Pursuit of Honor

The elevator stopped and the second the doors opened, Rapp sensed something was up. Two of the director’s bodyguards were standing post, both of her assistants were on the phone, and there wasn’t a single Secret Service agent in sight. Even if the president were ru

The corner suite ran from right to left, with a sitting area straight ahead, then the director’s desk, and beyond that a large conference table. To the right were the director’s private bathroom and the door to the deputy director’s office. Instead of the six to eight people Rapp expected, there were only two-his boss and a man he had never met but knew by reputation. He was handsome as hell. Short-cropped hair that was equal parts black and white and walnut-colored skin that didn’t have a blemish or wrinkle.

Rapp had never much cared for the seventh floor at Langley. In fact he couldn’t think of a single time where he had looked forward to making the trip up to the rarified top floor of the Old Headquarters Building. It wasn’t that he disliked the people. Irene Ke

The man sitting in Ke

Rapp could not match the sentiment, so he simply nodded. His first impression was that Dickerson was taller than he would have thought, especially since he had to be close to eighty. Rapp was six feet tall and Dickerson was every bit that plus a couple of inches. The second thing Rapp noticed wasn’t the least bit surprising. Dickerson had a smile and charisma that could charm the lollypop out of the sticky mitts of a five-year-old. Whether he’d been born with all this charisma or had learned it on a used-car lot, Rapp didn’t know and didn’t really care, but he knew he’d better damn well be careful, because Gabe Dickerson was to politics what Rapp was to the intelligence business. Their tools were different, of course, but they were both experts at getting things done behind the scenes. While Rapp dealt with problems in an often unpleasant and violent way, Dickerson was known to be every bit as ruthless. The big difference was that while Rapp used his fists and a gun, Dickerson used his Rolodex and a small cadre of litigators, publicists, and political operatives to destroy his enemies or curry favor for his clients.

“Where is Mr. Nash?” Dickerson asked.

“He couldn’t make it,” Rapp said as he glanced at Ke

“That’s a shame,” Dickerson continued in his deep basso voice, “I was very much looking forward to meeting both of you. I heard about what you did last week and wanted to thank you personally.”

Rapp’s right eyebrow shot up a notch. “Last week?”

“The attack on the Counterterrorism Center. I heard if it weren’t for the quick thinking and heroics of you and Mr. Nash, things would have been significantly worse.”

It’s already starting, Rapp thought to himself. No one in this damn town can keep a secret. “Don’t believe everything you hear, sir. You know how rumors get rolling around here . . . take a little truth, exaggerate it to suit your needs, and then spin the hell out of it.”

Dickerson let loose a deep, infectious laugh. “You have it all figured out. You could work for me.”

Before Rapp knew it he was smiling and he thought to himself, Damn, this guy is good.

“You’re a brave man, Mr. Rapp . . . charging a group of men like that.” Dickerson shook his head in semidisbelief, “I don’t think too many men could have pulled that off.”

“Like I said, you can’t believe everything you hear in this town.” Rapp’s desire to keep his name out of the press was paramount, and a guy like Dickerson got a great deal of his power and influence by whispering juicy secrets in people’s ears.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Dickerson said in defense. “I read it in the FBI’s official report. Six terrorists entered the Operations Center in a single-file line and began systematically executing perso

“Then you discovered they were all wearing suicide vests and you had the presence of mind not to flee.” Dickerson shook his head in a ma

It had all gone down pretty fast, but from what Rapp could recall, the man had pretty much nailed the high points.

Dickerson continued, “Now, there’s a fair number of people who would consider what you did to be either stupid or crazy, but I see things a little differently. You see, Mr. Rapp, much of my job depends on sizing people up. Not all that different from a good tailor who has the ability to look at a man from across the room and know exactly what jacket size the man wears. Although I’m not worried about jacket size.” Dickerson tapped his temple with one of his long, manicured fingers and then patted his chest. “I’m worried about what’s up here and what’s in a man’s heart. I can usually size up a prospective client in thirty seconds.” Dickerson looked Rapp over from head to toe and said, “There was nothing stupid or crazy about what you did last week. You are at your best when things are most chaotic. While others panic and react without thought, things slow down for you. You tune out all the noise . . . your brain begins looking for avenues of action first and avenues of retreat second. You size up an enemy the way a lumberjack surveys a tree and then you move efficiently and effectively.” Dickerson shook his head. “Nothing crazy or stupid about it.”