After considerable thought Sanchez relented. Kennedy thanked her for all of her help and handed her a card. “That’s my mobile number. I always have it. If you need me for anything, please call. And if that man from the FBI shows up again, please call. I will have him dealt with.”
When Sanchez was gone, Kennedy turned to her assistant. “Eugene, please get Samuel Hargrave on the line and tell him it is extremely urgent.”
Paranoia was part of her business. Sometimes it was a big part and other times not so much. As discomforting as it was, you were a fool to ignore it. The key was to make sure it didn’t paralyze you. After nearly three decades in the intelligence business Kennedy had learned to recognize the natural rhythms of the job. The pace, usually glacial, was often interrupted by moments of extreme action-like right now. This one felt different, though. It was too orchestrated.
Her mentor, Thomas Stansfield, had taught her to think in broad strategic terms-like a battlefield commander. Your flanks must always be protected and your center must be anchored with reinforcements. Supplies needed to be secured from raids and scouts needed to be deployed as aggressively as possible to discern the strength and position of the enemy.
The problem right now was that Kennedy was flying blind. Some The LasT Man 213 one was maneuvering against her and she had no idea who they were or what their next move would be. Rickman, Hubbard, the attack on Rapp, and now Wilson showing up; She had an unnerving suspicion that they were all part of a concerted effort to weaken her Clandestine Service. She and her people could draw up a list of who would benefit most from this type of action, but it would only be a list. Kennedy wanted something more concrete, and she thought she knew where to start.
“Mike,” Kennedy said to Nash. She motioned for him to follow her, and the two walked to the far corner of the lobby. “Where is Marcus?”
“Virginia, as far as I know.” Nash thought about their extremely quirky computer hacker. Despite all of the protocols they put in place, the man could be unnervingly difficult to track down.
“Find him and bring in your best people. I want to know what Joel Wilson is up to.”
Nash’s face turned pensive. “Are you sure this is a good idea? If anything goes wrong…” Nash shuddered at the thought of the FBI finding out they were spying on them.
Kennedy remained stoic. Nash was one of her top people, but he was increasingly becoming the type of person who was followed by dark storm clouds. In other words he spent too much time worrying about the downside of everything. This had been Rapp’s chief complaint of late. “Mike,” Kennedy said in a firm tone, “we’re flying blind, and it looks like someone has launched an operation aimed at crippling the Clandestine Service. Sitting around is not an option. Get your people spun up. In two hours I want to hear how you are going to penetrate Joel Wilson’s group, and I want to start seeing results in the next twenty-four hours.”
“What about Hargrave? He’s Wilson’s boss. You two have a good relationship. Maybe he can tell us what’s going on.”
Kennedy exhaled sharply and gave Nash a look that said her patience was gone. “Do you honestly think that I haven’t already thought of that?”
“No… I just… I’m trying to make sure we don’t make a mistake we’ll regret.”
Kennedy had heard enough. “Mitch is laid up and I don’t know when I’m going to get him back and Stan has just been told he has a few months to live. You’re the next guy on my bench. I need you to execute for me, not question my orders.”
Nash didn’t like being shut down like this and his face showed it.
The fact that he couldn’t simply suck it up and follow an order was the breaking point for Kennedy. “Forget it,” she said, “I’ll find someone else to handle it.” Not waiting for a response she left him in the corner and motioned for Scott Coleman to follow her.
She repeated the orders to Coleman, who received them without protest. After Kennedy was done explaining what she wanted, Coleman had a better idea.
“The guy’s right here… on base. I’ll put him under surveillance starting now and see what I can find out.”
“And call Marcus.”
“First thing I’ll do. Anything else?”
Kennedy thought about it for a second while she looked back down the hall at Mike Nash, who seemed to be pouting. For the first time, she understood Hurley and Rapp’s recent frustrations with the man. When this was over, she was going to have to assess his role moving forward. Turning back to Coleman she said, “That’s all for now. Let me know the second you find anything.”
Chapter 33
The image of a bloodied and battered Joe Rickman was all over the Internet. Thanks to an alert analyst in the CIA’s Ops Center, Kennedy was spared having to learn the information from Al Jazeera. The analyst who was working the night shift was surfing her way through a series of hard-core jihadist web sites when she stumbled across the video. Ten minutes later she had a voice match on Rickman and the alert went out. For reasons Kennedy could never quite understand, Bagram and Kabul were eight hours and thirty minutes ahead of D.C., not eight hours or nine hours. The thirty minutes threw her off, so when her Eugene told her that it was 10:13 in D.C. took her a second to run the calculation-it was 6:43 a.m. in Bagram.
Eugene handed Kennedy the secure phone and she sat up in bed. “It’s Brad,” he informed her.
Kennedy rubbed the sleep from her eyes said, “I’m here, Brad, what’s up?”
“Irene, it’s not good.”
Kennedy was billeted in one of the base’s VIP trailers. She motioned for Eugene to turn on the TV. “I’m listening.”
“It’s Rick. It’s all over the Internet.”
Kennedy felt a lump in her throat as she assumed the worst. “Is he alive?”
“Barely. His face is unrecognizable. We had to do a voice analysis to make sure it was him.”
“But you’re sure it’s him?”
“One hundred percent.”
Kennedy heard the stress in her deputy director’s voice. Brad
Stofer had been in his new job for just eight months, but he had been at Langley for twenty-six years. He was a pro, and if he was bothered by what he had seen, it meant it wasn’t good. Kennedy also knew that voiceprints rarely came back with a 100 percent match. She feared the worst. “Describe it to me.”
“It’s four minutes and thirty-seven seconds long. It’s heavily edited. His arms are tied above his head. Looks like he’s hanging from the ceiling. They were smart enough to cover the walls with sheets.
Two men handle the interrogation. It starts out with a lot of head slaps and then they bring out the rubber hoses. He’s a bloody mess by the end of it.” There was a long pause and then Stofer added, “It’s fucking horrible.”
Kennedy started to think about what Rickman was going through, and then she got a grip on her emotions. Now was not the time to lose it. “What does he say?”
“The audio isn’t great, but our people say they can clean it up. We should have a good copy in the next thirty minutes. I’ll get it to you as soon as it’s ready.”
“Brad,” Kennedy said in a slightly impatient voice, “how bad is the damage?”
“Bad… some names are thrown around.”
“Which ones?”
“Five of our people in Afghanistan… the two cabinet members, the general, the head of intel, and the president.”
The Afghanistan assets were the least of her concerns. The accusations were already out there. The people expected it. “What else?”
“He mentions how much we’re paying them, and we’re pretty sure he names the bank in Switzerland where we keep their money for them. We’ll know more when the audio gets cleaned up.”
