by Vince Flynn
Pointing at the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the president said, “General, put your best people on this, and give me some options. I want to be prepared to move at a moment’s notice if needed.”
“Whoa,” cautioned Valerie Jones. “Let’s slow down a bit. Don’t you think we should explore some diplomatic options? We’ve made a lot of progress with the North Koreans lately. Maybe we could put some pressure on them to pull their people out. I mean, hell, we have an awfully big aid package we can hold over their heads.” Jones stopped when the president started shaking his head.
“We’re not going to call North Korea, we’re not going to call Saddam, the Jordanians or the Saudis, and we most definitely are not going to call the U.N. If Saddam gets the slightest whiff that we’re on to him, it’s over. He’ll move those bombs, and we’re back to square one.” The president shook his head. “No. We’ve given him enough chances. He’s been told to stop pursuing weapons of mass destruction, and he has ignored the international community at every turn. This time he gets no warning. Those bombs have to be taken out.”
8
MARYLAND, TUESDAY MORNING
Congressman Albert Rudin walked through the men’s locker room of the Congressional Country Club with a white towel thrown over his shoulder and a pair of shower sandals on his feet. Rudin grew up in the days where swimming at the YMCA required literally nothing. Swimsuits were not just optional, they were forbidden. A towel was for drying oneself, not wearing. Consequently the sixty-eight-year-old politician from Stamford, Connecticut, was not shy about parading through the locker room buck naked. Gravity had taken its toll over the years, and his skin hung loose from his bony runner’s body. It was not a pretty sight.
Rudin normally worked out at the congressional gym on the Hill, but today he wanted to talk to one of his colleagues from the Senate, and he wanted to do so in private. That was why he had requested that his friend meet him in the steam room of the golf club. The locker room was a virtual ghost town from November to March every year, and that was what Rudin wanted. A recent string of events in his life had caused him to reassess who his allies were. Rudin opened the door to the steam room and stood there for approximately five seconds. His purpose was to let enough steam out and make sure no one was lurking in the room.
Finally satisfied that he was alone, he entered the room and laid his towel down on the tile bench. With great deliberation he began kneading his loose skin as if he were working some lethal poison from his pores. Representative Albert Rudin was a cranky, crass old politician who was having a very bad year. The worst he could remember in a long time, and it was all the fault of a centrist president who had turned his back on the base of his party. Albert Rudin had been a loyal soldier to the Democratic Party for over thirty years, and this just wasn’t fair. All he was trying to do was his job.
Rudin was the chairman of the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence. It had been his one request for all of his hard work. It was not much to ask for. The House Intelligence Committee wasn’t one of Washington’s glory jobs. Most of their meetings were conducted behind closed doors, and rarely were cameras ever allowed in the hearing room. If Rudin had been greedy like the others he would have asked to sit on the Appropriations or Judicial committees. But he hadn’t. He had simply asked to run the Intelligence Committee. All he wanted to do was serve his party. It was Albert Rudin’s goal in life to see the CIA shut down and dismantled. In his mind there was no bigger waste in the federal budget than the black hole that was known as Langley.
They spent billions a year on gathering intelligence, and what did the government get in return? Nothing. The vaunted CIA had failed to predict the two most significant events of the last twenty years: the fall of the Soviet Union and Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait. Rudin sometimes felt like he was losing his mind. It seemed that the more vociferously he pointed out Langley’s failures, the more people shunned him. It drove him nuts. It was right there for all to see. The CIA had been feeding them grossly overestimated reports on the Soviet economy and military preparedness for years, and in Rudin’s keen mind there was only one reason for them to do so. The CIA and the Pentagon were conspiring against their own government. They didn’t want their budgets cut so they went out and grossly exaggerated the strength of the Evil Empire.
Rudin wiped a thick layer of sweat from his face and cleared his throat with a rumbling hack. Turning to the far corner, he deposited his spit with a well-aimed shot. It was probably that damn Reagan’s fault, Rudin thought. Reagan was to blame for most things in Rudin’s mind. If there was ever a face that could be put on evil it would be that of Ronald Reagan. Rudin had little doubt that the former president had directed the CIA and the Joint Chiefs to inflate the Soviet Union’s numbers so they could get the budget increases they were after. After Reagan it had been his successor Bush, a former director of the CIA, who had decided to cozy up to Saddam Hussein. The maniacal leader went from being a trusted ally to enemy number one overnight. It was just another example of how duplicitous and incompetent the CIA was.
Rudin was right. He knew it in his deepest being. The others were wrong. Even members of his party had turned their back on him and it was all because of that damn Thomas Stansfield and President Hayes. At least Stansfield was dead, but that didn’t solve his problems. Now he had Kennedy to deal with. He had to figure out some way to stop her. She couldn’t be allowed to take over at the CIA. They needed someone who would go in there and tear the roof off, exposing all of the vermin to the light of day. Rudin would take great pleasure in watching them scurry for cover. He needed someone he could trust as director. He needed someone who would cooperate with his committee when he held hearings. He needed someone who would clean house.
Kennedy was not the answer, but his hands were tied. Just weeks earlier, he had received the most vicious ass-chewing of his life at the hands of President Hayes. The rest of the party leadership had been present for the event. In Rudin’s mind it had all been unwarranted. All he had been trying to do was stop Thomas Stansfield from turning the reins of power at the CIA over to Irene Kennedy. The only thing that would accomplish would be to replace one liar with another, and Rudin had been lied to enough. Thomas Stansfield was probably the most adept liar Washington had ever seen. He had been lying to Rudin’s committee for the better part of two decades, and Rudin now thanked God every morning that Stansfield was finally dead.
That, however, didn’t help the fact that the president had announced Dr. Kennedy as his successor. Rudin had tried to prevent that. During Stansfield’s final days, Rudin had met with Senator Hank Clark, the chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee and Secretary of State Charles Midleton. Midleton was a good fellow Democrat who shared Rudin’s concerns about the CIA. It was an agency run amok, an agency that was continually getting in the way of diplomatic relations and negotiations. It was in Midleton’s best interest to replace Stansfield with someone who was not so loyal to the CIA. This common bond against the CIA was why they had asked to meet with Senator Clark. Clark was a Republican after all, and in charge of the very committee that would have to confirm or block Kennedy’s nomination. He was their trump card in torpedoing her career. Clark was really the only Republican that Rudin could count as a friend, the only one who he could actually tolerate.
Rudin felt that they could reason with Clark. Show him why it was in his best interest, in the Republicans’ best interest to kill Kennedy’s nomination before it ever got to his committee. Clark had been sympathetic, but ultimately uncooperative, and that left Rudin and Midleton to stop the changing of the guard. Rudin’s first move was to call Kennedy before his committee in an attempt to catch her in a lie. At the same time Secretary of State Midleton began to use his significant resources and clout to undermine the support for Kennedy.
Disaster struck when somewhere along the way, the president found out what they were up to. Unknown to Rudin, Secretary Midleton and President Hayes didn’t have the best of relationships.
Apparently a deal had been struck during the campaign. Midleton, a senator at the time, had finished third in three consecutive primaries. Midleton came to Hayes, the party’s front-runner, and offered to bow out of the race and throw his support behind Hayes. Like all things in politics, Midleton’s offer came with some strings. No, he didn’t want to be vice president. Midleton didn’t like his odds of eventually becoming president if he took that post. Secretary of state was a much more glamorous post, and one where if the need ever arose, he could distance himself from President Hayes.
Midleton never quite got it through his head that Hayes was now his boss. The arrogant secretary of state had been caught and warned several times for sticking his nose in other departments’ business. President Hayes had very clearly warned him that he was to stay out of the CIA’s business. It appeared Hayes had found out that Midleton had ignored his orders and was attempting to undermine Irene Kennedy’s career. President Hayes hit the roof. He called Midleton to the White House and forced him to resign on the spot.
Midleton was not the only person the president had been angry with that day. Literally minutes later Rudin had been escorted into the Situation Room by the speaker of the House. When the president entered the room Rudin knew something was horribly wrong. He didn’t know President Hayes was capable of such anger. In a screaming match, Hayes told Rudin that who he chose to become the next director of the CIA was none of his goddamn business and if he heard another peep out of him, he would do everything in his considerable power to strip him of his chairmanship and make sure he suffered a humiliating defeat in his next reelection. Rudin had left the meeting in utter shock.
That night he received a phone call. The person on the other end informed him that Secretary of State Midleton had committed suicide. Before Rudin could respond, before he could take a breath, in the time it took him to blink his eyes he became terrified. Albert Rudin had been around Washington too long to think that Charles Midleton would kill himself out of embarrassment. The man was vain, but come on. To end your life over being forced to resign, especially so early in an administration? If Hayes floundered as president, it would have made Midleton look like the smart guy for getting out. There had to be something more to it, and in Albert Rudin’s mind that something more was Thomas Stansfield. Rudin felt it way down in his creaky old bones. Midleton had been murdered. He had been killed by Stansfield for something that he had done, or tried to do. It had been his final warning to all his enemies before he died. Don’t mess with Irene Kennedy.
In the weeks since Midleton’s alleged suicide, Rudin had spoken to no one of his suspicions. But now that Stansfield was dead, he was going to begin making some inquiries. He had to. There was no way after all these years that he could quit the fight against the CIA. His own party had turned his back on him. They had moved to the center with that smug bastard Hayes leading the charge. Sure their polling numbers were up, but those could change overnight. He needed to stay true to the core beliefs of the party. The CIA needed to be reined in, and if it cost him his job, so be it. He needed to do what was right. The soothing combination of hot steam and an overwhelming sense of righteousness gave Rudin the belief that he could do it, that he could do anything. If he just stayed the course, he would find a way, and President Hayes would be made to pay.
THE DOOR to the steam room opened, revealing the silhouette of a big man in a white towel. Senator Hank Clark, being a bit more modest than his congressional colleague, had his towel wrapped around his waist. Clark swaggered into the hot misty room. Despite the haze of the steam, he easily picked out the cragged profile of Rudin.
“Good morning, Albert.” Instead of sitting, Clark began his search for the eucalyptus bottle. He found it on the top bench, and after shaking it, he went about spraying it in the areas around the steam jets.
“Not too much of that stuff,” grumbled Rudin.
Rudin went on to mumble something else, but Clark couldn’t decipher what was said, nor did he care. Albert Rudin was a chronic grumbler, and Clark had learned to ignore it. He had in fact learned to ignore many of Rudin’s irritating habits. The senator set the bottle down and then reclined his large body on the bottom bench across from Rudin. Clark leaned back, stretched his arms out and rested his back against the upper bench. After letting out a satisfying moan and taking in a deep breath of the eucalyptus-laced steam he asked, “What’s on your mind today, Albert, and why are we meeting in the steam room? You haven’t decided to come out of the closet, have you?” Clark had a difficult time suppressing his desire to laugh. He had thought of the line on the way to the club, knowing it would irritate Rudin immensely. The man had absolutely no sense of humor.
“I don’t find your humor very funny.”
Clark choked on his laughter. “I’m sorry, Albert, but I couldn’t resist. You’ve never asked me to meet you in the steam room before.” The steam jets kicked on, and over the hissing there was more mumbling from the other side of the room.
Rudin finally decided to enunciate his words and said, “You’ll have to excuse me, but I’m a little paranoid these days.”
“And why is that?” Clark began rubbing the warm water into his face.
“You know why.” Rudin’s words had more than a hint of accusation in them. He struggled over whether or not he should raise his suspicions over Charles Midleton’s suicide. After a brief pause he decided he needed to test the water a little. “I saw the footage of you at the White House the other day. How in the hell could you sit there next to that phony?”
“Which phony are you referring to? There’s an awful lot of them in this town.”
“The biggest phony of them all. Hayes!” The president’s name came out like a hiss.
Clark let his head fall back and looked up through the steam at the ceiling. “Come off it, Albert. There are far bigger phonies in this town than Robert Hayes.”
“Not in my book.”
All Clark could do was shake his head.
“How in the hell could you sit next to him and agree to Irene Kennedy as the next director of the CIA? How?” Rudin asked in exasperation.
“Albert, I don’t know how many more times I’m going to have to explain this to you, but I don’t see Dr. Kennedy as a bad choice.”
“Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re serious. What did Hayes offer you?”
“I resent your implication, Albert. He offered me nothing. I think you need a refresher course in civics.”
“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’ve been in this town long enough,” Clark’s voice took on a slight edge, just enough to let Rudin know he shouldn’t push it too far today. “The president has the power to appoint. It says so clearly in the Constitution.”
“I know,” snapped Rudin. “I’ve read it more times than you have. It falls under the Separation of Powers. The Chief Executive has the power to appoint and nominate and the Senate has the power to confirm. The fundamental principal is separate but equal,” hissed Rudin. “You have every right, no, you have a duty to block Irene Kennedy’s nomination.”
“In the Senate we have something that you and your friends in the House are unfamiliar with. It’s called decorum. When the president appoints someone to a position we almost always give him his choice unless there is some skeleton in their closet.”
“Well, I think you’d better take a look in Kennedy’s closet, because it’s full of them.”
“And what proof do you have of that?”
Rudin leaned forward. “Oh, come off it. You know exactly what I mean. She’s so dirty she’s got shit coming out of her ears.”
This was not easy for Clark. The logical side of him wanted to slice Rudin’s weak arguments to shreds, but he had to suppress that desire. The goal here was to make him even more resolute. Not to give him reason to rethink. But at the same time, Rudin couldn’t know he was being played. Clark had done a masterful job thus far. He had been the one who had told President Hayes that
Rudin and Midleton were plotting against him and his choice to be the next DCI. Fortunately for Clark, Rudin hadn’t the slightest idea that his friend in the Senate had betrayed him. His overwhelming paranoia of Thomas Stansfield had caused him to attribute almost every bad event in his political life to the now dead spymaster.
Clark now leaned forward. The two men were eye to eye, three short feet separating them. “You are very quick to point out, Albert, that it is in my power as a senator to confirm or block the president’s nominee, but you very conveniently leave out the fact that your committee has the power to investigate. If you think Irene Kennedy is corrupt, then investigate her.” Clark stared through the steam at Rudin’s deep-set eyes, waiting for the inevitable. The senator knew Rudin had no choice but to back down. There was nowhere else for him to go, and then Clark would have him exactly where he wanted him.
Rudin blinked as a bead of sweat dropped from his brow down onto his prominent nose. It hung there on the tip for a second and then slowly broke free. Rudin sat back and wildly waved a hand in front of him, signaling to Clark what he thought of his idea. “I can’t do that,” was his terse reply.
“Why not?” egged Clark.
“I told you what happened. I told you what the president and the party leadership said. I’d be done. My career would be over. They’d strip me of my chairmanship, and I’d never be heard from again.”
Clark could feel it coming together. He smiled openly. “I find it impossible to believe that they could silence you.”
“You weren’t there when they let me have it. Hayes threatened me.” Rudin pointed to himself. “He said he’d make it his personal goal in life to see that I was defeated during the next election.”