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Death was coming. It had been, of course, since the day he was born on his parents' farm outside Stoneville, South Dakota, in 1920, but now it was upon him. Death had its bony fingers wrapped around his small, frail body and wasn't about to let go. It was the natural progression of things. A begi
Thomas Stansfield was a private man, as was fitting for the person who ran the world's most famous, and infamous, intelligence agency. He had chosen to die at home surrounded by his daughters and grandchildren. The doctors had tried to talk him into surgery and radiation therapy, but Stansfield declined. The best they could give him at his age was another year or two, and that was if he survived having three-quarters of his liver removed. There was a good chance that he would never recover from the surgery. His wife, Sara, had passed away four years ago, and Thomas missed her dearly. Her death, more than anything, probably contributed to his decision not to fight. What was the sense? He had lived seventy-nine good years and was for the most part alone. The other big reason not to fight was his daughters. He did not want them to have to put their lives on hold for two years to watch him gradually wither away: If he were younger, things might be different, but he was tired. He wanted to die in privacy, with his mind and dignity intact.
A hospital bed had been moved into the study on the first floor of his home. The modest three-thousand-square-foot colonial sat on two wooded acres overlooking the Potomac River. In the spring, they could sit in the backyard and watch the water rush over Stublefield Falls, but now, in the fall, it was barely a trickle. Stansfield sat in his favorite leather chair, and looked admiringly out the window at the fall colors. How appropriate it was to die this time of the year, he thought. At least, Robert Frost would think so.
Sally, his eldest daughter, was in town from San Diego taking care of him. His other daughter, Sue, was to arrive on Wednesday from Sacramento. Their plan was to stay with him to the end. The five grandkids had been out two weekends before to spend some time with Grandpa before he was too far gone to enjoy it. The oldest was seventeen, and the youngest was five. The weekend had been painful but necessary. There had been a lot of tears.
Today Sally had helped him get dressed for a visitor. He was wearing a pair of tan slacks, a light blue button-down, and a gray cardigan. His white hair was parted to the side and combed back. Iowa was slugging it out with Pe
What did worry Thomas Stansfield was the CIA. Things were not in order, and they were begi
SALLY ESCORTED DR. Ke
«Pretty good, but let's not worry about me. There's nothing we can do about that.» Stansfield studied her for a moment and asked, «What's wrong?»
Ke
«Yes.»
«Things didn't go exactly as pla
«How bad?»
«Mitch hasn't reported in yet, and the BKA has put out a continentwide bulletin on three individuals they believe are responsible for the death of Count Hagenmiller.»
«This was expected.»
«Yes, it was, but some other things have transpired.» Ke
When she was done, Stansfield said, «It sounds to me as if something didn't go according to plan. My guess is that Mitch told the Hoffmans to make a break for it and he'd lay down a diversion.»
Ke
«Mitch.»
With a sad, slow nod, Ke
«What about this third individual the BKA has on tape?»
«We haven't been able to get any further information on that.»
Stansfield sat back, a little surprised. He would have thought Irene fully capable of verifying the report through several cha
«There's another problem that has arisen. When I arrived at the CTC this morning, Tom Lee informed me that Secretary Midleton was looking for me.»
This caused the frail Stansfield to sit up a bit in his chair. The secretary of state had no business calling his director of counterterrorism without going through him first. «What did Mr. Midleton want?»
«It appears he and the count shared the same passion: fine art.»
Stansfield looked out the window, making the co
«The message said that he knows we had the count under observation and that any information we can give the German authorities would be greatly appreciated.»
«How would he know we had the count under surveillance?»
Ke
«Or a mole.»
«Yes.»
«Any ideas?»
«Not at the moment, but Tom Lee was as disturbed by it as me. He said he was going to look into it.»
«Can you trust Mr. Lee?» asked an always cautious Stansfield.
«I think so, but I will, of course, do some checking on my own.»
«Good. Have you told the president about Mitch?»
«No. I'd like to know exactly what's going on first.»
«I agree. I assume you haven't used our contacts at the BKA because you don't want to draw any more attention to the CTC.»