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“Some more than others,” she said, a touch of impatience creeping into her voice.

Kline did not miss the change in tone. He nodded to Kennedy as if to say game on and then asked, “Where is he?”

“I know you’re relatively new to Washington, but surely you are aware that much of what my agency handles is classified.”

“So you won’t even tell me if he’s in the country?”

“Not unless I’m authorized by the president, or you can prove to me that you have somehow miraculously

received a security clearance that is far above your pay grade.” The last part was a not-so-subtle reminder to Kline that in the power structure of the federal government, he was more than a few rungs beneath her.

Kline clicked his pen shut, stuffed it in his shirt pocket, and closed his leather briefing folder. “I can play hardball as good as anyone, Madam Director.” He stood and snatched his suit coat from the back of the chair. “This is my last warning. If Mitch Rapp isn’t standing in my office a week from today, I can promise you, I will make your life miserable.”

Kennedy felt her anger rushing to the surface. Part of her wanted to unleash it, wanted to teach this egocentric man a lesson, but there was another part of her that held back. Intuition warned her that no matter how satisfying it might feel, it would be a mistake. She watched him march to the door and then stop.

“One other thing,” Kline said as he flipped open his briefing folder and scanned his notes. “You have a man named Mike Nash who works for you.”

Kennedy returned his stare, wondering if he’d simply made a statement or was asking a question.

“I want him in my office Monday morning. If he isn’t there, I’ll send the FBI for him.” Kline closed his folder and was gone.

One by one the other people seated at the table turned to look at Kennedy. She ignored them, her gaze fixed on the open doorway. The man had just openly threatened the director of the most powerful spy organization in the world, which either meant he was insane or he had something on her. The fact that he had brought up Rapp was not all that surprising. People had been coming after him for years, but Nash was another story. Kennedy had taken great care to keep him under the radar. He was increasingly handling some of the agency’s most delicate operations.

One of the two men she’d brought along leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I just got a text from the office. We need to get you out of here.”

Kennedy shot him a concerned look.

Rob Ridley, the deputy director of the Clandestine Service, saw the alarm on her face and said, “It’s not that.” Ridley knew she was thinking an evacuation had been ordered. Since 9/11 it was not uncommon for high-ranking government officials to be taken out of the city at the first whisper of trouble. In recent years it had slowed down, but that was now balanced against fresh intel that pointed to something big. “That thing…it just started.”

“What thing?”

Ridley’s eyes darted around the room. “The thing over in Afghanistan.”

“Oh, that thing.”

“Yeah, that thing. I don’t think you want to have a conversation about it in this building.”

Kennedy looked around the Department of Justice conference room while she thought of Rapp and Nash. She checked her watch. The time would be about right. She knew what they were up to. She’d signed off on it herself. She motioned for Ridley to lead the way and politely ignored several of the other attendees who wanted to have a word with her.

As they reached the elevators her thoughts returned to a feeling that had been nagging her. Someone at Langley was leaking highly classified information. Accusations were appearing in the press that were far too close to the truth. The Intelligence Committees were becoming increasingly antagonistic, and now she had to deal with this hungry deputy attorney general who was trying to make a name for himself. A sense of foreboding crept over her, like a looming storm on a humid summer day.

CHAPTER 9

BAGRAM AIR BASE, AFGHANISTAN

RAPP sat on the edge of the metal table, looked down at the bound terrorist, and asked, “Is it seventy-two or seventy-seven?”

Abu Haggani lifted his head cautiously and stared at Rapp, confusion in his eyes.

“Virgins,” Rapp said. “Seventy-two or seventy-seven. How many do you guys get when you go to paradise?”

Haggani muttered something under his breath and looked away.

“I’m not giving you crap,” Rapp persisted. “I’ve read the Koran several times and that’s one of those facts I can never keep straight.

Not that it matters much. I mean what’s the difference…seventy-two versus seventy-seven? It seems a little like overkill, don’t you think?”

Rapp paused to see if Haggani would respond. He didn’t, so Rapp pressed on. “Have you ever read the Koran, Abu?”

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