THIRTY TWO.
Light flurries
floated down from the chill March evening sky as black stretch
limousines cued up along Pennsylvania Avenue waiting to disgorge
their important passengers under the north portico of the White
House. The event was black tie; a state dinner for the Canadian
prime minister. Irene Kennedy asked her driver to bring her around
to the southwest gate. She didn't have time to wait in line.
A private word with
the President was needed before the festivities started.
Trust was not
something that came easily to the young director of the Central
Intelligence Agency. She worked in a profession where things were
not always as they first appeared, where people and countries were
constantly attempting to deceive her, and even when she did trust
someone there were motives to consider. Mitch Rapp was one
exception to her rule. He was one of the few people who Kennedy
could rely on.
God knows they had a
different way of going about things, but Rapp was effective and his
motives clear. He had nothing but disdain for the people who ran
Washington. As the failed rescue mission in the Philippines had
proved, the nation's capital had a habit of getting too many
people, and too many agencies, involved in matters that could often
be handled by a very small group. It didn't take a master of
espionage to realize that the more players involved in an
operation, the greater the chance for a leak.
This in essence was
why the director of the CIA needed to speak with the President and
General Flood this evening. Rapp had called to give her the good
news about the Andersons, but then had made a somewhat unorthodox
request. At first Kennedy didn't like it, but now, having had some
time to think it through, she felt it held some real merit. It was
classic Rapp and one couldn't really argue with his track
record.
After a brief check
by the Secret Service, the director's limousine was allowed
admittance through the southwest gate. It pulled up West Executive
Drive and stopped. Kennedy stepped from the back of the car
clutching her black velvet wrap tightly around her shoulders with
one hand and holding up the hem of her full-length evening gown
with the other. A uniformed Secret Service officer opened the door
for her and she hurried into the welcome warmth of the West
Wing.
Kennedy walked
through the ground floor past the White House Mess and the
Situation Room and then up a flight of stairs and past the Cabinet
Room. Outside once again, she walked quickly down the Colonnade.
This was the way the President walked to and from work every day.
She entered the White House and waiting for her in the tropical
Palm Room was Special Agent Jack Warch, the man in charge of
President Hayes's Secret Service detail.
"You look very nice
this evening, Irene," the always gallant agent said.
"Thank you, Jack, and
so do you."
Warch, like all the
agents working the detail this evening, was dressed in formal
attire. He offered his arm.
"The President and
General Flood are upstairs waiting for you."
Kennedy liked Warch.
He was a hardworking professional who adored his family.
"How are Sheila and
the kids?" asked Kennedy.
"They're doing well.
And Tommy?" Warch was referring to Kennedy's seven-year-old
son.
"Growing like a weed
starting to get a little lippy." She shrugged.
"You know
all the
stuff that goes along with being seven." Kennedy thought of adding
that it might be nice to have a father around, but she didn't. It
was not her style to act like a victim.
They entered the
elevator that would take them up to the second floor of the
residence. Warch placed his back to the wall and clasped his hands
in front.
"How's my favorite
counterterrorism agent?"
Kennedy looked at him
sideways wondering if the comment was merely conversational or if
Warch knew what Rapp was up to. He knew Rapp fairly well and in
truth Warch could be trusted, but he was not in a need to know
position.
"He's fine."
Warch looked
uncomfortable for a moment and then said, "His wife cornered me
just a few minutes ago. She wanted to know where Mitch is."
"And?" asked
Kennedy.
The elevator stopped
and the door opened.
"I told her I have no
idea."
Kennedy stepped into
the hall first.
"Do you have any
idea?"
Warch frowned.
"No."
"Good," said Kennedy
with a curt nod.
They both walked
across the wide hallway that was more like a living room and
stopped outside the door to the President's study.
"Irene," the agent
said in a concerned voice, "I think someone needs to have a talk
with Anna."
"How so?"
"I just think you
should talk to her."
"And tell her about
what covert operations the CIA is running?" asked Kennedy in a
sarcastic tone.
"No." Warch's face
twisted in disagreement.
"Of course not. But
someone needs to tell her to stop asking all these
questions."
"She's a reporter.
That's what she does for a living."
"I know, but it's her
husband, for Christ's sake, so it's only going to get worse. I
think a little reassurance from you would go a long way."
Kennedy thought about
what she might say.
"She's here
tonight?"
"Yep."
On second thought,
with Mitch out of town this might be the perfect opportunity for
her to set a few things straight with his wife.
There had been a
noticeable chill between the two of them and since both would be
involved in Rapp's life for some time, maybe now was a good time
for them to talk.
"All right, I'll try
to have a talk with her later."
Warch knocked on the
door to the study, waited for a second, and then turned the old
brass knob and opened the door. The chairman of the Joint Chiefs
and the commander in chief were sitting by the fireplace playing a
game of cards. General Flood had a glass half-filled with a brown
liquid that Kennedy guessed to be Knob Creek bourbon. As for what
the President had in his glass she had no idea. He was a social
drinker with no particular favorite. She'd seen him drink wine,
both red and white, beer, vodka, scotch and bourbon, but she'd
never seen him exhibit a single sign of inebriation other than a
tendency to get a little more vociferous than normal.
Both gentlemen stood
and complimented the director of the CIA on how nice she looked.
Kennedy reciprocated and took a seat on the couch while the
President poured her a vodka on the rocks. Kennedy had learned that
it was better to accept the drink and nurse it rather than decline
and have to reaffirm that she didn't want a drink five more
times.
The President settled
back into his chair and picked up his hand.
Looking over the top
of the cards he asked, "Whose turn is it?"
"It's yours," replied
the general.
Hayes started to
pluck a card and then decided to put it back.
"So, Irene, what's on
your mind?"
"We have a situation,
sir, that I think you need to be aware of."
Kennedy looked
briefly at General Flood to see if he'd told the President of their
earlier conversation. He gave her no sign that he had.
Kennedy looked back
to the President, who had finally decided on a card to get rid
of.
"Several hours before
dawn in the Philippines we inserted a team into the jungle of
Dinagat Island to take care of the situation with General Moro.
While en route to their primary objective, the team stumbled across
hostile forces that they identified as a column of Abu Sayyaf
guerrillas."
Hayes set his cards
down. He did not like the way this sounded.
The last thing he
needed right now were more U.S. forces killed in the
Philippines.
"Please tell me there
wasn't another ambush?"
"No, sir, there
wasn't. The team was not sighted by the opposing force. They
allowed the column to pass, and then went on to complete their
primary objective."
Hayes looked a little
confused.
"Then what's the
problem?"
"Well"-Kennedy
thought about it for a second-"I'd say it's more of an opportunity,
sir, than a problem."
The President looked
intrigued.
"Let's hear
it."
"The enemy column was
transporting the Anderson family, all five of them."
"You're serious?"
asked a suddenly eager President.
Kennedy found the
question a little strange since she was not known for her sense of
humor.
"Yes, sir, the team
split into two groups of two. One group went on to complete the
primary mission while the other trailed the enemy column."
Now on the edge of
his seat, Hayes asked, "Do we know where they are?"
Smiling slightly, she
answered, "We have eyes-on intelligence, sir.
We know exactly where
they are. GPS coordinates and all."
Hayes stood abruptly.
A day hadn't passed in the last six months where he hadn't thought
of that poor family.
"I want the National
Security Council convened in the Situation Room in one hour." Hayes
checked his watch.
"I'll find an excuse
to get over-" The President noticed Kennedy wincing slightly.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't think we
should go into crisis mode just yet."
Now the President was
really confused.
"Why not?"
"Mitch has requested
that we keep this very low-key. He's onboard the Belleau Wood right
now doing a tactical assessment while our team is on the ground
giving him a constant stream of intel on the target."
"What exactly do you
mean by low-key?" asked Hayes.
Kennedy hesitated and
then asked, "Do you trust Mitch, sir?"
"Of course I
do."
"Well, he thinks that
the Belleau Wood battle group has all the assets we need to pull
off a successful hostage rescue, and in light of what happened the
other night, he thinks it best not to get the entire national
security apparatus involved."
Hayes folded his arms
across his chest and stared into space for a moment. It was obvious
he was torn between his trust for Rapp and his natural instinct to
manage the situation.
"What type of
timetable are we looking at?"
"The Philippines are
fourteen hours ahead of us, sir. It's tomorrow morning there."
Kennedy adjusted her glasses.
"The earliest we'd
launch a rescue operation is after sundown, which gives us at least
eleven hours to prepare. Mitch is proposing that we give him the
authority to put a plan together on-site, and then report to us
tomorrow morning, our time, before we launch the rescue."
Hayes thought about
this for a moment and then turned to General Flood.
"What do you
think?"
The chairman of the
Joint Chiefs looked at Kennedy.
"What are we up
against?"
"Enemy strength is
estimated at sixty armed men
light machine guns mostly and a few
RPGs."
As a soldier who'd
been in battle, Flood was not a fan of micro-managing situations
from thousands of miles away. He thought about the assets available
and said, "The Belleau Wood has more than enough muscle to handle
the job, sir. She has a task unit onboard, along with a platoon of
Force Reconnaissance marines, and there's also an entire battalion
of marines onboard for backup if things get hairy."
Hayes shifted his
weight from one leg to the other.
"What's your
recommendation?"
Flood checked his
watch.
"I'd say let Mitch
put a plan together. We can convene in the Situation Room in the
morning and get a briefing before we give it a green light. Until
then the best thing we can do is stay out of their way."
The President stood
in front of the fireplace considering the advice he'd just been
given. He shifted his gaze to Kennedy.
"Irene, I assume you
agree?"
Kennedy's predecessor
had taught her many valuable lessons. One of the better ones was
that men of power were best persuaded by their own words.
"You've said it
yourself before, sir. Mitch has a way of getting things done. I'd
say the best person to handle this situation is right where we need
him."
Hayes agreed with a
curt nod.
"All right. Let's
plan on convening tomorrow morning. In the meantime I expect the
two of you will monitor the situation closely."
Both Kennedy and
Flood said they would.
"Good." Hayes nodded
and then said, "All right, then, if you'll excuse me, I need to
pick up my date."