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“That’s what I want to find out,” Hannah says. “The head of Operations told me last night that he was concerned that President Barrett had pulled them away—along with nearly a dozen other operators—for some operation. It was approved by Acting Director Fenway, but what they’re doing for POTUS is still not clear. I don’t like it. I’ve been here for only a day and I’ve heard rumors and tales. I want the facts.”
Jean is scribbling in her notebook and Hannah says, “Strike that, I want more than their personnel files. I want a fresh look, like a Red Cell committee, digging deeper and further. And while they’re at it, I want to know all about Carlton Pope, the president’s special assistant.”
Jean looks up from her notebook. “Director … that might not be wise. President Barrett has a fair number of friends and allies in the Agency. Word will probably get back to him that we’re doing that.”
“Good,” Hannah says. “I don’t have a problem with that. And Acting Director Fenway … no idea where he is?”
Jean says, “No. He left his condo at McLean and told his neighbors that he was taking a long-overdue vacation. He told one neighbor he was going to hike the Appalachian Trail, told another one he was going to learn to scuba dive in Mexico, and a third that he was going to find a secluded beach in Hawaii and learn tai chi.”
“Not the typical change of command ceremony one expects,” Hannah says.
“Think of it as a funny chapter in your autobiography someday.”
“Sure, someday,” she says.
Jean says, “Anything else, Director?”
The director of the CIA’s office is traditionally large and well furnished, but Hannah hasn’t had time to bring in any personal belongings or souvenirs, but there is one new object, taking up most of the free space in the room.
A fold-up government-issued bed.
Jean says, “How did you sleep last night?”
“Passable, but I’ve slept in worse,” Hannah says, and after a pause, says, “And so have you. And, I’m sorry to say, prepare to sleep again tonight in your office. There’s too much going on, too much at stake.”
“Yes, Director,” Jean says, getting up and closing her notebook.
As Jean heads out of Hannah’s office, that earlier phrase returns to Hannah.
Have we gotten here in time?
CHAPTER 57
LIAM GREY IS getting onto the George Washington Memorial Highway for his drive home, his mood foul, honking the horn at a commuter who was a few seconds slow getting into traffic.
He had a brief meeting with President Barrett yesterday that didn’t go well, concerning Boyd Morris, his team member who was killed in Paris.
Liam had asked that a Memorial Star at Langley be carved for Boyd, and Barrett instantly refused.
Boyd didn’t die for the Agency or the nation. He died for me, so there can be no record.
He speeds up on the highway, trying to maximize the distance between him and CIA headquarters and its Memorial Wall, three of its stars for fellow operators he’s known to have died in the field.
And for what?
Like the others marked on the wall in the lobby, they had died for their country.
Not a politician.
A noise distracts him and Liam realizes his cell phone is ringing from where he leaves it during work, the center console of his Jeep Wrangler.
It continues ringing as he pulls over to the side of the road. Virginia has a hands-free phone law and getting ticketed by a Virginia State Trooper will certainly not improve his mood.
He puts the Jeep in Park, picks up his phone.
The caller ID says WEBSTER.
He answers, “This is Liam.”
