FORTY EIGHT.

    The National Security Council was one of those Washington terms that encompassed many things. In its truest sense the Council was made up of the President and a handful of very senior advisors. In a broader sense it represented an entire staff that coordinated the flow of intelligence between various agencies and departments under the executive branch and the White House. One such group within that staff was the Counterterrorism Support Group. As their name indicated they were charged with handling all issues involving terrorism, such as the kidnapping of the Anderson family by Abu Sayyaf.

    Due to the leaks that occurred at the State Department during the initial hostage rescue, the Counterterrorism Support Group had been left out of the loop during the second and successful hostage rescue.

    This intentional breach of procedure was missed by no one. In a town where being in the know was the ultimate sign of power, there were a lot of bruised egos. The rumors had been fast and furious as to why, and through a few well-designed leaks, all were led to believe that their exclusion was due to a power play by none other than Mitch Rapp.

    These leaks, and his reputation in general, were the cause of the icy reception that awaited Mitch Rapp when he entered the National Security Council conference room on the fourth floor of the Old Executive Office Building across the street from the West Wing. The attendees, over a dozen of them, all stopped what they were doing and looked up at the unannounced visitor. The Department of Defense, the FBI, the CIA, the State Department and Homeland Security were all represented. These were people just two rungs from the top. They carried great responsibility, they worked tirelessly and they received very little public recognition. Of the people in the room, only Jake Turbes from the CIA knew Rapp.

    They all knew of him, to be sure, but not a one of them had ever said more than hello to him. Some of them respected him, a few despised him, mostly due to the embarrassment they were now forced to endure, but to a one, they all feared him. Here in their midst was a cold-blooded killer, who had dealt with the national security issues they wrestled with every day, in a much more real and final way.

    He was a man who came to meetings unannounced and rarely spoke. He was a man who had the President's ear, respect and gratitude.

    He was a man who each feared could end any of their careers if he so chose. So when he entered the long narrow room all of the attendees squirmed a bit, and to make matters worse, instead of taking a seat at the table, he remained standing.

    Rapp positioned himself in such a way that he could observe Assistant Secretary of State Amanda Petty. Of all the attendees only two, besides Rapp, had any idea what was in store. Jake Turbes of the CIA and Don Keane of the FBI were both in the know. Rapp kept himself from making eye contact with them and instead looked to Patty Hadley, the deputy national security advisor. He nodded for her to continue with the meeting.

    She smiled a bit awkwardly and said, "Well, you're just the man we were looking for." Her comment was followed by some uncomfortable laughter.

    Rapp allowed a wry smile to form on his lips. His problem was not with Hadley.

    "Fire away."

    "We're all trying to figure out why we were kept in the dark on this one."

    Rapp directed his response to Hadley.

    "A decision was made to keep this operation as close to the vest as possible."

    She listened to the answer and then after a moment asked, "Why?"

    "Let's just say that our previous rescue attempt didn't go over so well."

    After a long moment of silence, Steve Gordon, the coordinator for counterterrorism at the State Department, was the first to speak. His pride had been damaged enough that he felt he had to speak for the group.

    "I hardly think the people in this room were responsible for the failure of the first rescue attempt."

    "Really?" asked Rapp, his tone a bit menacing.

    Gordon was slightly taken aback. He mustered up a bit more courage and reiterated his point.

    "Yes."

    "I wouldn't be so sure," said Rapp as he leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest, a red file shoved under his left arm.

    "Any other questions?" This time he looked directly at Amanda Petty.

    He knew her type. Her righteous indignation would never allow his accusation to go unchallenged.

    She looked back at him, barely able to conceal her contempt, and completely oblivious to the role she'd played in the disaster of a week ago. The false belief that the rest of the group supported her gave her the confidence to say, "Mr. Rapp, you may not think very highly of us, but you should at least respect the fact that we care about this country every bit as much as you do, and we work very hard at our jobs."

    Rapp was simmering for the moment. He would blow later. This was a role he relished. It was an opportunity to remind everybody just how high the stakes were. What unfolded in this room in the next five minutes would be spread all over Washington by week's end. It would be whispered about around the coffeepots and water coolers, and it would grow and become more sensational with each retelling, and in the end people would be reminded that national security was something to be taken very seriously.

    "To respond to your first point, I doubt very much that you care about this country as much as I do, and as far as your second point is concerned, I have no doubt that you all work very hard, but that by itself doesn't cut it. You people aren't on the board of some corporation.

    You are entrusted to help protect the national security of this country, and to be brutally honest with you, working hard isn't enough." Rapp's eyes never left Petry's.

    Her nostrils flared just a bit and unable to contain herself, she said, "The State Department plays a very important role in this country's national security, Mr. Rapp, whether you like it or not. And for us to do our job, we need to be kept abreast of what is going on."

    "Kept abreast," Rapp repeated her words and slowly bobbed his head as if he were taking them very seriously.

    "Tell me, Ms. Petty, can you think of a single reason why the rescue operation was launched without consulting this committee?"

    "I'd say somebody such as yourself advised the President that we be kept in the dark," answered Petry with a look of disdain on her face.

    "Exactly!" said Rapp, his tone rising a bit.

    "And can you tell me why I would have advised such a move to the President?"

    There could be little doubt, by the expression on her face that she hated the man who was questioning her.

    "I have no idea."

    Rapp opened the file under his arm and threw two five-by-eight photographs down on the table. They were head shots of the two dead navy SEALs.

    "Do you have any idea who these two men are?"

    "No," replied an indignant Petry.

    "Irv McGee and Anthony Mason. United States Navy. They were killed last week on a little sand beach in the Philippines. Both were married and combined they left behind five kids." Rapp made no effort to retrieve the two photos sitting in the middle of the table. This was as close as any of them would ever get to the two dead warriors, and he wanted to make sure everyone in the room looked at their faces.

    "Ms. Petry, can you tell me how these two men ended up dead?"

    Rapp paused just long enough to see that she wasn't going to answer his question.

    "I'll tell you how they died," his voice boomed out in anger.

    "Someone in this room disregarded operational security because they felt the rules didn't apply to them." Petry didn't crack a bit and Rapp asked her, "You have no idea what you did, do you?"

    Petry's face was now flushed but she had yet to register what was happening. Blinded by her own belief that she was being wronged, Petry said, "You'd better have a pretty good explanation for this, Mr. Rapp."

    The red file flew open and out came the copies of Petry's emails to Ambassador Cox. Rapp slammed them down on the table and yelled, "The President decided last week that our embassy in Manila was not to be told in advance about the hostage rescue! You ignored that order and sent Ambassador Cox an e-mail alerting him to the specifics of the rescue! Well, I guess since you work hard, and care about your country, you don't have to adhere to operational security!"

    Petry looked at her own e-mail and still refused to admit any wrongdoing.

    "I hardly see how this ended up causing the deaths of these two men."

    "Because, you idiot," screamed Rapp, "Ambassador Cox alerted President Quirino about the operation, who in turn notified General Moro, who just so happens to be a paid asset for Abu Sayyaf! If you would have done what you were told those two men would be alive right now. You and your fucking diplomatic arrogance got them killed, and that's why this committee was kept in the dark."

    Rapp stood at the end of the long table, his fists clenched in rage.

    No one attempted to speak. Amanda Petty sat in shock looking at the two photos, still refusing to believe that a simple e-mail could have caused their deaths. Rapp knew that there were those in Washington who would think what he'd just done was unprofessional and insensitive, but he couldn't have cared less. In his mind this town, especially the national security apparatus, could use a whole lot less sensitivity.

    Rapp turned and opened the door. Two FBI agents were waiting outside to arrest Petty. He passed them and started down the hall, his thoughts turning to the two dead SEALs. Their families deserved his sensitivity and sympathy, not Petty.