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From the corner of Carlton Pope’s right eye there’s sudden movement, and he turns—
What?
Strong hands seize his shoulders and his arms, and he’s slammed against the side of the armored Suburban.
From behind him comes a woman’s voice. “Carlton Pope? Special Agent Paula Brewster, FBI. You’re under arrest.”
“What the hell?” he says, still unable to move. It seems there are two FBI agents holding him down against the cold metal of the vehicle. “Do you know who I am? Lady, you’re in one hell of a mess. Let me go!”
“Mr. Pope,” the voice continues. “You have the right to remain silent.”
He struggles and his wrists are moved together.
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
Theclickandsnapof handcuffs tight against his wrists.
“You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you. Do you understand these rights?”
He’s pulled away from the Suburban and turns and sees four FBI agents standing there, the one woman smiling, the three men looking satisfied.
Furious, Carlton says, “I’m special assistant to President Keegan Barrett. Release me now.”
“Sorry, sir,” the FBI agent says. “You’re under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Perhaps I can help,” CIA Director Abrams says.
He turns his head and that bitch’s face is filled with triumph. She has her phone to her ear and says, “Thanks, Deputy Director Hicks. And … oh? Really? Thanks for passing that along. Thank you very much.”
The CIA director lowers her phone. “Pope, you’re under arrest for violation of 18 U.S. Code Section 930: Possession of firearms and dangerous weapons in Federal facilities.”
“What?”
Abrams holds up a previously folded piece of paper. A surveillance photo of some sort is in the center. Showing …
Him.
Running along the grounds of the National Ground Intelligence Center in Virginia, right after bailing out of the Town Car when Noa Himel and her crew arrived earlier than planned to take out the Iranian Quds force.
Pistol clearly in hand.
Carlton says, “It’s a bullshit charge.”
Abrams keeps on smiling. “Bullshit or not, it gets you out of the picture for the rest of the day. Thank God for that.”
CHAPTER 130
GENERAL TUCKER WYMAN, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, returns to the National Military Command Center after his failed attempt to contact his counterpart in Beijing, to see not much has changed since he left. Lots of phones ringing, keyboards being tapped, and display screens being updated.
But it seems there’s a cold spot in the center of the room, where Vice Chairman Marine General Wade Thompson is standing at his post, with Deputy Defense Director Clark Kim standing next to him, having come down from his office in the E Wing of the Pentagon.
From the looks on their faces, he knows the news is bad.
“What is it?” he asks.
The Marine general says, “We know what’s behind the Chinese response. It’s us.”
