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Rapp frowned. “He was never one of my guys. That would be like me telling you an Investigative Services guy was on the Teams.”

Coleman thought about it for a second and said, “Point taken. But he did work at Langley, right?”

“Yeah. For a long time.”

“Does he know where all the bodies are buried?”

Rapp shrugged. “Hard to say with a guy like him. He’s not the bubbliest fella, but then again those security guys are supposed to make people nervous.”

“You ever have a beef with him?”

“Not that I can recall,?

? Rapp paused a beat and then added, “but I’ve pissed off so many people over the years I can’t keep track.”


Rapp thought about his boss. He couldn’t imagine her running afoul of her own security service, but then again Johnson had been passed over twice for the top job. “Not directly, but you know how it is . . . it’s the rare bird who gets passed over for a promotion who doesn’t hold some kind of a grudge.”

“So what exactly has he done?” Coleman asked.

“He runs his own consulting company now.”

Coleman said, “I know. That’s how I heard of him. The word is he’s pretty hot shit on the new technology. Specializes in surveillance.”

Rapp nodded. The War on Terror had been a boon to private security and consulting firms. Outsourcing was the new hot trend. “You’d better grab Marcus then,” Rapp said, referring to his resident computer genius.

“Can you tell me what this is all about?”

“You got a pen and a piece of paper?”

Coleman dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out both.

Rapp flipped open the small notebook and clicked the plunger on the pen. He hesitated for a brief moment while he decided on the best way to relay the information while still being cryptic. Pressing lightly, he began to scrawl the pertinent information on the lined paper. When he was done he handed the notebook over.

Coleman glanced down at the words and read Rapp’s blocky print: Last night . . . Found out where he’s been getting info . . . hired Johnson to bug Doc’s office . . . know of at least one person who spilled the beans . . . assume there are more . . . find out how he was doing it and get me a full scouting report on him. “Holy shit,” Coleman said out loud as he thought of Dr. Lewis and the number of people he worked with. “This could be a real mess. Information like this could be sold over and over.”

Rapp took the notebook back and tore out the top five sheets. He grabbed a lighter from his pocket and lit the bottom corner of the pages. He watched the flames lick their way up and then he flipped them over so they had to work their way down to his fingers. When there was a square inch left, he waved the paper back and forth until the flame was out. “Be careful with this guy. Don’t tip him off. I don’t want him getting spooked and running off with the goods.”

Coleman thought of Adams. The news that he had supposedly left the country for Venezuela would spread like a dry autumn wild fire through the intelligence community. “He’ll hear about this other thing sooner rather than later.”

“No doubt.”

“And he’ll probably get a little skittish.”

“That’s why I want you on this right away.”

“ROE?” Coleman asked.

ROE was military jargon for Rules of Engagement. Rapp thought about it for a moment. He didn’t know Johnson anywhere near well enough to predict any of it. Coleman would have to use his instincts. “Do what you have to do. Just make sure we know what our exposure is. If he has recordings, I want them all back.”

“If I have to get rough?”

Rapp shrugged. “I should be back late tonight. If it can wait till then, I’d appreciate it, but you’re going to have to play it by ear.”

“Where you off to?”

“Can’t talk about it. It’ll be a short trip. I’ll shoot you an email and let you know when I’ll be back.” Rapp started walking back to the car and Coleman fell in beside him. “Send me some updates, and make sure they’re as obscure as possible. Assume everything you write or say will be intercepted.”

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