FORTY ONE.
A slight headache
gnawed at the base of Kennedy's brain. She knew in truth it was due
to the second cosmopolitan that she'd had with Anna Rapp. It had
been worth it, though. Her private conversation with Anna had
broken through some barriers.
The two women had
reached an understanding of sorts. Mitch was their link. They both
loved him, and if they truly cared about him they would make the
effort to get along. Kennedy was magnanimous in her understanding
of Anna's plight, but insistent that Mitch would not be happy
leading the indolent lifestyle of an intelligence analyst. He was
an incredibly talented individual who just so happened to be in the
business of counterterrorism. His skills and his commitment had
aided countless individuals and led to the prevention of death and
destruction.
Now, as Kennedy was
returning to the scene of last night's festivities, she wondered
how she could look like anything other than a liar to the woman
whose confidence she had just gained. She'd gone to great lengths
to calm Anna's fears over her husband's safety. Speaking with true
conviction in regard to Rapp's talents and penchant for survival,
she'd told Anna that Mitch had been involved in much more dire
operations, and that he, in fact, would be nowhere near the point
of battle while on his current mission. Since he had already
succeeded in eliminating General Moro, she felt this was close
enough to the truth.
Others would be
taking care of the hostage rescue, and Mitch would be monitoring
the operation from a safe distance.
That had at least
been her understanding of how things would proceed. All that
changed when her phone rang this morning at precisely 5:00 a.m.
Jake Turbes, the director of the CIA's Counterterrorism Center,
awoke his boss to inform her that the operation in the Philippines
had been a success. This fruitful conclusion to an international
situation was all a very big surprise to Kennedy, since the
operation wasn't supposed to have begun yet. After thanking the
director of the CTC, and giving him no sign that she'd been somehow
left out of the loop, Kennedy pulled herself from her bed and went
straight to Langley.
When she got there
the puzzle of what had occurred some six thousand miles away began
to fall into place. The mission had been a complete success. The
Andersons and all of the operators were safely onboard the Belleau
Wood sitting out a rather ferocious tropical storm, and there was
only one injury to report. All things considered, Kennedy should've
been very pleased with the outcome.
On the surface she
appeared her calm, cool self; nodding at the right times and asking
only the most pertinent of questions, but inside, she was seething.
Someone had been shot, and as luck would have it, it was none other
than Mitchell Rapp.
Kennedy was furious.
How in the hell did Rapp get shot when he was supposed to be
sitting on a warship ten miles off the coast, and more important,
why in the hell was the timetable for the rescue operation moved up
without her knowing about it? Kennedy resisted the urge to call
General Flood and ask if he'd given the green light. She would need
some time to gather her thoughts, and her intuition told her that
Flood had also been left out of the loop. Asking halfcocked
questions that she didn't know the answers to was a good way to
invite inquiry into how she ran her agency.
Mitch Rapp was going
to have to answer some very tough questions when he got back.
Kennedy's only solace right now was that ultimately, Rapp would pay
for his cowboy attitude far worse at home than he would at work. At
Langley he was the golden boy, capable of doing no wrong. A
mythology had been structured around him. He was a walking, talking
legend, a man with rugged good looks who could point to a dossier
of more successful clandestine operations than any operative in
perhaps the history of the Agency.
That resume would
protect him. There wasn't a person at Langley who would dare lock
horns with him, and only a handful of politicians on the Hill who
would even consider taking such a risk. Not that this most recent
incident would offer them any real opportunity. Rapp was a hero,
and Americans loved their heroes.
As her predecessor
Thomas Stansfield had taught her, Kennedy suppressed the desire to
get Rapp on the phone and read him the riot act. It would be better
to cool her emotions and let him sweat it out for a while. Maybe
even the entire long flight home.
No, Kennedy would let
the one woman who truly mattered to him take care of things. It
didn't matter how good Mitch was, his little powder keg of a bride
was going to kick his ass like it had never been kicked before. It
would almost be worth it to bug his house just to hear the
interrogation. No matter what Rapp said or did, he could not lie
his way out of what he had done. He couldn't hide behind national
security because Kennedy wasn't going to let him, and unless he
kept his clothes on for the next month, there was no way he was
going to be able to hide the fact that he'd been shot.
In an effort to keep
up her newfound friendship with Mrs. Rapp, she called Anna shortly
before 6:00 A.M. and told her that the mission was a success and
that her husband would be on his way home shortly.
Anna, grateful for
the call, thanked the director of the CIA profusely.
Kennedy, in return,
thanked Anna for being so understanding and told her to call if she
had any questions.
This sudden coziness
between his boss and wife would give the intensely private and
compartmentalized Rapp reason for pause once he found out about it.
Kennedy took a certain amount of devious comfort in that and in the
fact that Rapp would be dreading how to explain what had
happened.
As Kennedy stepped
off the elevator on the third floor of the Executive Mansion she
was prepared to do what Presidential advisors had done for
centuries: spin. She didn't care for the tactic, but one of her
most trusted and loyal employees had put her in the awkward
situation of having to do so. The alternative would be to tell the
President the stark truth, which could potentially have some
ramifications that she didn't need to deal with right now.
The outcome of the
operation was just what the President had wanted. The Andersons
were safe, the United States had suffered no casualties and a
message had been sent to the terrorists. Using Rapp's line of
logic, or defense as Kennedy was more inclined to say, it didn't
much matter how they got there, just so long as they got
there.
Kennedy entered the
fitness room and after sidestepping a weight bench approached the
President, who was hunched over the console of a
stair-stepper.
Hayes tore his eyes
off one of three TVs mounted on the wall in front of him. He'd seen
Kennedy enter the room in the reflection of the mirrored wall. With
sweat pouring from his face he snapped, "What in the hell happened
in Israel last night?"
Kennedy was only
momentarily caught off guard. On her way over from Langley she'd
scanned the Presidential Daily Brief, a top secret document
compiled by the CIA that kept the President and his top national
security advisors apprised of what was happening in the
world.
"I've already put a
call in to Ben Freidman, but he hasn't gotten back to me
yet."
The President frowned
at the mere mention of Freidman's name.
He was well
acquainted with the head of Mossad. He in fact detested the man,
and if it wasn't for Kennedy, the President would have demanded
that Prime Minister Goldberg fire the bastard.
The President wiped a
film of sweat from his face with a towel and growled, "It still
burns my ass that he has a job."
Kennedy instantly
regretted mentioning Freidman's name. The previous year he had been
caught giving intelligence to, and aiding, one of the President's
chief political adversaries. It had taken a great deal of skill to
convince the President that it would be better to keep Freidman in
his post and use his guilt as leverage.
Hayes looked at the
clock.
"What time is it over
there?"
"They're seven hours
ahead of us, sir. It's two-twenty in the afternoon."
"How long ago did you
call him?"
"About thirty minutes
ago." Kennedy folded her arms in front of her. She'd actually put
in the call about an hour ago, but saw no reason to get the
President more agitated than he already was.
"Well, call him back
again," snapped Hayes.
"And tell him I want
some answers!" Pointing at one of the TVs he said, "They leveled an
entire city block, and they're saying the death toll could surpass
one hundred people, for Christ's sake."
Kennedy looked
awkwardly at the floor and then back at the President's reflection
in the mirror. He had grown considerably more irritable
lately.
"Sir," she cautioned,
"you know the Palestinians always inflate those numbers."
Hayes gripped a black
bar with one hand and with the other he lowered the speed of the
machine.
"Have you seen the
footage?" he asked a little less confrontation ally
"Yes."
"And you don't think
it looks bad?"
"Yes, it does, sir,
but let me get some more information before we jump to any
conclusions."
Hayes nodded and
began to breathe a little easier. Realizing he'd been a little hard
on one of his most trusted advisors he asked, "So, did you have a
good time last night?"
"Yes, I did. It was a
very nice party, sir."
"Good." He mopped his
brow again and asked, "What's happening over in the
Philippines?"
Kennedy forced a
smile and adjusted her glasses.
"I have good news.
The Anderson family is safely onboard the Belleau Wood as are all
military personnel who participated in the operation."
As if someone had
delivered an unexpected gift, a mix of joy and confusion spread
across the President's face. He glanced at the clock on the wall
and said, "I thought the rescue wasn't set to take place for
another hour or two."
"Well, there were
some developments during the evening, sir, that caused us to move
up our timetable." Fortunately, Kennedy knew the President was a
man who never punished success. Like most good chief executives he
delegated authority and wanted results.
"A tropical storm
blew in," she continued to explain, "threatening to ground our
aircraft. At the same time, the rain provided the cover needed to
sneak our ground forces into position earlier than we had
anticipated. Not wanting to lose the opportunity we gave the green
light and it went off without a hitch." Kennedy was tempted to
mention that Rapp had been shot, but for now she wanted to keep
that little nugget of information to herself.
The President's face
lit up.
"That's great! When
will they be arriving stateside?" The politician in him was already
looking forward to greeting the family.
"They have to wait
for the storm to break and then they'll start back. They could be
here as early as tomorrow or Monday."
"And how are they
doing?"
"Fairly well,"
answered Kennedy.
"A little
malnourished and covered with insect bites, but otherwise
stable."
The President stopped
the machine and climbed off. He moved over to a treadmill and
climbed on.
"How are they
psychologically?"
Hayes pressed several
buttons and the tread started moving.
Kennedy could only
guess at the horrors they had suffered. From her intelligence
reports on other kidnappings, Abu Sayyaf and MILF were fairly
humane in the sense that they seemed to avoid rape and torture,
especially of Americans. But still, being held captive thousands of
miles from home in extremely primitive conditions would have taken
its toll.
"I'm not sure, sir.
For now I bet they're just happy to be free."
"Yeah, I suppose."
The belt picked up speed and the President began walking faster. He
pumped his arms and said, "Do me a favor and brief Valerie on
this." The President glanced at the wall clock.
"She's usually in by
eight on Saturdays."
The President needed
his chief of staff. Kennedy understood better than most how
Washington worked. Political effectiveness rose and fell with the
tide of positive or negative media attention. This was too good of
a story not to manage properly. Kennedy would brief Valerie Jones
and then Jones in turn would mobilize the formidable White House
communications and press people. They would prod and squeeze this
story into a five-point jump in the polls.
"Anything else,
sir?"
The President
hesitated and then sighed.
"I suppose we should
have the NSC meet for a full briefing."
Kennedy nodded. If
the President hadn't suggested it she would have. The various
cabinet level departments needed to be brought up to speed,
especially the State Department. Somebody needed to tell President
Quirino in the Philippines what the United States had just done,
and in light of the sensitive subject it would be wiser if that
person were the Secretary of State rather than the President.
"What time would you
like me to schedule it for?"
"Let's say eleven
o'clock downstairs
and oh
if you talk to Mitch before then, thank
him for me."
Kennedy nodded.
"He's an amazing
man."
Kennedy did not
hesitate to reply.
"Yes, he is." Any man
brash enough to usurp the authority of the director of the CIA, the
Secretary of defense and the President all in one evening was an
amazing man indeed.