Executive Power

It was an easy shot with one exception; Ali would be moving and there would be people around him. David checked his watch again.

They were coming up on a minute and a half. They must have missed the light at Lexington. David eased his grip on the rifle and sca

As expected, the man appeared and stopped at the red light. David eased his eye in behind the scope and put the bodyguard in the center of the crosshairs. Then he moved the weapon to the east and soon found what he was looking for. The Ambassador stopped just behind the man and David let out a curse. Ali was with a woman. She had her arm hooked in his and she was standing between David and his target.

The light turned green and group began walking across Park Avenue.

One bodyguard in front, the other behind, and Ali and the woman in the middle. David kept breathing in a steady ma

David squeezed the trigger and the rifle bucked just slightly as the heavy bullet spat from the end of the thick black barrel. He instantly chambered a fresh round and a split second later David had found his next target. The man ahead of Ali was still walking, oblivious to the fact that his friend had suffered a mortal wound and was at this moment falling to the ground. Again, David squeezed the trigger, sending another round on its way.

The rifle settled as another round clicked into the chamber and David steadied the scope on his next and last target. Ali took two more steps before he realized something was wrong. The woman took two and a half steps before she noticed the man falling in front of her. That extra half step that she took was all David needed.

David watched as Ali turned, looking behind him for help from his other guard. The expression on the Ambassador's face turned from one of shock to horror as he discovered that he was without protection.

Before Ali could react further, David pulled the trigger for a third time and sent a final silent bullet into the head of his intended target.

FIFTY.

It was dark outside and the wind was howling off the big bay. Rapp stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom and carefully pulled the bandages back from his wound. It looked like he'd been stepped on by an elephant. The bruising covered almost his entire right butt cheek and had already started to seep down into his leg.

The doctors wanted him to stay off his feet for this very reason, but both he and the doctor knew the advice wouldn't be followed. He'd keep taking antibiotics and applying ice when he had the time and he'd make it through just fine. He threw on a pair of sweatpants and a thick cotton T-shirt and carefully made his way down to the kitchen.

A

On another front, however, things were not so good. Tensions between the Israelis and the Palestinians were approaching a dangerous level. There was a movement afoot in the United Nations to send in a team of independent inspectors to review what was already being called the Hebron Massacre. New footage was being released by the hour of tiny bodies being pulled from the rubble.

The outrage was building to the point where several Jewish groups had taken to the airwaves protesting the heavy hand of Prime Minister Goldberg. Having been on the receiving end of perhaps the most horrific act of mass genocide in the history of mankind Jews were very sensitive to the murder of women and children. As a people they held the moral high ground when it came to suffering, and the last thing many of them ever wanted to see was their own people committing atrocities that drew comparisons to the Nazis.

After returning from the White House, Rapp had gone straight to the CIA's Counterterrorism Center on the ground floor of the new headquarters building where he was brought up to speed by Jake Turbes. He had been Ke

It was amazing that Turbes, a maverick from Louisiana, had survived the Agency's purges. The risk-averse CIA of the nineties did not treat case officers like Turbes well. He was a real throwback, and Rapp suspected that Turbes had only survived the various shakeups by keeping a low profile and a little black book.

Rapp had confirmed a rumor that one of Turbes's bosses had indeed tried to fire him. The boss, a slick climber, didn't like Turbes's rough style and gunslinger attitude and wanted him out. With thirty years under his belt Turbes was informed that he was being forced into early retirement. Turbes politely declined. The boss told him he didn't have a choice. Turbes then told the boss that he knew all about the girlfriend he kept in Cathedral Heights and that he would be more than happy to tell both his wife and the counterespionage guys that he was keeping a flame on the side. The boss decided to rethink Turbes's early retirement, but that wasn't enough for the fifty-three-year-old veteran.

He told the supervisor he had twenty-four hours to resign from that Agency or he could kiss his reputation and family good-bye. The next morning the boss resigned.

Right now Turbes was very unsettled about what was going on in the Middle East. Prior to the terrorist attacks of September 11, the director of the CIA's CTC was afforded a fair amount of anonymity.

That was no longer the case. Congressmen and Senators now called frequently demanding to know what dangers were lurking on the horizon and what the CTC was doing to thwart them. Turbes had been forced to hire six extra people just to handle all the increased liaison duties between the Hill and the various federal departments.

Turbes agreed with the belief that intelligence wasn't any good unless it was shared with the people who might be able to do something about it, but the politicians by and large did not fall into the category.

As far as Turbes was concerned there was one absolute about Washington, and that was that politicians loved to hear themselves talk. No matter how many times you told them that something was classified there was always someone else they felt they could confide in. A wife, a girlfriend, a staffer without the proper security clearance, the list was almost endless.