The Survivor (33 page)

“You mean he’s a traitor,” Ferris said.

“It’s more complicated than that but, in the end, yes.”

“I don’t understand how something like this can happen,” Ferris said, warming up to his subject. “First of all, why would he know anything about a Russian informant or an Iranian ambassador? Are you tacking top-secret files to the lunchroom bulletin board?”

“Spare
us the soapbox speech,” Barbara Lonsdale said. Alexander, on the other hand, remained silent. While he didn’t want to assign blame, he wasn’t above letting someone else do it.

“What does the CIA do?” Ferris continued. “Spy on people, right? Isn’t that its whole multibillion-dollar purpose? Why wasn’t Rickman being watched? Why was he exempted?”

“This is a difficult business full of difficult people,” Lonsdale said. “It happened. Now let’s figure out how to fix it.”

“You can downplay this all you want, Barbara, but it’s a disaster. An
ongoing
disaster. Apparently, Dr. Kennedy has no clue what Rickman knew or how he got the information. How many files are there? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? And why would we think Rickman would lead with his best stuff? I wouldn’t. What did he know that I don’t? Hell, what did he know that President Alexander doesn’t? What we’ve seen so far might just be the tip of the iceberg. But we don’t know if that’s the case and neither does Dr. Kennedy. Are we certain that her other people and operations are secure? Because, with all due respect, she doesn’t seem to know.”

“What are you proposing, Carl?” Lonsdale said. “Disbanding the CIA?”

“What do they really do for us?” Ferris said. “Occasionally solve a problem that they themselves created? At the very least, I think it’s time to consider a complete restructuring of the organization.”

“Maybe we should get rid of the military while we’re at it?” Lonsdale said sarcastically.

Ferris shrugged. “Almost a trillion dollars a year and they haven’t been able to deliver a clear win since the Japanese surrendered in ’44. Obviously, the United States needs a strong defensive force, but I wonder if that couldn’t be achieved for half the current budget.”

“I think we’re getting well off the subject at hand,” Alexander said.

Ferris grinned. “My apologies, Mr. President. As you know, I have a passion for theoretical tangents.”

Ferris could be dangerously charming when he chose to be. The very real prospect that he could become president and turn some of his bizarre
philosophical musings into legislation was terrifying to Kennedy.

“Irene,” Alexander said. “Where are we with plugging these leaks?”

“We have a strong lead, and it’s my hope that we’ll be able to stop them shortly.”

The president was no happier with her response than she herself was. “I’m getting hammered on this, Irene. From our enemies, from our allies, from voters. And all you can give me is that you’re working on it?”

“Rickman was a brilliant man,” she said honestly. “That’s why he was in the position he was. I’m confident that we’re going to resolve the issue but I’m reluctant to make promises I may not be able to keep.”

“I suppose that’s the end of that conversation, then,” Alexander said, not bothering to hide his frustration. “What about Sunny’s delegation going to Pakistan? Things are looking pretty volatile over there and I’m sure Carl would prefer not to find himself in the middle of a Taliban attack.”

“I’m really not that concerned,” Ferris said.

Kennedy noted his response with interest. Ferris cared only about himself and had proven over and over to be a coward on virtually every level. His sudden lack of interest in his own safety flew in the face of everything she knew about the man.

“The Secret Service is taking this very seriously,” Kennedy said. “And, as you can imagine, the Pakistanis are putting their top people on President Chutani’s detail. Again, though, if you’re asking for guarantees, I can’t provide them.”

President Alexander glanced at his watch, hinting that the meeting was coming to a close. “I’m disappointed that we weren’t able to accomplish more here today. Does anyone have any other questions?”

“About a thousand,” Ferris said. “But it seems that Dr. Kennedy can’t answer any of them.”

“I’m confident that she’ll be able to soon,” Barbara Lonsdale said.

Alexander stood. “Thank you all for coming. Irene, could I have another moment of your time?”

Lonsdale leaned into her as she passed. “Chin up, Irene.”

Alexander went to his desk and sat but didn’t offer Kennedy a chair. “That didn’t go well.”

“No, sir, it didn’t.”

He spun a piece of paper on the blotter in front of him and slid it in her direction. It was immediately recognizable as the letter of resignation she’d signed on her first day as DCI.

The president could accept it anytime he chose but instead he pulled it back and put it in a drawer. Point made.

“I’m behind you, Irene. Your job is like mine. Pretty much impossible. You have thousands of people working for you and some of them aren’t the most stable or cooperative in the world. It’s a miracle things like this don’t happen more often.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir.”

“Don’t thank me too quickly. I’m not going to lie to you, Irene. This is bad. If I could think of a single person who could run the CIA better than you, you’d be looking for a job right now.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Then fix it, Irene. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Do it now.”

S
OUTH OF
A
NNAPOLIS

M
ARYLAND

U.S.A.

M
ITCH
Rapp eased his Dodge Charger into the trees at the side of the dead-end road. He grabbed a pizza box and a six-pack of Coke from the passenger seat but then couldn’t bring himself to open the door. There was a reason he never came here. A lot of them.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there but finally he reached for the handle. Not so much because he was ready but because it was about time for Mrs. Randall to start her afternoon walk. She was a nice old lady, but the last thing he needed was a woman in a tracksuit cooing sympathetically at him.

Seven years of wind and rain had cleared out the loose ash, leaving only the blackened skeleton of what had once been his and Anna’s home. The second floor was gone, as was most of one side, but there were still enough upright two-by-fours to conjure memories of what it had once been.

Rapp headed for the only intact structure—a sooty brick fireplace standing against the cloudless sky. He chose a place behind it that would obscure him from the street, then unscrewed the top of a Coke and sat. Beer—maybe a whole case—would have been more appropriate
but it was time for him to give that up until he pulled his life together.

The afternoon sun reflected off the water of Chesapeake Bay, and he squinted at the dock extending into the water. It looked like one of his neighbors had cleaned it up and taken over maintenance duties.

He used to run off the end of it in the early mornings and pound out a three-mile training swim. When he returned, he’d inevitably find Anna drinking coffee and reading through a teetering stack of newspapers. She’d feign surprise at how fast he was and then offer a less than heartfelt apology for not having started breakfast. That was usually followed by compliments about his cooking that were actually a thinly veiled effort to get him to whip up a couple of omelets.

Rapp grabbed a piece of pizza and took a bite. Before Anna died, they’d started building a new house on a secluded lot outside the Beltway. The foundations were poured and a few walls were framed, but that was all that had been done before he shut the project down.

The general contractor had been calling, offering to finish it for cost. He was a decent guy who was hit hard by Anna’s death and had been having a great time figuring out how to integrate all of Rapp’s security measures. Maybe it was time to return his calls.

The years had begun to run together in Rapp’s mind. One crisis after another. Lost friends. Dead enemies. A lengthening list of wounds and injuries. Every day had become similar to the last. Every scenario a familiar twist on one of the horrors that preceded it.

But that might be about to change.

President Alexander was a pragmatist, which made him easier to work with than the ideologues on either side of the aisle. But he was also a politician. If he saw the CIA becoming a threat to him, he’d move to deal with that threat. It was entirely possible that Kennedy would be out by the end of the day.

If that happened, Rapp had decided that he would deal with the Rickman mess and then get out. Without her to insulate him from politics, he would have killed half of Washington by now.

That left a long and uncomfortably empty road ahead of him. What
reason would he have to get out of bed in the morning? Thanks to his brother’s investment skills, Rapp had more money than he could ever spend, and his resume wasn’t one you took to an employment agency.

There was no way he was going to hire himself out to one of the foreign governments that would undoubtedly come calling, and he couldn’t picture himself protecting some celebrity or billionaire whom he’d just as soon shoot in the back of the head. While he didn’t necessarily like what he did every day, at least it was quasi-legal and made a difference.

Going back to triathlons would be an interesting challenge, but he had to be realistic. The years and bullet holes would make it impossible for him to return to the top level. And that was less a life than it was a time killer.

The phone in his jacket began to vibrate and he pulled it out. Mike Nash. Rapp let out a long breath and picked up.

“Yeah.”

“She’s out of her meeting with the president.”

“And?”

“Rumor has it that we’re still gainfully employed.”

A sailboat came into view and Rapp followed it with his eyes. “I guess that’s good news.”

“Might not last long.”

He and Kennedy had decided not to tell Nash about his role in their succession plans. He had enough pressure bearing down on him and they weren’t sure how he’d handle more. There weren’t many people better in combat, but running the Agency was different. Having someone shooting at you was, in many ways, the simplest of problems. You knew who the enemy was and you knew the issue was going to be quickly resolved in either your favor or the other guy’s. Once you sat down in the DCI’s chair, the shit came at you from every direction and it never stopped.

“Anything new with Rickman?”

“Maybe. A high-level asset disappeared in Venezuela.”

“No gloating?”

“No
email, no video. Rick would keep changing things up to keep us guessing. We think that’s what we’re seeing here.”

It seemed like a good bet. Rickman had been well connected in Venezuela through its membership in OPEC. Not that it mattered. He seemed to have had the ability to shine a light into any dark corner he wanted.

“What about Marcus’s phishing emails?”

“They’ve been sent, but we haven’t gotten any responses yet.”

“Do you think they’re on to us?”

“Not likely. Marcus is monitoring the chatter and there hasn’t been any mention of the emails. Hackers are a pretty secretive bunch, and for now that’s working in our favor.”

“Yeah, but we’re running out of time. Maybe Irene didn’t get her walking papers today but she will next week. Or the week after that.”

“I understand, but there’s nothing we can do but wait. This is our shot, Mitch. If it doesn’t work . . .” His voice faded and Rapp understood why. They’d have to shut down virtually their entire network and walk away. In all likelihood, Congress would gut the CIA and piece out its duties to everyone from the FBI to the Park Service. All while America’s enemies danced on the Agency’s grave.

T
HE
W
HITE
H
OUSE

W
ASHINGTON,
D.C.

U.S.A.

C
ARL
Ferris looked at the White House through the windows of his idling limousine. Activity was limited, consisting primarily of Secret Service agents and dogs patrolling the grounds.

Dialing the satellite phone in the heightened security environment made him sweat a bit, but Ahmed Taj had assured him the encryption was unbreakable. Why doubt the man? The ISI had been playing America’s intelligence agencies for fools for more than a decade.

Predictably, Taj picked up on the first ring. “I trust the meeting went well?”

Ferris confirmed that the barrier between him and his driver was sealed before responding. “Better than either of us expected. That icy bitch embarrassed herself more times than I can count. Rickman has her by the short hairs. I won’t have to lift a finger. The great Irene Kennedy is going to get taken down by a corpse.”

“The president didn’t ask for her resignation?”

“No. But he will soon. For some reason he still has confidence in her but he’s not going to commit political suicide. No one has any idea what’s in these files and he knows he could be one release away from a scandal that will break his administration. Plausible deniability will
only get you so far. When the American people see the CIA for what it really is—a bunch of psychotics who think they’re above the law—he’ll want to be as far from her as he can get.”

“I’m disappointed that she’s still at Langley, but I trust your judgment,” Taj said. “With that woman and Mitch Rapp in place, we’ll never be able to forge a relationship of trust and friendship between our two countries. I sincerely believe that it will be you and President Chutani who are remembered by history for laying the groundwork for peace in the region. I look forward to seeing you when you arrive with Secretary Wicka’s delegation.”

The line went dead and Ferris put the phone back in his briefcase. The American people were tired of endless war and Homeland Security overreach. It was the right issue at the right time. Along with the Pakistani money quietly flowing into his campaign coffers, this was the platform he needed to take the leadership of his party and gain the presidential nomination. Once in the Oval Office, he’d pull the CIA’s teeth one by one. America and Pakistan would stop their clandestine war against each other and join forces. Their fledgling partnership would allow him to do what his predecessors never could—stabilize the Middle East.