Whiplash

“We’re not at the stage where we can plan a strike,” said the President, ending the discussion. “If we attack one plant, all of the others will be hidden. Clearly, we need to flesh this out. We can discuss the ethics and practicalities at a later date.”

“Preferably before the president of Iran gets here,” said Dr. Bacon.

The President looked across the table at Brea

“Mrs. President, I did want to point out one thing,” said CIA Director Edmund. “The operation started with a very small group.” Edmund chose his words carefully, trying to find a diplomatic way of suggesting that Whiplash be pushed aside. “Time being of the essence, I would suggest that we’re now at a point where the operation has exceeded their ability to handle it.”

“Is that so?” President Todd looked directly at Brea

“I think we can continue to coordinate things under the present arrangement,” said Brea

“This is going to be too big for the Whiplash unit to handle,” said Edmund. He turned to Reid. “Don’t you agree, Jonathon?”

The tone in Edmund’s voice would have intimidated many people. But if Reid had been one of them, he never would have been invited back to the CIA in the first place.

“There is difficulty in changing horses in midstream,” he said. “I would suggest that the CIA work on fleshing out the larger network, while Whiplash concentrates on the implications of what it has discovered. The situation is still developing. The team should be allowed to continue following it to its logical extreme—if only for expediency’s sake.”

Edmund frowned, but part of him couldn’t help admiring the art of Reid’s reply. “Who’s in charge?” he asked.

“The President,” said Reid.

It was a dodge—Edmund meant of the overall operation, and Reid knew it—but mention of the President stopped any further discussion.

“Continue as we were,” she said. “Whiplash follows the trail it has discovered. Mr. Edmund—your agency will coordinate a broader search and intelligence operation. I want an update on the situation every twelve hours. Now please, Brea

“THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING ME,” BREANNA SAID AS THEY walked back to his car.

“Supporting us both, I believe.”

“You stood up to your boss.”

“That’s my job, really. He doesn’t mind, too much…but…” Reid let the word hang there for a moment. “…if this thing does get too big, then we hand it off.”

“Absolutely.”

“No ego.”

“None. Well, maybe a little.”

Reid laughed. So did Brea

Their laughter was short-lived. Brea

“Yes?”

“We have a situation,” he told her. “And an opportunity.”

Da

“Are you sure you can get him out?” Brea

“I can’t be giving out guarantees like that. I think I can, or I wouldn’t have called. I may be able to do it without the Sudanese army taking any casualties, if luck runs with us. But that’s a big if. I can’t guarantee anything. There’s a village nearby—again, I’m not guaranteeing anything. Once things start happening, a lot of their soldiers may die.”

Brea

“That’s what they should be doing,” said Reid.

“The Sudanese army is guarding him,” Brea

“Given the state of relations between our countries, I’d say there’s no chance at all.”

Brea

“We have to be ruthless in this game.”

Brea

“If they think they can get him out and follow him to the other elements in this chain,” Reid added, “we should urge them to do so.”

Brea

“Do it.”

BREANNA CHECKED WITH ZEN ON THE WAY BACK TO HER office, making sure that Teri was all right. Zen’s report was filled with his usual optimism and humor; according to him, Teri had charmed the staff and would no doubt have been ru

“Research meaning sending text messages to her friends?” Brea

“We have a rule in the Senate,” replied Zen. “We only text enemies.”

“Har-har.”

“When are you coming home?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“No sweat. Teri and I have di

“Again?”

“It’s the chef’s favorite di

“All right.” Brea

“Which means nine, right?”

“Close to seven.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Brea

“Tough job with a family,” said Reid.

“It can be,” she admitted.

“When I was younger—it is a very difficult balance. But you seem to get a lot of support from your husband.”

“He tries. He’s very busy.”

“You don’t have a na

“No.”

Brea

“We’ve had various helpers,” Brea

“Don’t want her calling someone else ‘Mom.’ I completely agree,” said Reid. “Raising them yourself—there’s no substitute. As hard as it is, I’m sure she’ll be better off in the long run.”

“I hope so,” said Brea

BREANNA RETURNED TO A WHIRLWIND OF TASKS AT THE Pentagon. Most of them had nothing to do directly with Whiplash, but she interrupted her schedule when her secretary, Ms. Be

“I’m having a fantastic time down here,” Ax told her over the video phone. He looked it, too—he was on a porch on an island in the Florida Keys. “How are you all enjoying the snow?”

“It hasn’t snowed all winter up here,” said Brea

“Too bad.” Ax winked. The former Air Force chief master sergeant had retired when Dog was assigned out of Dreamland. Up until then, Ax wasn’t just the epitome of a chief master sergeant, he was a chief’s chief, a candidate for sainthood or the devil incarnate, depending on your perspective.

Most people would have said he was a little of both.

“I need your help, Ax,” said Brea