Transfer of Power

Aziz's eyes widened as he listened to the anchor on NBC talk about reports out of the UN that Iran was protesting the abduction of an Islamic cleric. A moment later a woman appeared on the TV Aziz listened to the anchor say, "We're fortunate to have with us Sheila Du

"Yes." Du

"I have it from the highest sources that the CIA alerted the Secret Service that the White House was targeted for a terrorist attack. It appears that this warning was given with just minutes to spare."

The anchor leaned forward, placing his elbow on the desk.

"How do Sheik Harut and Iran figure in this?"

"Well, Iran has filed a grievance with the UN stating that a group of commandos from a foreign country carried out a mission in the Iranian town of Bandar Abbas three nights ago that left dozens dead and Sheik Fara Harut missing. Sheik Harut is the spiritual leader of the group Hezbollah, and he and Rafique Aziz are very close. So it stands to reason that the CIA obtained the advance information of the attack from Sheik Harut."

"Do we know what role, if any, the CIA played in this raid?"

"No." Du

"Both the Pentagon and Central Intelligence Agency have refused comment on the subject."

Aziz turned the television off. He would make them pay. The co

Someone would die for this.

Abruptly, Aziz turned and started for the door.

A SPECIALLY OUTFITTED U.S. Army Black Hawk helicopter ferried Ke

Thomas Stansfield stood, impassive, looking at the large wall, taking in the tiny images. General Flood and General Campbell were a different matter, however. They were men who were used to giving an order and having it followed to the letter—and almost always without question. In this particular situation General Campbell couldn't have been more specific.

He had told Rapp in very clear English that he was to stay put until further notice.

In addition to the monitor that showed the inside of the president's bedroom and the one that showed It. Commander Harris's makeshift command post, four more monitors now showed images. They said it all. Those screens didn't come to life all on their own, and since Mitch Rapp was the only person capable of installing them, it was obvious that he had directly disobeyed General Campbell.

Ke

"Have you tried to raise him?"

"Repeatedly."

"Any luck?" Ke

Stansfield looked from the monitor back to the rear of the room to find General Flood and General Campbell engaged in a heated and animated discussion. Watching the two generals talk, Stansfield's face maintained its always neutral expression.

His discerning mind was, however, busily extrapolating the problems, complaints, and solutions that this most current bump in the road would create. In a matter of seconds Stansfield had the solutions formed, filed, and ready to be stated in his always unambiguous fashion. Slowly, he started back up the stairs.

When he reached the two generals, he placed a hand on General Flood's shoulder and said, "Let's go to my office where we can talk."

Stansfield started for the door and gave Ke

Stansfield turned around to face Campbell. Ke

Stansfield nodded slowly, acknowledging Campbell's complaint.

With his jaw clenched, Campbell continued, "I ordered him to stand down because I knew we would be out of the loop for at least an hour. What happens if he gets caught… if he kills one of Aziz's men? We need to be here." Campbell pointed at the ground.

"We need to be monitoring every little move, so if the shit hits the fan, we can give the order to move."

Campbell was so upset it seemed that his bristly flattop was standing even more upright than usual.

"Your boy needs to start following orders, or I swear to God—" The stocky ranger stammered for a second, his neck veins bulging. Campbell didn't finish the thought, but it was obvious to all that he was thinking of physical confrontation.

Stansfield nodded slowly in an effort to validate Campbell's anger.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered who would actually win that fight. Campbell, although twenty years Rapp's senior, was not a man to be trifled with. Shifting his gaze from Campbell to Flood, Stansfield asked, "Would you like to add anything?"

Flood shook his sizable head.

"There's nothing left to say.

It's a no-brainer. Rapp is wrong, and he needs to be reeled in."

Stansfield digested Flood's comments. They were every bit as warranted as Campbell's. The director of central intelligence walked around his desk and looked out the window for a brief moment. The day was as it had been for the last two, su

Stansfield paused for a moment and then in an almost academic tone continued, "He has a much clearer picture of the tactical situation, not only because he is on-site, but because he is not distracted by all of the things that we are." For clarity, he added, "Most notably, he doesn't have to deal with Vice President Baxter."

Clutching his hands in front of him and then letting them fall to his side, Stansfield continued, "Now, with all due respect, gentlemen, you know I think very highly of both of you, but you must understand, Mitch is not a soldier. He has been trained from day one to think independently. If you want to get mad about this, which you have every right to, then get mad at me. He is my responsibility."