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«No. We ID'd one of the men you shot. His name is Jeff Duser. A former Marine, thirty-five years old, was court-martialed and thrown out of the Corps for what appears to be a quite extensive list of infractions.»
«Who does he work for?»
«We don't have that, but I've got some people looking into it.»
Rapp looked at Stansfield. «I'm sorry for my appearance, sir. I didn't have time to get cleaned up.»
«No apology needed.» Stansfield was speaking with a slight slur. «Where is Commander Coleman?»
Ke
«State Department?»
«No,» answered Rapp. «They came up empty on State, so I told them to check Langley's files.»
«How is Ms. Rielly?»
Rapp was a little surprised by Stansfield's question. Neither man had ever acknowledged the relationship before. «She's doing all right.»
«Do you need me to ask the president to have a talk with her?»
«No… I don't think so:' Rapp stood near the fireplace, looking back and forth between Stansfield and Ke
Neither of them spoke. They recognized his comment in no observable way. No head shaking, nodding, shrugging, raising of an eyebrow, nothing. They just stared back at him with their all-knowing eyes. «I'm serious,» said Rapp. «And there's nothing you can do to talk me out of it. I'll take care of the Professor, and then I'm done.»
Finally; Stansfield said, «I'm sorry to hear that, Mitchell. Your talents will be irreplaceable.»
«There were talented people before me, and there will be people after me.»
«The ones who came before you were not your equals, and I fear the ones who come after you will fall far short of filling your shoes.»
«Langley will be fine.»
«No. The truth is, Langley will not be fine. If the president can pull it off: Irene will succeed me, and if we are that fortunate, she will need you.»
«Well, I'm not available.» Rapp folded his arms stubbornly across his chest. «I've given enough.»
«Yes, you have, but I'd like you to consider giving more.»
«No.» Rapp couldn't look at them anymore. He just wanted them to accept his wishes and move on without him.
«Mitchell, I can understand why you want out. Irene has told me that you plan to ask Ms. Rielly to marry you. I could not have stayed in the field and been a good husband and father. The two do not mix. But we could bring you inside. There is plenty of work for someone with your skills.»
Oh God, Rapp thought to himself. They're doing it to me. «Sir, you possess many skills that I do not.»
«I don't believe that.»
«Well, it's true. I could never last at headquarters. I don't have the patience to put up with all the crap.»
«It's not as bad as you think, and besides, you'll adapt. You always have.»
«I don't want to learn. I'm a field man, sir.»
Stansfield held his hands up in a temporary show of surrender. «We don't need to discuss this right now: All I ask is that before you make a final decision, you give me a chance to talk to you about a few things.»
Rapp wanted to be firm. He wanted to say no. He desperately wanted to tell them there was no way in hell he would go to work at Langley, but looking at the old man, a mail he had idolized for a decade, he couldn't do it. He couldn't tell the old spymaster no.
«Will you please promise me that you will give me one last audience? There are things we need to discuss before you make your final decision.»
Slowly, Rapp let out a deep, pained breath and gave in. Stansfield returned Rapp's acceptance with a rare smile just as Rapp's phone started to ring. He checked the caller ID and then answered the phone. «What's up?»
«I think we have him.» It was Scott Coleman.
Rapp looked up, his eyes wide. «Talk to me.»
«His name is Peter Cameron. I'm not positive, but I drink it's him. When we saw him in Colorado, he had a beard, and he didn't have one in any of the photos we've seen.»
«Who is he?»
«He worked for the Agency from 'seventy-four to 'ninety- eight in the Office of Security. He did it all. He administered polygraphs, personal protection, debugging offices, you name it. His last couple of years he ran the show.»
«He watched the watchers.»
«Yep.»
Rapp cringed at the thought of how much information someone in that position had access to. «Where can we find him?»
«He has an apartment in Georgetown.»
«Where?» Coleman gave Rapp the address, and Rapp asked, «How quickly can you guys be there?»
«Twenty minutes.»
«All right. Fax me a photo, and then meet me at the Safeway on Wisconsin. And bring the van and Marcus, and tell Marcus to keep this quiet. I don't want anyone at Langley to know what we're up to.»
«I'll see you in twenty.»
Putting his phone away, Rapp looked at Ke
«What?» asked Ke
«He worked in Langley's Office of Security.»
«What's his name?» asked Stansfield.
«Peter Cameron?'
Stansfield shook his head. This was not good news. The director knew exactly who Peter Cameron was. The man had been in charge of the CIA's Office of Security from 1996 to 1998. During his tenure as the head of Langley's Gestapo, his access to sensitive information would have been almost limitless.
SENATOR CLARK GOT out of bed at seven A.M. It made no difference if he was in Washington or Arizona. Clark was a bit of a night owl, usually staying up until one in the morning. On this particular Thursday morning, the senator was sitting in the sun room just off the kitchen of his Washington, D.C., estate. Clark was in his white robe and a pair of slippers. He was alone. Wife number three was already off to the club for a morning aerobics class of some sort. It wasn't stepping or spi
He munched on a piece of toast and perused the front page of the Wall Street Journal. The help didn't arrive until eight. Clark always made his own breakfast, which was no great feat considering the fact that it consisted of black coffee and two slices of toast covered with butter and jelly. He rather enjoyed this time of the day. He was alone in his castle with no one there to intrude. It was usually the one and only time of the day that he devoted to his investments. Clark would peruse the Journal and then give marching orders to his various brokers, advisors, and money managers. Then he was done with it for the day. He refused to become a slave to the emerging trend of constant on-line market updates.
A buzzer sounded from the kitchen, and Clark leaned back in his chair to look at the TV mounted above the microwave. The estate's security cameras could be viewed by any TV in the house. The TV showed the senator a picture of a cleanly shaven Peter Cameron sitting behind the wheel of his car, waiting at the gate. Clark walked into the kitchen and pressed the intercom button.
Good morning, Peter.»
«Good morning, sir.»
«I'll buzz you in. There's coffee in the kitchen if you'd like, and then show yourself into my study. I'll be down in a few minutes.» Clark cinched the belt on his robe and headed upstairs. He had a good feeling about this una