Separation of Power (5 page)

Rielly was slightly surprised. This truly was a unified front to have a Republican senator announce the nominee of a Democratic president. Rielly turned her green eyes on the well-liked senator from Arizona and asked, “Senator Clark?”

“The truth is, we didn’t have to look very hard, or very far, to find the best man for the job.” Clark winked at Rielly over his intentional disregard for the politics of political correctness. “The best man for the job is a woman who is currently running the
CIA’s Counter terrorism Center. Dr. Irene Kennedy is our hands-down choice to be the next DCI.”

The five men smiled and nodded at each other while flashes from the cameras lit up the room. Not to be left out of the spotlight, Senator Moeller cleared his throat and said, “This is truly a historical moment. Dr. Kennedy will be the first woman to head the CIA, and for that matter the first woman to head up any of the agencies that make up our intelligence community.”

Rielly was busy writing something on her notepad and without looking up she said, “That is of course, if she’s confirmed by the Senate.”

“That goes without saying,” Clark said. “But Senator Moeller and I can tell you that she will have no problem making it through our committee.”

“Assuming there are no surprises.”

Clark stared at Rielly. She really was a beautiful woman, with a brain and a little spunk to boot. He wondered briefly if she knew the type of person her boyfriend was. The number of people he had killed. “There are no guarantees in this town, Ms. Rielly, but assuming there are no surprises, I am very confident that Dr. Kennedy will sail through the confirmation process.”

Rielly directed her gaze at the president. “Was Dr. Kennedy your first choice, Mr. President?”

Without hesitation Hayes replied, “Yes.”

“Was Dr. Kennedy Director Stansfield’s choice to succeed him?”

“Director Stansfield felt that Dr. Kennedy was more than up to the task.”

Smiling, Rielly said, “I assume that means Kennedy was Stansfield’s choice.”

“Director Stansfield thought that Dr. Kennedy was more than qualified to head the Agency.” The president answered Rielly’s question in such a way as to leave little doubt that he would not answer the same question if it was asked a third time.

Rielly took the hint and checked her notes. “Will Deputy DCI Brown stay on as the number two person at the Agency or will he be leaving?”

Michael Haik, the president’s national security advisor, fielded the question. “I spoke to the DDCI this morning, and he said he will stay on for as long as he is needed.”

“Does that mean that he plans on leaving as soon as Dr. Kennedy is confirmed?”

“No. Brown has the utmost respect for Dr. Kennedy and is looking forward to working closely with her.”

“Is he disappointed that he didn’t receive the nomination from the president?” Rielly didn’t look to Hayes for an answer. She kept her eyes on Haik.

Haik knew he had to throw Rielly a little bone here or she would keep digging. “Of course he’s a little disappointed. Brown is extremely qualified. We were fortunate enough to have two great candidates to choose from. Brown respects the choice of Dr. Kennedy and is looking forward to helping her transition into the top spot.”

“I would like to add something here,” interjected Senator Clark. “Brown has been invaluable to the CIA, the Senate Intelligence Committee and this country.” Clark leaned forward to elicit a nod from
Senator Moeller. “There is no reason why just because one of them got the job the other should have to leave. If Brown were to decide to vacate his position I would be extremely upset. I would expect Dr. Kennedy to rely heavily on Brown to get the job done.” Clark’s words were intended for one person and one person only: Irene Kennedy. He could ill afford to lose Brown right now. Kennedy needed to understand that if there was any house cleaning to be done, Brown was to remain untouched.

Rielly flipped to the second page of her spiral notepad. “There have already been some rumblings from the Hill about Dr. Kennedy taking over the top spot at the CIA. Are you sure this confirmation is going to be as easy as you think?”

“I’m not familiar with these rumblings,” the president said. “Would you care to identify the rumblers or rumbler you’re referring to?”

Rielly smiled briefly at the president and said, “Chairman Rudin has gone on the record stating that he thinks nominating Dr. Kennedy as the next DCI is a huge mistake.”

“The last time I checked Chairman Rudin was in the House, not the Senate,” said the president flatly. He had a recent history of run-ins with the fellow Democrat, and he was none too fond of him.

Rielly looked a little confused. “Yes, but he is the chairman of the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence.”

“He sure is, but that also means he will have nothing whatsoever to do with the confirmation of Dr. Kennedy.”

“But, he runs the committee that approves the Agency’s budget. Aren’t you the least bit concerned that Chairman Rudin considers Dr. Kennedy a disastrous choice?”

The president forced a smile. “I wouldn’t be alarmed, Anna. Chairman Rudin isn’t truly happy unless he has something to complain about.” Hayes winked at Rielly and then turned to his press secretary. On cue, the press secretary sprang into action and ushered the press pool from the room, leaving the president and his guests to discuss business in private.

R
app showered and took his time getting dressed. He put on a dark gray, three- button suit, a white shirt and a burgundy tie. He left his house a little later than he should have, but he didn’t care. As he worked his way around the Beltway from the east side of town to the west, he kept the radio off and tried to go over the details of his last mission one more time. During Rapp’s affiliation with the Agency he had always felt secure that his identity was kept a very close secret. He moved freely around Washington without fear of being recognized by someone who might know that he did more than run a small international computer consulting business. The only people he really associated with were the handful of other world-class triathletes who lived in the Baltimore-Washington area. They trained with each other from time to time, but even that had stopped several years earlier when Rapp retired from the sport.

As Rapp picked his way through traffic he sifted through the details of what had happened on that last mission in Germany. That was where it had all started to unravel. Just a month earlier Kennedy had called on him to handle a very delicate mission. A German industrialist named Count Heinrich Hagenmiller had been caught selling highly sensitive equipment to the Iraqis, the kind of equipment that was crucial
in the manufacturing of nuclear weapons. Rapp’s job was fairly straightforward, not unlike others that he had done before. He flew to Germany where he met up with a husband and wife team, Tom and Jane Hoffman. They had been in place for a week running surveillance on the count. Posing as agents from Germany’s federal police, the BKA, they gained access to Count Hagenmiller’s estate during a party that the count was throwing. Rapp entered the mansion with Jane Hoffman, while her husband waited outside in the car.

Everything had gone as planned. The count had left his guests and joined them in his study. He was accompanied by his lawyer and a bodyguard. None of this had been a surprise. Rapp killed the count with one well-placed shot from his silenced .22- caliber Ruger pistol and then disabled both the lawyer and the bodyguard without having to kill them. When Rapp turned to ask Jane Hoffman to help him cuff the lawyer, he found himself looking down the barrel of her gun. This was where everything fell apart. She shot him twice in the chest, the bullets sending him back and over. He hit the ground hard, and with a whiplash effect, his head slammed against the bottom rung of the bookcase ladder and everything went black.

What the Hoffmans didn’t know was that Rapp had bulletproof Kevlar sewn into the liner of his leather jacket. When he awoke almost five minutes later the Hoffmans were gone, the bodyguard was dead and a pool of Rapp’s blood covered the floor from the gash on the back of his head. Rapp’s next
course of action came instinctively. Create a diversion and run like hell. He set fire to the study, destroying his own blood, and then stole a car that one of the guests had arrived in. Rapp never went into a mission without planning in detail his escape routes if something went wrong. The experience paid off and by afternoon the next day, without any help from the Agency, he was safely out of Germany.

For the first time in Rapp’s career in counterterrorism he was confronted with a very ugly side of his business, the possibility that he had become a liability. And in his world, liabilities had a tendency to be erased from the balance sheet. Rapp could think of nothing worse than being betrayed by either Stansfield or Kennedy. He trusted them more than anyone in the world. Fortunately, upon his return to America he discovered that his handlers had not betrayed him. There was another problem. A leak. Somewhere, somehow, someone had found out about him, and they had set him up. Stansfield and Kennedy discovered that a man named Peter Cameron had hired the Hoffmans to kill him. Rapp was just about to confront Cameron’s neck when he discovered him dead in his office.

In the weeks since Cameron’s death they had learned some interesting things about the former employee of the CIA, but they had run into a dead end when it came to finding out who he had been working for. Kennedy had a special team within the Agency who were still poring over every detail of Cameron’s life in hopes of finding out who had hired him and why, but Rapp knew not to expect much
from them. Cameron had been killed by the man who had hired him. Rapp was sure of it.

Rapp wanted out. There would be no more targets, no more assassinations. He wanted to be done with death, and move on to creating some life of his own. He loved Anna more than anyone he had ever known. It was destiny that he’d saved her life and they’d fallen in love. The thought of losing her, of not spending the rest of his life with her, gave him a sickening feeling, and worse, it was affecting his instincts. He was losing his edge. Ironically, now that he was finally ready to walk away from the Orion Team, he couldn’t. Right now, there were just too many unanswered questions.

He had to find out who in the hell had hired Peter Cameron and why. It was one thing to have to look over his shoulder when he traveled in the Middle East, but it was an entirely different matter to do it here in the U.S. It would be no way to raise a family, worrying every time he left the house that someone would harm his loved ones. No, Rapp knew he would have to see this thing through to the end. Most probably a bloody one.

By the time he arrived at the main gate of the CIA he was already five minutes late for his 10:00
A.M
. meeting. As he approached the intimidating checkpoint he stayed to the left and got into one of the employee lanes. At the barrier he stopped his car and showed his fake credentials to a black-clad man from the CIA’s Office of Security. The man had an MP-5 submachine gun slung across his chest and a bulky automatic in a nylon holster at his hip. A dozen more
of his compatriots were out on post monitoring the gate, and there were even more standing behind the tinted bulletproof glass and brick of the blockhouse that was dressed up to look like a fancy highway weigh station. The unseen men and women inside carried even bigger guns plus a stash of LAW 80 shoulder-launched rockets just in case some heavy vehicle tried to crash its way onto the grounds. The CIA took its security very seriously.

The man studied Rapp’s credentials for a moment and then handed them back to him. “Have a nice day, sir.”

Rapp nodded and drove ahead, passing through the bright yellow spring-loaded crash barricades. The heavy steel devices were designed to pop up at a moment’s notice to bar any unauthorized entry and potential car bombers. He proceeded to the underground parking garage of the Old Headquarters Building where he had to again show his credentials. He parked in a spot reserved for visitors to the director’s suite, and passed through an unmarked door into a small lobby. Another guard was waiting and gestured for him to enter the elevator. Rapp stepped in by himself and the doors closed. The elevator went straight from the underground garage to the director’s suite on the seventh floor. When the door opened two stocky men in suits were waiting for him. The shorter of the two looked Rapp over from head to toe and gestured for him to enter the office of the director’s administrative assistant.

Rapp did so without comment and stepped into the spacious office. The woman behind the desk
stood and surprised him by saying, “Good morning, Mr. Rapp. Could I get you anything to drink before your meeting?”

“Coffee would be fine.” He wondered how the woman knew his real name.

“Any cream or sugar?”

“No thanks. Just black.”

She pressed a button on one of three phones and said, “Dr. Kennedy, Mr. Rapp is here for your ten o’clock.”

“Thank you, Dottie. Send him in.”

Dottie got up from behind her desk and poured Rapp a mug of coffee in a blue Central Intelligence Agency mug. After handing the mug over to Rapp she showed him into Dr. Kennedy’s office and closed the door.

Kennedy was at the far end of the long office amid a bevy of file boxes that were stacked on the conference table. Rapp had been in the office on only two previous occasions and glanced around to see what had changed since Stansfield’s death. It appeared not much. The old spook’s photos and awards were still hanging on the walls. He wondered if this was an oversight, or a sign that Kennedy was having trouble letting go of her old boss and mentor.

Kennedy grabbed her jacket from the back of one of the conference table chairs and put it on. She was wearing a stylish gray European suit with flared notched lapels. The color was very similar to Rapp’s suit. The uniform color scheme would have made a student of George Orwell smile knowingly.

“Sorry about the mess. They moved everything
from my old office while I was at the funeral.” Kennedy smiled sadly. “Orders from Thomas. Even from the grave he’s still running the show.” Kennedy held her arms out and offered her cheek to Rapp.