The Third Option

«Good morning, honey.»

Tommy mumbled something that his mother couldn't quite understand and kept his eyes focused on the screen. Ke

As she leaned against the counter, her thoughts turned to Rapp. The anonymous tip to the German authorities about the freighter had gone as pla

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The fallout from the story was predictable. The threats started to roll in. Thomas Stansfield moved decisively. He ordered a security system for Ke

Tommy was at that age where there was no such thing as an inappropriate question. He had glimpsed Harry Peterson's gun one day while the two of them were playing catch in the driveway, waiting for Irene to come out. Tommy had asked to see the gun, and Harry resisted his natural instinct to say no. Harry was fifty-one and had learned that the last thing you wanted to do with a young boy was to make something taboo. It only served to pique their curiosity. Harry showed him the gun, gave him a very stern lecture about safety, and let him touch it. Later on, during the drive into Langley, Tommy had blurted out the question, «How many bad guys have you killed?»

Irene had wondered the same thing many times but had, of course, never asked the question. Men like Harry Peterson didn't fall into this line of work when they grew bored with selling copiers. They were typically former military types, cops, or covert operators who were a little too old to be crawling around rooftops in some Third World hellhole.

The car pulled up in front of the Old Headquarters Building. The OHB was completed in 1963, and the New Headquarters Building was finished in 1991. The two buildings combined had more than 2.5 million square feet of office space. Irene and Tommy entered the building and stopped at the security checkpoint. Irene signed Tommy in, and the guard gave him a visitor's badge that restricted him to the common areas down one level. After she sca

Like all of the other modern government agencies, the CIA had become sensitive, inclusive, and caring. Full day- care services were offered six days a week. Ke

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Next to the door was a simple sign with black letters that read «Counterterrorism Center.» Before punching her code into the cipher lock, Ke

The first face Ke

The two converged outside Ke

Lee closed the door and placed his hands on his hips. Bureau all the way, he was wearing a suit and tie, even on a Saturday morning, though at least he had taken his jacket off. The CTC tended to be a little looser on the dress code than the rest of Langley. Most of the case officers out in the pen were wearing jeans. Lee was a native of Seattle, though his parents had immigrated from Korea. He had graduated from the University of Washington with a double major in accounting and computer science.