It’s a crock of shit.”
“Why would he make it up if it’s obviously a lie? If he has any information, he will have to come forward with it.”
“You’re damn right he will. If he doesn’t, we’ll hit him with a subpoena and an obstruction of justice charge. This is our baby, not the NSA’s or the CIA’s. This is domestic and it’s our jurisdiction,” McMahon said.
“Yeah, that’s what worries me. They know they have to hand over what they’ve got.”
Roach paused and looked out the window. “So, what are they up to?”
“I have no idea. Politics is your department, but if they’re still proclaiming this letter is fake two days from now and they haven’t handed anything over to us, I’d get the Justice
Department involved.”
AFTER LEAVING HIS MEETING AT THE WHITE HOUSE, MCMAHON
DROVE out to the CIA’s headquarters in Langley, Virginia, and picked up Dr. Kennedy.
McMahon had asked her the previous evening to accompany him for the interview with Gus Mitchell, the former Delta Force commando. For the early part of the drive down to the FBI Academy, the conversation centered on the investigation and Kennedy’s theory of who the killers were. As Kennedy continued to articulate her points, McMahon couldn’t help but wonder where this woman had come from. What had possessed her to join one of the most exclusive communities in government? It was obvious that with her brains, understated savvy, and the way she carried herself, she could have entered any profession and been extremely successful. McMahon waited for a pause in the conversation.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how did you end up in the employment of the
CIA?”
Kennedy looked out the window of the government issue Ford and said, “My father used to work for the State Department. Throughout most of his career he was stationed in the Middle East. He married my mother, who was Jordanian, and I grew up in a bilingual household.” Kennedy looked over at McMahon. “There aren’t a lot of Americans who are fluent in Arabic and who understand the customs and history of the area.”
McMahon nodded his understanding. “You must have been a very highly sought after commodity.”
“I suppose you could say that.” McMahon checked his side mirror and changed lanes.
“You said your father used to work for the State Department. Is he retired?”
70
“No, he passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Kennedy clutched her purse with both hands.
“Thank you.” She looked at McMahon. “It was a long time ago, almost twenty years.”
Her eyes squinted while she thought about how long it had been.
“It doesn’t seem like it happened that long ago.”
“He must have been pretty young. How did he die? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Kennedy shook her head. “He was stationed at our embassy in Beirut and was killed by a car bomb.”
McMahon cringed. What a shitty way to go. “That must have been hard. You had to have been in your teens.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t the best time of my life, but I have a lot to be thankful for. My mother and I are very close. I have a great brother and four-year-old son whom I
absolutely adore.” Kennedy gave McMahon the smile of a proud parent. McMahon smiled back while the pieces fell into place. The motivation of losing a parent to terrorism was more than enough of a reason to devote one’s life to the fight against it.
“What’s your little boy’s name?”
“Tommy.” Kennedy fished a picture out of her purse and showed it to McMahon.
“He’s a good-looking little fella. I assume he looks like his father.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Sore subject?”
“The divorce was finalized about seven months ago. How about you, any wife or children?”
“None that I know of,” McMahon said with a grin. “I was married once.
It was a mistake. I was too young, I drank too much, and I was married to my job.”
“The Bureau?” asked Kennedy. McMahon nodded.
“Never found the time to remarry?”
“Not with this job. I can barely take care of myself.”
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“I read your file. It looks like you’ve been pretty busy over the years.” McMahon gave the young doctor a sideways glance.
“You read my file?” Kennedy shrugged her shoulders. “I read a lot of files.”
