of this was beside the point, however. They needed to focus on the problem at hand. “I want both of you to listen to me. We don’t know what happened over there, and as we’ve all learned before, it’s a dangerous thing to rush to conclusions.”
“I’ll tell you what’s dangerous,” Hurley snapped, still smarting from Kennedy’s comments. “Letting a fucking untrained dog off the leash. Letting him basically run himself without any proper handling. That’s what’s dangerous.” Hurley leaned back, shaking his head. “I’ve been warning you two about him from day one.”
Kennedy turned and gave him an icy stare. “I assume you’re referring to the same dog who risked his life to save your ungrateful, stubborn ass in Beirut?”
Stansfield desperately wished these two could work out some truce, but according to Dr. Lewis, there were no signs of things cooling down between them. He listened to them argue back and forth for a half minute and then said, “Are you two done?” He gave them a moment to absorb the fact that he was sick of listening to them and then said, “Does either of you have any useful information that you could give me?”
“I sent some assets over this morning. First flight out. They’ll start poking around and see what they can find out.”
“Good,” Stansfield told Hurley. “I want you to get over there, too, and make sure we keep a tight lid on this thing. Find out what is going on and bring him in.”
“That’s my job, sir,” Kennedy protested. “I’m his handler.”
Stansfield shook his head. “You’re too official, and you don’t have Stan’s contacts. I need you here.”
Kennedy turned to Hurley, her eyes narrowing in distrust. “Who did you send over this morning?”
“A couple of my guys.”
“Who, Stan?”
“Don’t worry,” Hurley said out of the side of his mouth. “I know how to handle my people.”
Kennedy studied him for a moment and asked, “Did you send Victor?”
“What does it matter if I did?”
Kennedy turned her attention back to Stansfield. “If you’ve read my man’s jacket, you know he and Victor have an explosive past.”
“This is getting old.” Hurley shook his head. “I’m sick of being second-guessed.”
Kennedy kept her eyes on Stansfield. “If he gets a whiff of Victor and his thugs things will end badly.”
“You’re overreacting,” Hurley grumbled.
“Ask Tom,” Kennedy said, referring to Dr. Lewis. “He’ll give you an honest assessment.”
Stansfield nodded. “I will, but in the meantime I need you two to find out as much as you can about what happened last night.” He motioned with a flick of his hand that they were done.
Kennedy stood. “I understand that this looks bad, sir, but there’s a lot we don’t know.”
“I’ll grant you that, but what we do know is not good . . . nine bodies, at least four of them innocent bystanders.” The veteran spy shook his head. “This was supposed to be a surgical strike. The target, and as few bodyguards as possible, and that was it. No innocent bystanders. The rules were very clear.”
“I know, sir, but there could be an explanation.”
The problem, as Stansfield understood it, was that an explanation could be next to worthless at this point, but there was no sense in hammering the handler. He’d knowingly gone along with deploying Rapp despite repeated concerns raised by Stan Hurley. “Anything is possible, but we are in the answer business, and I need some answers.”
Hurley stood. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring him in.”
“None of your cowboy bullshit, Stan. I want him back here in one piece.”
Hurley left without saying another word. After a few seconds, Kennedy started for the door.
Stansfield, looking at some papers on his desk, ruminated, “There’s a chance we misjudged him.”
Kennedy stopped abruptly, composed herself, and turned slowly to look back across the sterile office at the man she respected above all others. The disappointment on her face was obvious. “I don’t believe I did, sir. The rest of you may have . . . and still are. He has performed beyond anyone’s wildest expectations, and at the first sign of trouble you all assume he blew it.”
“I haven’t jumped to any conclusions. I simply expect my operatives to check in. Especially when their ops end badly.” Stansfield picked up a file and said, “I’ve warned you before . . . don’t let your feelings cloud your judgment in these matters. Follow Stan’s lead on this and it will all work out.” Stansfield opened the file, signaling that the meeting was over.
Kennedy’s frustration boiled over. “Maybe you should have this same talk with Stan.”
“Excuse me?” he asked, looking over the top of his glasses. Kennedy’s father had been a colleague of Stansfield’s, and more important, a good friend. He had tragically met his death overseas, and because of that, Stansfield had always felt protective of Kennedy. He understood that he had become a father figure to her, and he welcomed that, but at the same time, he was aware that he was sometimes a bit over-protective of her. Maybe that had led him to think her less capable than some of the others.
“You tell me not to allow my feelings to cloud my judgment . . . what about Stan? He’s had it in for Mitch since day one. Mitch even saved his life and the mean old cuss can’t say so much as thank you.”
Stansfield removed his glasses. “I am well aware of Stan’s shortcomings. And trust me when I tell you, he and I have discussed them at length.”
“The problem, sir, is that he sees too much of himself in Mitch and it drives him nuts that he can’t control him.”
