“Oh, it did,” LaValle said. “Unfortunately, the secretary of defense was called into a meeting in the Oval Office. He phoned me to convey to you his apologies and to insist that we carry on without him.”
All of which meant, Soraya knew, that Halliday had never had any intention of attending this little tкte-а-tкte. She doubted he even knew about it.
“Anyway,” LaValle said as Kendall sat in the third chair, “now that you’re here you might as well enjoy yourself.” He raised his hand, and Willard appeared as if by prestidigitation. “Something to drink, Director? I know as Muslim you’re forbidden alcohol, but we have a full range of potions for you to choose from.”
“Tea, please,” she said directly to Willard. “Ceylon, if you have it.”
“Of course, ma’am. Milk? Sugar?”
“Neither, thank you.” She’d never formed the British habit.
Willard seemed to bow before he vanished without a sound.
Soraya redirected her attention to the two men. “Now, gentlemen, in what way can I help you?”
“I rather think it’s the other way around,” General Kendall said.
Soraya cocked her head. “How d’you figure that?”
“Frankly, because of the turmoil at CI,” LaValle said, “we think Typhon is working with one hand tied behind its back.”
Willard arrived with Soraya’s tea, the men’s whiskeys. He set the japanned tray down with the cup, glasses, and tea service, then left.
LaValle waited until Soraya had poured her tea before he continued. “It seems to me that Typhon would benefit immensely from taking advantage of all the resources at NSA’s disposal. We could even help you expand beyond the scope of CI’s reach.”
Soraya lifted her cup to her lips, found the fragrant Ceylon tea exquisitely delicious. “It seems that you know more about Typhon than any of us at CI were aware.”
LaValle let go with a soft laugh. “Okay, let’s stop beating around the bush. We had a mole inside CI. You know who it is now. He made a fatal mistake in going after Jason Bourne and failing.”
Veronica Hart had relieved Rob Batt of his position that morning, a fact that must have come to LaValle’s attention, especially since his replacement, Peter Marks, had been one of Hart’s most vocal supporters from day one. Soraya knew Peter well, had suggested to Hart that he deserved the promotion.
“Is Batt now working for NSA?”
“Mr. Batt has outlived his usefulness,” Kendall said rather stiffly.
Soraya turned her attention to the military man. “A glimpse of your own fate, don’t you think, General?”
Kendall’s face closed up like a fist, but following an almost imperceptible shake of LaValle’s head he bit back a rejoinder.
“While it’s certainly true that life in the intelligence services can be harsh, even brutal,” LaValle interjected, “certain individuals within it are-shall we say-inoculated against such unfortunate eventualities.”
Soraya kept her gaze on Kendall. “I suppose I could be one of those certain individuals.”
“Yes, absolutely.” LaValle put one hand over the other on his knee. “Your knowledge of Muslim thought and custom, your expertise as Martin Lindros’s right hand as he put Typhon together are invaluable.”
“You see how it is, General,” Soraya said. “One day an invaluable asset like me is bound to take over your position.”
LaValle cleared his throat. “Does that mean you’re on board?”
Smiling sweetly, Soraya put her teacup down. “I’ll say this for you, Mr. LaValle, you certainly know how to make lemonade from lemons.”
LaValle returned her smile as if it were a tennis serve. “My dear Director, I do believe you’ve hit upon one of my specialities.”
“What makes you think I’d abandon CI?”
LaValle put a forefinger beside his nose. “My reading of you is that you’re a pragmatic woman. You know better than we do what kind of a mess CI is in. How long do you think it’s going to take the new DCI to right the ship? What makes you think she even can?” He raised his finger. “I’m exceedingly interested in your opinion, but before you answer think about how little time we might have before this unknown terrorist group is going to strike.”
Soraya felt as if she’d been rabbit-punched. How in the hell had NSA gotten wind of the Typhon terrorist intercepts? At the moment, however, that was a moot point. The important thing was how to respond to this breach of security.
Before she could formulate a counter, LaValle said, “I’m curious about one thing, though. Why is it that Director Hart saw fit to keep this intel to herself, rather than bringing in Homeland Security, FBI, and NSA?”
“That was my doing.”
“Meaning,” Kendall said, glad of the opportunity to get in a dig, “you didn’t want us rooting around in your carrot patch.”
“This is a serious situation, Director,” LaValle said. “In matters of national security-”
“If this Muslim terrorist group-which we now know calls itself the Black Legion-gets wind that we’ve intercepted their communications we’ll be sunk before we even start trying to counter their attack.”
“I could have you shit-canned.”
“And lose my invaluable expertise?” Soraya shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“So what do we have?” Kendall snapped.
“Stalemate.” LaValle passed a hand across his brow. “Do you think it would be possible for me to see the Typhon intercepts?” His tone had changed completely. He was now in conciliatory mode. “Believe it or not, we’re not the Evil Empire. We actually might be able to be of some assistance.”
Soraya considered. “I think that be can arranged.”
“Excellent.”
“It would have to be Eyes Only.”
LaValle agreed at once.
“And in a controlled, highly restricted environment,” Soraya added, following up her advantage. “The Typhon offices at CI would be perfect.”
LaValle spread his hands. “Why not here?”
Soraya smiled. “I think not.”
“Under the current climate I think you can understand why I’d be reluctant to meet you there.”
“I take your point.” Soraya thought for a moment. “If I did bring the intercepts here I’d have to have someone with me.”
LaValle nodded vigorously. “Of course. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.” He seemed far more pleased than Kendall, who looked at her as if he had caught sight of her from a battlefield trench.
“Frankly,” Soraya said, “none of this makes me feel comfortable.” She glanced around the room again.
“The building is swept three times a day for electronic bugs,” LaValle pointed out. “Plus, we have all the most sophisticated surveillance systems, basically a computerized monitoring system that keeps track of the two thousand closed-circuit video cameras installed throughout the facility and grounds, compares them from second to second for any anomalies whatsoever. The DARPA software compares any anomalies against a database of more than a million images, makes real-time decisions in nanoseconds. For instance, a bird in flight would be ignored, a running figure wouldn’t. Believe me, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Right now, the only thing I worry about,” Soraya said, “is you, Mr. LaValle.”
“I understand completely.” LaValle finished off his whiskey. “That’s what this exercise is all about, Director. To engender trust between us. How else could we be expected to work together?”
General Kendall sent Soraya back to the district with one of his drivers. She had him drop her where she’d arranged to meet Kendall, outside what had once been the National Historical Wax Museum on E Street, SW. She waited until the black Ford had been swallowed up in traffic, then she turned away, walked all the way around the block at a normal pace. By the end of her circuit she was certain she was free of tags, NSA or otherwise. At that point, she sent a three-letter text message via her cell. Two minutes later, a young man on a motorcycle appeared. He wore jeans, a black leather jacket, a gleaming black helmet with the smoked faceplate lowered. He
