Stansfield stared right through him, didn’t speak for at least ten seconds, and then said, “Here’s what you’re going to do, Stan. You’re going to go upstairs and get some fresh air, have a smoke, and then you’re going to come to one of two conclusions. Either you’re right, we’re all wrong, and you have all the answers, or you’re going to figure out that you’ve become an insufferable ass whom no one can work with.”
Hurley lifted his chin and said, “You know I don’t need this crap.”
“You’re wrong again. We’re all sick of taking
Hurley had known Stansfield for nearly thirty years. He had never seen his friend this upset, and it bothered him. He took a step back and uttered a word that rarely left his lips. “I’m sorry. I think my nerves are a little shot.”
Stansfield nodded. “Go upstairs. Clear your head and then make your mind up.”
Hurley left the room sullen and dejected, and for once Stansfield didn’t care. He looked through the glass at Chet Bramble and thought about the man’s dossier. Stansfield had read it years ago, but he still had it memorized. Much of what Lewis had deduced was already in that file. Bramble had major issues with authority and rules. It was what had eventually gotten him bounced from the army. Stansfield was of the opinion that highly moral, well- balanced individuals would never do what his team did for a living, so he was willing to look the other way with regard to certain personality faults. Now he feared he had let his standards slide too far, or he’d at least given Hurley too much latitude. Either way, the blame lay squarely on his shoulders.
Lewis and Kennedy were good people. They had sound judgment and were in control of their emotions. Bramble most certainly wasn’t. He was a brawler like Hurley. They were the type of men who could be trusted to handle very dirty jobs. The results weren’t always pretty but they got the job done. Rapp, on the other hand, was measured and precise. All of his kills until now had been minimalist in the best way. Stansfield was still in the process of comparing the two men when Kennedy came bursting into the room. “Sir,” Kennedy said, “you need to listen to this.” Kennedy grabbed the handset of a secure phone and began punching in a long string of numbers. “I just received a message on my service.” She handed him the phone. “It’s Mitch.”
Stansfield grabbed the handset and listened. “We need to meet. I finally figured out I can trust you. Don’t believe anything Victor says. I sent someone in my place last night. I wanted to see how he would be treated. I had no idea how bad the reception would be. I thought at worst he’d be roughed up. Unprovoked, Victor popped him and then did the same to the guys he was working with. Two locals showed up and he popped them, too. My guess is he’s blaming me for all of this. His word against mine . . . well, there’s only one problem. I have a witness. Someone your boss knows and trusts. I want to come in, but I don’t want to see anyone other than you. Leave me a mobile number where I can reach you and have the boss ready to hear me out. And this is my only offer. If I see Stan or Victor anywhere, I’m done, and if anyone tries to find me a lot of people are going to get hurt.”
Stansfield handed her the phone. “Where is Ridley?”
“He’s in the city.” She checked her watch. “He and his team are prepping the vehicle and hotel for Cooke’s arrival.”
“Was he here last night?”
“Yes.”
Stansfield thought about Rapp’s message. “That must be who he’s talking about.”
“The witness.”
Stansfield nodded and turned his attention back to Victor, who was leaning back in his chair drinking from a water bottle. “Call your service and leave him a number. Use your handler code. Get this set up as soon as possible, and then call Ridley and find out what he knows.”
Kennedy had started punching numbers into the bulky secure phone.
Stansfield considered the overall situation and then added, “And tell Rapp I’m coming with you.”
Kennedy punched in two more numbers before she realized what Stansfield had said. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Stansfield did not want to believe that Stan Hurley had betrayed him, but it was a possibility he had to face. At a bare minimum it sounded as if someone had given Fournier the list of targets. It was possible that it could have been electronically intercepted, but to the best of Stansfield’s knowledge the list had never been sent via secure cable, Internet, or phone, or in any other known form. It had been compiled by Stansfield, Kennedy, and Hurley. The list was then destroyed. Stansfield had a photographic memory, as did Kennedy. Hurley did not, and there had been a few times earlier in their careers when Stansfield had had to chide Hurley for writing down stuff that should never be written down.
Stansfield studied Victor through the glass. He seemed relaxed, even confident, either that he was in the right, or that he was going to get away with what he’d done. As Lewis had pointed out, Victor was a man who would do whatever served him best. Rapp, on the other hand, had given them nothing but hard work and results.
The deputy director of Operations looked over his shoulder and said, “Yes, I think it’s a good idea. I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time.”
Kennedy left the number for Rapp and then called Ridley on his mobile phone. When she had him on the line she said, “Hold on, Thomas wants to talk to you.”
Stansfield took the receiver. “Rob, you were in town last night?”
“Yep. Got in about four in the afternoon.”
“Did you happen to run into a mutual friend?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Were you with one of our colleagues last night . . . did you witness anything?”
There was a prolonged pause and then Ridley said, “I’m not following, sir.”
