by Tom Clancy
“When is she due back?”
“I sent word through her second-in-command. I assume this news out of Iran will cut her trip short. I can get her on the phone for you.”
“No, I’ll let her do what she needs to do. She can call me if she has anything on this. I sure as hell hope whatever she’s got going on over there is worth it.” Ryan waved the thought away. “Just keep me posted, especially on your investigation into how his legend was burned.”
The intercom on Ryan’s desk beeped, and his secretary came over the speaker. “Mr. President. Attorney General Murray is here, he would like five minutes of your time.”
Ryan looked to Canfield, and Canfield stood.
“Send him on in.”
Canfield greeted Dan Murray as he entered, and started passing him for the door.
Murray said, “This might prove interesting for you, too, Jay. I’d like you to stick around, if it’s okay with the President.”
Ryan motioned both men to the sofa across from him, and he sat back down himself.
Murray said, “That thing in New Jersey last weekend. It was definitely not a random act.”
Ryan raised his eyebrows. “The fact you are bringing this to my attention, and Jay’s attention, tells me there is some sort of a national-security implication in a shooting at a Mexican restaurant in New Jersey.”
“Afraid so. This will hit the news in an hour or two, but you need to know about it first. It turns out the shooter was a twenty-three-year-old Russian named Vadim Rechkov. He was in the U.S. on a student visa. He’d been studying computer science at a tech school in Oregon, but dropped out. Local cops picked him up for drunk and disorderly several months ago, and he was given an order to appear. He would have been deported after his hearing, but he didn’t show up.”
Ryan just said, “Do criminals facing deportation ever show up?”
“Not very often, so that’s not a surprise. But here comes the real surprise. The shooter had a brother who was a machinist’s mate on the Kazan, one of the Russian subs sunk by the USS James Greer. And they’ve kept it quiet until now, but one of the victims in the Mexican restaurant was Commander Scott Hagen, captain of the James Greer.”
“Oh my God,” Ryan said. He’d gone to meet Hagen and his crew personally when they returned to Virginia with his damaged Arleigh Burke–class destroyer.
Murray hastened to add, “Hagen is going to survive. Shot twice with an AK-47. But his brother-in-law took a round to the back of the head. Dead, along with a waiter and another patron. Six injured, including the commander.”
Neither Canfield nor Ryan asked if there was any chance this was a coincidence. Both men had been around too long to even wonder.
Murray added, “Scott Hagen told the police after the fact that he’d caught the shooter eyeing him before the incident. Got so creepy that he and his family were just leaving when the guy came back in with guns blazing.”
“Didn’t Hagen have security?”
“When he got back to the States, DoD arranged to keep a car with a couple agents in front of his house for a few weeks. Local police upped patrols in his neighborhood, and of course there is a lot of security at the shipyard where the James Greer was in dry dock. But no threats materialized, and this trip to New Jersey Hagen took wasn’t anything official, so he wasn’t looked after. Honestly, since there’d been zero direct threats on the commander, DoD went above and beyond the call of duty giving him any security at all.”
Ryan said, “The assumption is that this Russian just read the newspaper and saw that Commander Hagen was captain of the James Greer, he blamed him for his brother’s death, so he tracked him down and tried to kill him?”
“Seems like what happened. It’s weird, honestly. FBI investigators haven’t discovered how Rechkov knew Hagen was going to be at that restaurant at that time. The Russian rented a car in Portland six days earlier, drove cross-country, bought the AK and ammo just outside of Salt Lake City, then bought more ammo and a knife in Lincoln, Nebraska. If he ever shot the weapon at all it would have been by the side of the road somewhere. We can’t find any evidence he even visited a gun range.”
Canfield said, “So this probably wasn’t a terribly sophisticated plan if this clown just got a tip about Hagen from the far side of the country, and then acted spontaneously.”
Murray nodded. “We have a lot to learn about this, but that is what we think happened.”
Jay Canfield thought a moment. “I don’t see any chance in hell Moscow had anything to do with this. Not because they’re above it, but because this would-be assassin sounds like such a screw-up.”
“Right,” agreed Ryan.
Murray said, “DoD is ordering up personal protection for all the Marine and Navy commanders involved in the Baltic, on the off chance this is part of a wider scheme.”
The President then told the attorney general about the arrest of the CIA’s officer in Iran.
Murray looked to Canfield. “No idea how your guy was compromised?”
Canfield shook his head. “None.”
Ryan said, “The same week a NOC in Iran is exposed through unclear means, a military officer is exposed through unclear means. Does that seem weird to anybody but me?”
Canfield said, “Hagen wasn’t in a covert position like my NOC was. Still . . . I take your meaning. Somehow his travel plans made their way to some flunky with a grudge.”
Ryan blew out a sigh. “What a damn mess.”
6
If Dominic Caruso had not joined the FBI and then joined The Campus, he probably would have opened a restaurant.
He loved to cook. He’d learned from his mom, had spent countless hours in the kitchen as a child, and even as a teenager he could make authentic Italian dishes from scratch, while his twin brother, Brian, rarely assembled anything more sophisticated than a bologna sandwich with mayonnaise and American cheese.
Dom had gotten away from the kitchen when he was in the FBI, and during his first couple of years in The Campus he was on the go all the time and had no one to cook for anyway, but now, as a single male in his thirties, he relished the opportunity to prepare meals for company.
Especially attractive female company.
Tonight the entrée was eggplant parmigiana; his dish was in its last stages now as he browned the cheese in the broiler. And to offset this vegetarian entrée, he’d prepared an impressive-looking charcuterie platter that now took up half a shelf in his refrigerator.
The Fontanella Mt. Veeder chardonnay was chilled and waiting in the ice bucket on the small table just inside the door of his balcony, which provided a nice view of D.C.’s Logan Circle below without the warm air and street noise he would have had to deal with if he actually set up the table on the balcony.
The doorbell to his condo chimed at seven sharp, and Dom pulled off the towel tucked into his belt that he’d been using as an apron, checked the eggplant in the oven quickly, and then went to answer.
Adara Sherman stood at the door. She wore a simple black dress, wedge heels, and stylish glasses. Her blond hair was shoulder length these days, and Dom could see the muscles in her neck and shoulders from her near-daily workouts at the CrossFit gym near her condo in Tysons Corner.
Dom couldn’t figure out why, but he still hadn’t gotten used to seeing Adara away from work. As the transportation logistics coordinator for Hendley Associates, and The Campus, she worked in two distinctly different settings. When she worked in the Alexandria office she wore business attire. But as the flight attendant for the Hendley Associates Gulfstream G550, she wore a generic-looking flight attendant uniform; navy skirt, navy jacket, and white blouse.
And there had been times, multiple times in the past couple years, when Adara Sherman the flight attendant had become someone else right in the middle of a trip. She would step into the galley of the G550, take off her skirt and blouse, and don
5.11 tactical pants and a dark tunic. She’d then heave an H&K UMP .45-caliber submachine gun from a hidden compartment behind an access panel in the galley, and she’d slide an H&K semiautomatic pistol in a paddle holster under her waistband.
Adara provided security for the aircraft, as well as serving as the medic for the operators in The Campus.
This job did not fall into her lap; she’d had years of training. She’d been a Navy corpsman in Afghanistan, she’d saved the lives of Marines in combat, and she’d carried an M4 herself and used it on more than one occasion.
No, she wasn’t the typical flight attendant one might find on a high-end corporate jet, and no, Dom still could not get over seeing her in a sexy outfit at night, because it was so far removed from her appearance throughout the day, no matter what role she found herself in.
Dom and Adara had been dating for a year now, but they had not made their relationship public to the others at Hendley Associates. Dom had a suspicion that his cousin knew. Adara agreed, and she insisted her “woman’s intuition” was infallible on such matters.
Still, if Jack did know, he’d not said anything, and Dominic appreciated his cousin keeping the relationship on the down low.
There was no specific prohibition against employees dating at The Campus, but they both assumed it would be frowned upon, so they didn’t make a big deal about it. Both Adara and Dom led busy lives anyway, so it wasn’t like they were living together, spending each evening watching TV till bedtime. No, this had been a relationship primarily of dinners and movies when they were both in town and had some free time, which was a rare enough occurrence.
Yes, things had gotten physical. That began in Italy, back at the beginning of their relationship, and although things were still physical, their careers had gotten in the way even though they both worked for the same employer.
Dom and Adara had an interesting relationship. They might go weeks without talking shop at all when they were alone together away from the office, or they just as easily might slip into work talk.
This was a night full of the latter. While they ate their eggplant parmigiana and drank their perfectly chilled chardonnay, they discussed the events of the previous morning on the boat in the Chesapeake. Dom was still angry at himself for letting Gerry Hendley shoot him in the back, and even more for creating a scenario that forced Jack to save the hostage by applying “overkill” to the situation.
Adara had been right there with a front-row seat to the debacle, and she listened to Dom now, before putting in her two cents.
Adara said, “Don’t blame yourself. You guys are short-staffed. You are doing your best, but you need a larger force.”
Dom realized Adara had been upstairs with Gerry on the yacht when John Clark proposed exactly that to the men.
“We’re getting two new operators.”
“Really? Who?”
“I’m sure Clark has ideas of his own, but he wants each of us to propose one candidate.”
Adara cut into her eggplant, ate slowly, drank slowly, all the while waiting for Dominic to say something else.
When he did not she asked, “Who are you going to suggest for the position?”
Dom shrugged. “Not sure. I know a lot of guys in the FBI still, and through the training cadre at The Campus I know some guys who used to be in military special mission units, but they all have families now, and working at The Campus is a tough job for a dad with young kids.”
He added, “I think I know who Ding is going to suggest, and I know who Jack will nominate, and either of those guys would make excellent officers. I might just second one of their choices. Clark might think I’m taking the easy way out, but I’ve got to go with my gut.”
“That’s true.” Adara could be calculating when the situation called for it, but at other times, she could be quite direct. She put her fork and knife down and looked across the table at Dom. “I have an idea on who you could suggest.”
Dom raised his eyebrows and stopped his fork right before it went in his mouth. “You do? Who?”
“Me.”
Dom froze, the fork still in midair, his eyes on his girlfriend.
Then he looked down and away.
Adara said, “I know the job. I’m vetted; I’ve been in the field with you guys, more or less, on many occasions. I’m jump qualified, I’ve got my Master SCUBA diver rating, I can shoot. I earned the Navy Expert Pistol Medal and the Navy Expert Rifle Medal with a bronze S.”
Dom said nothing, so Adara said, “Since you asked, the bronze S stands for ‘sharpshooter.’ Also, unlike the rest of you, I have a twin-engine IFR pilot’s license, I can operate boats, and I have more medical training than anyone at The Campus.”
She smiled. “And I do more CrossFit than you do.”
Dom reached for his wine, finished it, then pulled the bottle out of the ice and refilled his glass.
Adara said, “And, of course, there was Panama and Switzerland.”
He put the wine back in the bucket, looked up at Adara, and said, “No.”
—
Dom knew she’d bring up Panama and Switzerland. In the Panamanian jungle Dom and Adara had fought alongside each other, and in Geneva they had worked together as a team on a surveillance op that turned into something much more . . . kinetic. She’d done remarkably well on both occasions, as good as any other operator on the team. Dom knew this to be true, but that didn’t mean he wanted her working as a Campus asset.
He saw Adara’s cheeks redden a little, and he knew he was in trouble. He said, “I’m sorry I said it like that. It’s just that . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t want you on the team.”
Adara nodded a little as she looked off to the distance, out over Logan Circle. Dom had been dating her long enough to read the signals. She was angry, her defenses were going up, and she just might go on offense. Quickly he tried to clarify himself.
“Of course you can do it. It has nothing to do with ability. It’s me. I don’t want you to do it.”
“Why? Because it’s too dangerous?”
“Yes. That’s exactly why. Look, that job you’re asking me to nominate you to fill . . . I lost my brother in that same position, I was right there with him and I watched him die. Then another guy came in. He became a good friend. And he died, too. Again, I was there when it happened. I don’t want to lose you.” He paused. “I care about you, and that job isn’t a place to send people you care about.”
“I understand how you feel, but your brother’s death and Sam Driscoll’s death had nothing to do with the fact they were in the same position. It was the job. The job all of you have. The exact same fate could be waiting for any one of you.”
“And I accept that,” Dom said. “I just don’t want it for you.”
“What about what I want?” she asked.
Dom said, “The training op on Friday went bad because I wasn’t looking at you as a hostage. I was looking at you as my girlfriend. I felt weird about holding a gun on you and checking you for traps in front of the guys, I got distracted, and it kept me from checking the dead space on my left. How do I know that working a real-world op with you won’t have me acting the same way, in ways that will compromise lives?”
Adara simply said, “You make decisions about your life, and you get to do the same to my life? What if I told you to leave The Campus? Would you do it?”
“No.”
“Exactly. Who put you in charge of me?”
“It’s not that. It’s just—”
“It is that. I realize you care. I realize your heart is in the right place. You don’t want to see me get hurt. But if you care about me, you will let me pursue something that’s important to me.”
Angrily, Dom said, “You don’t need me to recommend you to Clark. You can just tell him yourself.”
“I want your blessing.
”
“Why?”
“Because I care about you. And I care about what you think.”
Dom looked down at the street below. “Don’t make me do this.”
“I’m not making you. I’m asking you.”
He stood now.
“Where are you going?” Dom could hear anger welling in her voice.
“To the refrigerator. We’re out of wine.”
“Oh . . . well. That’s okay.”
The discussion moved to the sofa, and it also moved away from an argument, and into a conversation. Adara and Dom both began to put themselves in the other’s place and understand the reasons behind the other’s entrenched viewpoint.
After a half-hour of back-and-forth Adara said, “I understand the position I’m putting you in, I’m just asking you to help me. Look, even if you say no, I’ll go to Gerry and talk to him. If you will feel better about yourself, I’ll do that. But I just want to know you believe in me, and that you want me there with you, when you need someone you trust.”
He said, “I do believe in you. I think you would be great in the job.”
“Do you know someone who would be better?”
There and then, he knew she’d won. Dom realized he didn’t feel any different from the way he did when they began discussing this more than a half-hour ago, but he had no other arguments to employ. He could be obstinate, or he could be reasonable, even if reason went against his wishes. He said, “No. I don’t know anyone more qualified. I’ll put your name in the hat. It’s up to Gerry and John.”
“Of course.” She kissed him. “I know that wasn’t easy for you. None of this will be.”
He noticed Adara looking at him expectantly. Like there was something more. “What?” he asked.
“Are we finished talking about this?”
“I really hope so. Why?”