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Leland looked up to see Rapp talking to the other man from the CIA.
“We’re out of here.” Rapp looked at Garrison and Roemer. “I’m sorry for all of this. I really am. I never wanted to put the military in the middle of this, but we’re running low on options.”
“You’re just going to let him walk out of here?” a shocked Leland asked.
For the first time, Rapp felt sorry for the young officer. The guy was way out of his league and he hadn’t a clue. “Captain, you have to let go of this,” Rapp said in an almost pleading voice. “This entire thing is way above your pay grade. I told you not to draw your weapon. I told you I would cooperate, but you wouldn’t listen to me. Maybe if you knew where I’ve been and what I’ve done for the last eighteen years you could understand why I did what I did. That’s about all I can tell you. I’m sorry I had to get physical.”
“But you’re not sorry that you hit me?”
“I didn’t hit you. I disarmed you, and you fell on your face.”
“You assaulted me,” Leland half screamed.
Rapp was out of patience. “You know what, Captain, good luck with your career. I’m out of here.”
“No, you are not,” Leland shouted. “General, do something.”
The general sighed and put his hands over his face. “Captain, give it a rest.”
“But, sir, I must protest…”
Ridley opened the door.
“That’s an order, Captain. I want you to wait forty-eight hours, weigh all your options, and then file your official report. Until then, I don’t want to hear another word about this issue. Have I made myself clear?”
Ridley didn’t wait around for the answer. He pushed Rapp out into the hallway and closed the door behind them. Moving quickly down the hallway, he looked straight ahead and said, “Boy, that went well.”
“I told you he was a pain in the ass.”
“And you’re just a treat to deal with.” Ridley glanced at his watch. “Let’s hurry. We have a plane to catch.”
CHAPTER 25
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
THE elevator doors opened, and Mike Nash was relieved to see it was empty. He stepped in, hit the button for the ground floor, and leaned against the far wall. The bright overhead lights made his headache worse. He covered his eyes with his right hand and began muttering to himself, knowing damn well his morning stood a good chance of getting worse.
The doors were within inches of closing when a large, callused hand shot through and gripped the rubber seal. The doors opened, and in stepped Chuck O’Brien. At six foot three O’Brien was a couple inches taller than Nash. He was a Dartmouth grad who had come to the CIA by way of Naval Intelligence. More than twenty years Nash’s senior, he was still a physically imposing figure.
Fortunately, the elevator was almost as large as the type you would find in a hospital. Nash watched as O’Brien went to the far corner. He knew his boss would be less than enthusiastic that he had lost his cool in front of the director.
As soon as the doors were closed, O’Brien said, “What in the hell is wrong with you?”
“What in the hell is wrong with me?” Nash asked as he pointed to himself and sprang off the wall. “I’ve slept maybe ten hours in the last five nights, I’ve got that prick Adams all over me, the Post puts this shit on the front page, Mitch is sitting in a cell over in Afghanistan and I go to bed every night and wake up every morning with a headache that feels like someone is shoving a screwdriver through my eye socket, and you want to know what’s wrong with me.”
O’Brien glanced up at the camera in the corner as a reminder to Nash to watch what he said and then with a clenched jaw said, “You need to calm down.”
“And you need to watch my back,” Nash snapped back. “That’s the deal. I do my job, and you keep idiots like Adams away from me.”
“I can’t control Adams, and you know that.”
“Then don’t call me in here and waste my time. I’ve got more important shit I should be dealing with right now.”
“What just happened up there was not my fault. If you had your phone turned on we could have dealt with this in a more timely manner.” O’Brien jerked his head in the direction of the camera.
“I know it’s up there,” Nash snapped. “He’s probably watching us right now.” Nash turned around and flipped off the camera. “Are you listening, Adams, you prick? There’s a third cell out there, buddy, but am I looking for them? Nooooo! I’m here making sure all the forms have been filled out in triplicate and I haven’t trampled on some terrorist’s rights.”
O’Brien pulled Nash’s hand down just as the doors opened. He dragged Nash out of the elevator and into the lobby. “Do you have any idea how a guy like Adams operates? He
