Mitch Rapp 02 - The Third Option

by Vince Flynn

  The CIA was too powerful a weapon to let fall into the wrong hands. The president would nominate Irene Kennedy, and he would use all of his political skill and clout to make sure she was confirmed. Hayes had many reasons for agreeing to this, despite the missteps of the last week. First off, Kennedy was more than qualified, and secondly he trusted her. This led to the third and maybe most important reason as far as the president was concerned. He needed his flank protected. With Kennedy at the helm of the CIA, he wouldn’t have to worry about any aggression coming from that direction.

  As much as both men wanted Kennedy to be the next director of the Central Intelligence Agency, the man they were about to meet with had as much or even more say in whether or not that happened. The fact that he had asked to see them during the middle of this Peter Cameron problem was slightly unsettling.

  Senator Hank Clark entered the Situation Room, and the president stood to shake his hand. When Stansfield tried to stand, Clark put a firm but comforting hand on his shoulder and said, “Now, Thomas, you just stay right there. A living legend like yourself doesn’t need to get up for me.”

  The president smiled and winked at Clark, approving of his gesture. “Would you like anything to drink, Hank?”

  “No thanks, Robert.” Clark and Hayes had served in the Senate together for two full terms. Hayes was on the Intelligence Committee when Clark was named chairman. Hayes preferred to be called by his first name when they were alone like this.

  “Are you sure? It’s no trouble at all.”

  “No, I’m fine. I might need one when we’re done, but until then, I think I’ll lay off the stuff.”

  “All right.” The president gestured to a chair on the other side of the table from Stansfield.

  Clark walked slowly around the table and unbuttoned his suit coat before he sat. Looking across the table, he asked, “Thomas, how are you doing?”

  “I’m dying.”

  Clark grinned. “We’re all dying, Thomas.” Clark glanced at the president. “Aren’t we, Robert?”

  “That’s right. But not all of us have led a life like Thomas’s.”

  “No. In fact, I would say that very few have led a life like Thomas’s. This country owes you a great debt.”

  Stansfield seemed to soak the words in for a second and then said, “Thank you, Senator Clark.”

  Clark laughed at the formal use of his name. “Will I ever hear you call me Hank before you leave this world?”

  The corners of Stansfield’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Clark clasped his hands together, and his mood seemed to darken.

  The president noticed this and asked, “What’s bothering you, Hank?”

  Clark didn’t respond at first, and then, glancing sideways at the president, he said, “Robert, we’ve always been able to cut through the crap and talk straight to each other.” The president nodded. “We served on the Intelligence Committee together for years, and I always respected the fact that you put national security issues above party politics.”

  “And I’ve always respected you for doing the same.”

  “Thank you. I would like your word that you will handle what I’m about to tell you with discretion. Especially with reference to where you heard it.”

  The president’s curiosity had been piqued by the request. “You have my word.”

  “I am very concerned about what is going to happen with the CIA when Thomas leaves us.” Clark looked at Stansfield. “I think I know who you have chosen as your successor, and I approve. I think Dr. Kennedy is one of the best candidates for the job. And more importantly, if Thomas thinks she’s the best person, you will have my full support during her confirmation hearing.”

  Stansfield was relieved. Clark’s support of a Kennedy nomination was crucial. As chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, he was the key to getting someone through the confirmation process.

  “I am very pleased to hear this,” said the president. No amateur in the art of politics, Hayes was waiting for the standard tit-for-tat request. “What is it that you seek for this cooperation?”

  Clark acted slightly offended. “Robert, I took the chairmanship of the Intelligence Committee because I didn’t want someone politicizing the oversight process for their own gains. I’m offering my cooperation because I think Dr. Kennedy will do a good job, but even more importantly, I want her to succeed Thomas because I don’t think she’s corruptible.”

  “Fair enough. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  Clark waved his hand as if he were shooing a fly from in front of his face. “You know it takes a lot more than something like this to offend me.”

  “Yes,” the president smiled, “it does.”

  “My real concern in coming here tonight is twofold. When we were in the Senate together, Robert, there was a select group of us who felt our government wasn’t doing enough to battle terrorism. We took the very unusual and risky step of approaching the deputy director of Operations for the CIA.” Clark looked at Stansfield. It was he who had been in charge of Operations for the CIA at the time. “We thought it was time to take the battle to the terrorists. Diplomacy was getting us nowhere, military intervention was disastrous and it was time to use the third option. We placed our confidence in Thomas and gave him a blank check to launch covert operations against terrorist groups across the Middle East. You were one of those original senators, Robert. Unlike the others who were involved in that decision, you and I are the only ones who know exactly how successful Thomas’s group has been. Even with our success, however, it is paramount that the existence of that group remain a secret.” Clark looked at the two men while they nodded in agreement. “Well, I don’t know if it’s dumb luck, intuition, or if we have a leak, but we have a problem, or I should say you have a problem, Robert.”

  President Hayes did not like the sound of this. Clark was referring to the Orion Team, of course, and the thought of its existence being made public caused a wave of nausea to wash over the president. “And what is that?”

  “I met with two individuals from your party the other day. I informed Thomas of this meeting.” Clark looked at the director of the CIA. “For reasons that are not known to me, these two individuals are working feverishly to make sure that Dr. Kennedy does not become the next director of the Central Intelligence Agency.”

  President Hayes face was turning red. “And who are these two individuals?”

  “Secretary Midleton and Chairman Rudin.”

  President Hayes struggled to keep his composure. He bit his bottom lip and looked over at Stansfield.

  “What troubles me even more is that they think Kennedy had a hand in the assassination of Count Hagenmiller. I don’t want to get involved in how they know this, but I think it is paramount that you find out how they know and stop them from talking about it.”

  IT WAS APPROACHING midnight on Thursday. It had been an incredibly long day. None of them had slept. Rapp, Coleman, Dumond, and Kennedy all had heavy eyelids as they sat around Stansfield’s kitchen table. The director was asleep. After returning from the White House, he’d met with Kennedy in private. He filled her in on what he’d learned from Senator Clark, and she in turn explained what Rapp, Coleman, and Dumond had learned from picking through Peter Cameron’s life. Stansfield gave Kennedy her marching orders, and then he was out. He had to return to the White House in the morning for some very important meetings.

  As they sat around the table, it was Dumond who did most of the talking. He had recovered mounds of information from the PC in Cameron’s apartment and the laptop they’d found in his office at George Washington University. As for Cameron’s body, it was currently en route to an incinerator outside Baltimore. It had been taken from his office in a large cardboard box on a two-wheeler by a man in a brown UPS uniform. No one batted an eye. As an extra precaution, a man roughly fitting Cameron’s description would board a flight in the morning to Bogota, Colombia. He would use Cameron�
��s passport for the journey.

  “A lot of this information doesn’t mean a thing to me,” said Dumond. “If he has any classified material on these hard drives, I wouldn’t know it.”

  “Is there any mention of Midleton or Rudin?” Kennedy asked.

  “Yeah, but his database reads like a Who’s Who of Washington. He advised both intelligence committees and an unknown number of other politicians on national security issues. I mean, you could look through this thing, Irene, but you’d better plan on blocking out a week. Either that, or you’re going to have to let me get some help from the CTC. There’s just too much information.”

  Kennedy had already thought about bringing in some of her people from the Counterterrorism Center, but she didn’t like the downside. They had to find out if there were any leaks first. “We can’t ask for any help from the CTC, at least not yet.”

  “Well, I don’t know how you expect me to handle this. It’s going to take me a long time, and to be honest, this isn’t my specialty. I’m not an analyst. I don’t know these names like you do, I don’t see the issues or understand the agendas. I don’t have the foggiest idea who’s important and who isn’t. I’ve got the financial stuff nailed, but the rest of it is a mystery to me.”

  “For now, concentrate on anything that might link him to the secretary of state or Congressman Rudin.”

  “What about the money?” asked Rapp.

  Dumond had discovered two offshore accounts in the Bahamas totaling almost half a million dollars. “I spent more than an hour today trying to track where those payments came from, and I came up with zip.”

  “Should we let someone else take a crack at it?”

  Dumond was offended by Rapp’s question. “Listen, if I can’t find out where that money came from, no one is going to.”

  “I’m just asking.”

  “His body was still warm when you arrived.” Kennedy looked at Rapp and Coleman. “Did you see anyone leaving the building?”

  Coleman thought about it and said, “There was one woman entering the staircase when we got off the elevator.” He shrugged. “Didn’t get much of a look at her.”

  “Mitch?”

  Rapp thought of the woman he’d seen. The more he replayed the scene, the more he believed it was Donatella Rahn. The way she moved and the way Peter Cameron had been killed both pointed to the Italian beauty. Rapp knew he couldn’t tell Kennedy of his suspicions, at least not in front of the others. He owed too much to Donatella. He would have to arrange a trip to Italy and talk to her alone. No bosses, no official intelligence business, just two old lovers who owed each other their lives.

  Rapp shook his head and looked at Kennedy. “I didn’t see anything unusual.”

  “Well, I’ve sent someone over to grab the security tapes. We’ll have to sit down tomorrow and go over them.”

  “Good thinking.” One of the reasons Rapp liked working for Kennedy was that she was so thorough. Cameron’s sudden disappearance would eventually garner the attention of the police, and through some very simple detective work, they would discover that he had entered Funger Hall on the last day anyone had ever seen him but had never left. Not only was the killer probably on that tape, but so were Rapp and Coleman. They had been wearing hats and knew how to tilt their heads in such a way as to prevent the camera from getting a good shot of their faces, but still, they would prefer it if the authorities never had the chance to get that far.

  “So where do we go from here?” asked Coleman.

  “We all go home and get some sleep, and then we plow ahead in the morning.” Kennedy looked at Dumond, remembering there was one more thing she was supposed to take care of. “Marcus, Director Stansfield was wondering if you could create an offshore account in the name of Congressman Rudin and transfer the money from Cameron’s account into it?”

  Dumond rolled his eyes at the request. “Yeah, I can do it. No problem.” It was obvious that Dumond was less than enthused about the idea.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’ve put in a lot of hours on this.” Dumond waved his arm around the table to include everyone. “I was hoping we could get a little bonus out of the deal.”

  Kennedy thought about it for a second. “I’ll check with the director and see what he thinks. But you don’t think it will be a problem to create the account and move the money?”

  “No. I can have it done within an hour.”

  Kennedy had aroused Rapp’s curiosity. “How does Congressman Rudin fit into this?”

  “We’re not sure. The director and the president are going to have a chat with him in the morning, but it never hurts to overdetermine your outcome.”

  It was Friday morning, and the West Wing of the White House was bustling with activity. Word had quickly swept through the halls that the president was on the warpath. This didn’t happen often with President Hayes, but when it did, the members of his administration usually knew enough to stay away. Today, things had been complicated by two additional pieces of information. The first was that upon entering the Oval Office at 7:54, the president had called his chief of staff, Valerie Jones, and demanded that Secretary of State Midleton be tracked down and told, not asked, to get to the White House immediately. The second was that a very frail-looking Thomas Stansfield had arrived and was now in the Oval Office with the president. The president’s surly mood, his rather forceful request for the secretary of state, and the appearance of the director of the CIA had created an uneasy mood in the West Wing.

  White House staffers prided themselves on being in the know, but on this particular Friday morning, they found themselves in the unnerving position of not knowing a thing about what was afoot. As the word spread that something big was going down, the phones began to buzz. Valerie Jones, the president’s chief of staff, was being bombarded with questions from other important members of the administration. She also received a call from an old friend at the State Department, who wanted to know what was up. Jones answered honestly that she was out of the loop on this one, but she suggested to her friend that he make sure Secretary Midleton didn’t keep the president waiting. Jones received her first call from a reporter before Midleton had even arrived. The word was out.

  Inside the Oval Office, the president had calmed a touch. Seeing Stansfield in such obvious pain made him forget about his troubles for the moment. Hayes, like almost all of his predecessors, understood the importance of good theater. There were far more subtle ways to confront this problem, but that was not what Hayes wanted. He wanted to send a message. He wanted to make an example of the pompous Charles Midleton and put him in his place. Hayes knew full well that by the end of the day, anyone who mattered in Washington would know that the president of the United States had handed the secretary of state his ass, and it would be done without a single word being printed.

  Stansfield hadn’t been so sure about the president’s plan. There were many ways to handle such a meeting without anyone being the wiser. Both Stansfield and Senator Clark had entered the West Wing the night before without anyone other than the Secret Service knowing they were there. President Hayes explained to Stansfield that Midleton had already been warned to mind his own shop. His unusual cooperation with the German ambassador after the Hagenmiller assassination was bad enough, but his meddling in the nomination of the next DCI was indefensible.

  There was also a second meeting planned for this morning. The wheels for that gathering had been set in motion the night before. The president had called on two old and very close friends to make it happen. It would be held in private with far less fanfare than the first. The attendees were already downstairs waiting in the Situation Room.

  SECRETARY OF STATE Midleton was not a stupid man. He had tried to make several calls to find out what was going on, but since everyone else was in the dark, he got nowhere. He had managed to learn one thing from Michael Haik, the president’s national security advisor, and that was that the president was in as bad a mood as he’d seen him in for some time.
Armed with this limited amount of information, Midleton decided to make the trip to the White House without the accompaniment of any of his aides. Midleton entered the Oval Office by himself, his chin held high, trying to exude an air of confidence.

  President Hayes wasn’t about to stand to greet his guest, and Director Stansfield didn’t have the strength or desire to do so.

  “Mr. President, I came as soon as I could. What is wrong?”

  “Sit” was the single biting word that left the president’s mouth.

  The president and Stansfield were sitting in separate chairs in front of the fireplace. Midleton crossed the room and sat on a couch that was closer to Stansfield. “What’s wrong, Robert?”

  Hayes let the tension grow for a moment before speaking. Staring at Midleton with a look that would be impossible to mistake for anything other than disdain, Hayes said, “I think I should be the one asking you what’s wrong.”

  Midleton had racked his brain on the way over trying to figure out what he could have done to so anger the president, and he had only come up with one answer. It must have been his meeting with Congressman Rudin and Senator Clark. Until he knew for sure, though, he would keep his mouth shut. There was no sense in taking the heat for two wrongs. Using a more formal tone, Midleton said, “Sir, I honestly don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Charles, I worked with you in the Senate for more than a decade. I know when you’re lying.” Hayes stared at him. “What did I tell you before you left the White House earlier this week?”

  Midleton didn’t want to answer the question, and gave his standard evasive answer. “I don’t recall.”

  “You don’t recall.” The president’s fists were clenched as he mimicked Midleton. “Let’s cut through the bullshit, Chuck. I told you to mind your own damn shop and keep your nose out of the CIA’s business. Does that ring a bell?”