and closed the door behind them. Once behind her desk, she picked up her secure phone and punched in a local number. Rapp answered on the second ring.
“Are you going to meet Rivera?”
“Yes.”
“Expand your search to Ross. See if she can get you the Secret Service logs from his detail, and ask Marcus if he thinks he can do a workup on him without raising too much suspicion.”
“I’ll take care of it. When is your press conference?”
“I’m leaving to see the president shortly. I’ll call you and let you know how it goes.” Kennedy put the handset back in the cradle and considered the enemy she was about to make. She had never trusted Ross completely, even during his brief tenure as director of National Intelligence, but she had never let on. Once she held the press conference with President Hayes, Ross would know she had withheld information from him and any pretext of a cordial working relationship would be gone. Kennedy looked out the large picture window at the brightening day. She felt a sense of relief that she had chosen her course.
43
WASHINGTON, DC
S pecial Agent Rivera sat at her desk and flipped through the Yellow Pages. She found Karate, and underneath it said see Martial Arts. She flipped through the pages to the M’s and found it. There were six full pages of listings in the DC area. She shook her head and began searching for one between the office and her apartment. When she’d arrived at the dojo this morning, she found the contents of her locker waiting for her in a brown grocery bag by the front door. Her sensei was in the middle of teaching a class, and he didn’t bother to come out and talk to her, or for that matter make eye contact. She was being thrown out after only five weeks, and she didn’t need to ask why.
