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Just plausible deniability.
No, Rhett decided as a calmer sense prevailed. Kaiser and Benson could be cold-hearted snakes, but they weren’t idiots. No way they could just murder a high-ranking CIA man on U.S. soil—and surely they weren’t reckless enough to do it at Senator Robinson’s home. That was draggingplausible deniabilitywell into the realm of fantasy.
So why the invitation to a completely preposterous meeting with the CIA Director and his off-the-books ex-CIA buddy in an empty house with bulletproof windows and reinforced steel doors?
They couldn’t possibly expect Rhett to take it at face value and believe this was really about a fucking security detail—which was going to be moot in a couple of weeks anyway when the Secret Service approved the pending request under the “Protection of a Major Presidential Candidate” clause.
Which meant it was bait.
They weren’t inviting him to a damn meeting.
They were inviting him to the endgame.
Into the arena.
“You two washed-up cowboys have been out of the field too fucking long.” Rhett chuckled darkly, rubbing his lips, then shaking his head. “Do you seriously expect me to stroll in there with two six-guns and a ten-gallon hat for a shootout at sundown?”
He chuckled again, but this time the laughter caught in his throat. Fuck, he wouldloveto eliminate Benson, get even with that sonofabitch who’d outsmarted Rhett all those years ago, back when Rhett was only starting to understand what kind of a man he was inside, what was lurking in his shadow. But now Rhett wasallshadow, and damn, wouldn’t it be sweet as sin to wipe that coyote grin off Benson’s face, see real fear in that snake’s eyes.
And if Kaiser got taken off the board alongside, that actually might be an endgame Rhett could win!
“Don’t be an idiot,” Rhett snarled when he realized this wasexactlywhat Benson was hoping for—to toss down the gauntlet, trigger Rhett’s shadow to snatch it up, go all-in, end this game in the shadows where it had begun, in the darkness where it belonged. “Don’t lose your frame. You know it’s not going to be a straight-up hit on you. It's a provocation. They’re just baiting you, seeing if you crack under the uncertainty of not knowing what Paige told them, not knowing what they know, what they can prove. So just go to the meeting as if it’s another day on the job. Stick to your cover story that yes, you were fucking Paige Anderson and so what? You already know she hasn’t got any hard evidence, that she covered her own tracks so well evenshecan’t un-hack the destroyed electronic trail. All Benson and Kaiser have is her word against yours, and that’s why they’ve set up this ridiculous meeting. Maybe they’re going to offer you some backdoor deal in exchange for resigning or taking yourself out of the running for the Directorship. Maybe they’re going to pull out that old video and try to blackmail you—again. Maybe they’ll be wearing wires, even get the whole place wired. But most likely it's bait. They want to provoke you into doing something stupid and giving them an excuse to put you down.” He laughed again, this time with a hint of relief that he wasn’t going to take the bait, would be in supreme control of himself at the meeting, wasn’t going to allow himself to be provoked or blackmailed, coerced or compromised. “It’s a last-ditch attempt to draw you in. A desperate move by two aging idiots who’ve ridden their last rodeo. They’re going to try every psychological trick in the book to break your frame, wreck your confidence, get you to either retreat in defeat or react in rage. But you won’t lose your frame. You’ve played this shadow-game almost as long as these two old dogs. They’re good, but you’re better. Maybe even the best.”
The self-talk did the trick, and with surging confidence Rhett pulled up the meeting invitation on his laptop calendar, accepted it with a quick click, then sat back and exhaled.
Then suddenly Rhett inhaled sharply.
Something had flickered onto the laptop screen.
An internal alert issued by the State Department, urgent and classified, for top CIA eyes only.
Rhett sat up, frowning as he clicked on the flashing alert, dread slithering up his throat even though such alerts were not uncommon, popped up a few times a week. They were mostly courtesy alerts informing the CIA when some U.S. national was arrested in a foreign country. Usually it was some drunk tourist doing something stupid. Occasionally it was something more sensitive—like when U.S. military personnel stationed abroad did something dumb or illegal off the U.S. base.
But this alert came from a place with no U.S. military bases.
Mumbai, India.
Rhett’s face drained to a ghostly white as he read the alert, which was hastily written, indicating that the State Department wanted to get it to the CIA immediately:
To All Level-5-Cleared CIA Officers:
American Embassy in Mumbai has been alerted by Indian Police that a dead woman has been found at the Raj Palace Hotel. Police have identified the woman as an Indian national with no prior record. She was dressed in a hotel staff uniform but hotel has confirmed she is not an employee. Single gunshot wound through the left breast. No shell casing found. Bullet was 9mm hollow-point that was destroyed on impact so little chance of conclusive ballistics match.
Embassy was contacted because hotel room is registered to an American citizen, male, entered on tourist visa one day prior, no criminal record. After running his prints through NSA. FBI, and U.S. Military records, we have privately identified him as Michael “Ice” Wagner, former U.S. Army Delta Force, current employer unknown. This information has not and will not be divulged to Indian authorities.
Room appears to have been vacated in a hurry, without checking out. A second set of fingerprints lifted from room. Another U.S. citizen—India O’Donnell, female, 29, presently in the country under Diplomatic Authority, attached to the U.S. Embassy in Mumbai. O’Donnell is not reachable by phone, nor locatable at her quarters in the Embassy.
Given that O’Donnell has Diplomatic Immunity, State Department has intervened and demanded a gag-order be issued so that no details are leaked to the Indian or International press—certainly none that will be confirmed by any official Indian or U.S. authority. Of course, our friends in the Indian Government are suspicious that CIA is conducting illegal operations within their borders. We have strongly denied it and will continue to do so. Will play hardball with the Indians if they threaten to go public—we have enough leverage to keep it quiet. Situation is sensitive but stable.
State Department recognizes that CIA covert operations are classified. This is an urgent informational message, restricted to CIA Level-5+ personnel only.
End of Message.
Rhett slowed his breathing just enough to process the alert without blowing a gasket in his head or busting a valve in his heart. He rubbed his lips until they were raw enough to bleed, then snatched a tissue and dabbed his nose which had in fact started to bleed again. He tossed the bloody tissue, then inhaled sharply, swallowing a warm mix of blood and snot, his fingers rapping on the glass desk as he read the alert once more.
The second read-through calmed his nerves. State Department was good at handling foreign governments, and the United States always had enough leverage to twist the screws anytime they wanted.
And the last line was a classic:State Department recognizes that CIA covert operations are classified.
