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“But nothing. Leave me out of this. Get your team there, put these photos up on the wire, and list them as possible suspects in a double homicide and let your guys piece it all together.”
“Are you trying to tell me you think these are two of the three terrorists we’re looking for?”
“I’m not telling you anything, Art.” Rapp winked. “The only thing I’m saying is that my brain tells me these two guys are Middle Eastern, not Mexican as their names would suggest.” Rapp looked at his BlackBerry and said, “My gut tells me there’s a chance these might be two of the three guys we’re looking for and your gut should be telling you the same thing.”
“That’s all you’re going to give me . . . your gut?”
“For now . . . yes. I gotta run, Art. Deploy the team and see what they dig up.” Rapp turned to look for Kennedy.
“Where are you going?” Harris asked.
Rapp ignored him and threaded his way through the crowd toward Kennedy. She was surrounded by too many people Rapp didn’t want to talk to, so he maneuvered into a position where he could catch her eye. It took a few seconds, but Kennedy eventually saw him.
He pointed his finger straight up and mouthed the word Now. Rapp left the room and pulled up Marcus Dumond’s phone number. He listened to it ring in the hallway across from the gift shop while he waited for Kennedy. The computer genius answered on the fourth ring.
“What’s up?”
“Are you in the building?” Rapp asked. “Which building?”
“Old HQ.”
“Yeah. I’m down in the basement working on—”
Rapp cut him off. “Drop whatever it is and get your butt up to Irene’s office on the pronto.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Only if you’re late.” Rapp ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket, just as Kennedy joined him in the hall. Two of her bodyguards hovered nearby.
“What’s wrong?”
Rapp started walking. “I’ll save the good stuff for your office.”
They moved quickly down the wide hallway, while Rapp filled her in on the developments in Iowa. They turned a few times until they got to a door that led to Kennedy’s private elevator. No one spoke on the ride up to the seventh floor. When the door opened the two bodyguards stepped aside and Rapp followed Kennedy to the left and into her office.
“I asked Marcus to join us,” Rapp said. “He should be here any second.”
Kennedy leaned against the front of her desk, placed her hands on the edge, and crossed her legs at the ankles. She was dressed to the nines for the cameras. Dark blue skirt and jacket with black nylons, black pumps, and an ivory blouse. “I’m not sure I understand why you’re so concerned.”
“Yesterday, when you sent me on that little hop to go meet with Catherine and George?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I told you last night they gave me some pretty good intel.”
Kennedy could tell by his sour expression that there was a catch. “And?”
“Let’s just say your friends up on the Hill wouldn’t approve of their methods.”
Kennedy noticed how he referred to them as her friends. “So you’re nervous about sharing the intel with the FBI?”
“Yes . . . and I promised George up front that I would be really careful with the stuff he gave me. Between the two of us, I’m about 99 percent sure it came from his top source inside the Cuban government.”
Kennedy nodded and considered how nervous she would be if she had to share one of her top sources. “Understandable.”
“I told you they IDed two of the three, and they have a line on the third.”
“I remember.”
