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CHAPTER 8
WASHINGTON, D.C.
“WHERE in the hell is Mitch Rapp?”
The question was tossed out like a hand grenade lobbed at an enemy position. It rolled down the long, shiny mahogany conference table, striking fear in all. Eyes were averted, a few throats were cleared, and one man was actually smart enough to get up and head for the door. One by one, though, all eyes turned to the woman sitting at the opposite end of the table. As director of the CIA, she was responsible for Rapp.
Irene Ke
Wade Kline was the newly appointed chief privacy and civil liberties officer at the Department of Justice. He was a fairly attractive man, at least until he opened his mouth, at which point he became decidedly less so. His new position at Justice was created to appease the ACLU crowd on Capitol Hill, who felt that America had become a police state. Before taking the post, Kline had spent a decade as a prosecutor working for the New York State Attorney General’s Office.
“Well?” Kline asked with obvious impatience.
Ke
Ke
“This is not a difficult question,” Kline pressed. His suit coat was off, his tie loose, and his white shirtsleeves rolled up.
Ke
“Unavailable.” Kline contemplated the word. “That’s pretty vague.”
“Not really.”
“I beg to differ.” Kline paused, scribbled a note to himself, looked directly at Ke
It was obvious to Ke
“I couldn’t disagree more, Ms. Ke
Despite the warnings by her legal counsel, Ke
A cocky, self-satisfied grin spread across Kline’s face. “Doctor, director,” he said in a more pleasant tone, “either one works for me.”
Ke
“Back to Rapp, if we could.” Kline tapped his pen on his yellow legal pad as if to refocus the conversation. “I’ve been asking to see the man for more than a month, and frankly, I’ve about run out of patience.”
“Mr. Rapp is very busy.”
“Aren’t we all, Madam Director.”
“Some more than others,” she said, a touch of impatience creeping into her voice.
Kline did not miss the change in tone. He nodded to Ke
“I know you’re relatively new to Washington, but surely you are aware that much of what my agency handles is classified.”
“So you won’t even tell me if he’s in the country?”
“Not unless I’m authorized by the president, or you can prove to me that you have somehow miraculously received a security clearance that is far above your pay grade.” The last part was a not-so-subtle reminder to Kline that in the power structure of the federal government, he was more than a few rungs beneath her.
Kline clicked his pen shut, stuffed it in his shirt pocket, and closed his leather briefing folder. “I can play hardball as good as anyone, Madam Director.” He stood and snatched his suit coat from the back of the chair. “This is my last warning. If Mitch Rapp isn’t standing in my office a week from today, I can promise you, I will make your life miserable.”
Ke
“One other thing,” Kline said as he flipped open his briefing folder and sca
Ke
“I want him in my office Monday morning. If he isn’t there, I’ll send the FBI for him.” Kline closed his folder and was gone.
One by one the other people seated at the table turned to look at Ke
One of the two men she’d brought along leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I just got a text from the office. We need to get you out of here.”
Ke
Rob Ridley, the deputy director of the Clandestine Service, saw the alarm on her face and said, “It’s not that.” Ridley knew she was thinking an evacuation had been ordered. Since 9/11 it was not uncommon for high-ranking government officials to be taken out of the city at the first whisper of trouble. In recent years it had slowed down, but that was now balanced against fresh intel that pointed to something big. “That thing… it just started.”
“What thing?”
Ridley’s eyes darted around the room. “The thing over in Afghanistan.”
“Oh, that thing.”
“Yeah, that thing. I don’t think you want to have a conversation about it in this building.”
Ke