mesmerizing thought.
He barely heard his wife's inconsequential ramblings on "her day" as he put down his briefcase, mixed a drink and escaped to his study and closed the door. He never told the woman about his day. She'd chat about it to her one-name, oh-so-chic glorified barber, who would tell another client, who would let it slip to someone else and the world would stop tomorrow. No, he never talked shop with the wife. But he did indulge her in just about everything else. But finger sandwiches indeed!
Ironically, Thornhill's home office was much like Buchanan's. There were no plaques, testimonials or souvenirs of his long career on display. He was a spy, after all. Was he supposed to act like the idiotic FBI and wear T-shirts and hats emblazoned with CIA? He almost choked on his whiskey at the thought. No, his career had been invisible to the public, but highly visible to those who mattered. The country was far better off because of him, though the ordinary folk would never know it. That was all right. To seek accolades from the great and ignorant public was the vice of a fool. He did what he did because of pride. Pride in himself, in his devotion to his country.
Thornhill thought back to his beloved father, a patriot who carried his secrets, his distinguished triumphs to the grave. Service and honor.
That was what it was all about.
Soon, with a little luck, the son would notch another triumph in his own career. When Faith showed up, she would be dead within an hour.
And Adams? Well, he would have to die too. Certainly Thornhill had lied to the man on the phone. Thornhill understood quite clearly that deceit was nothing more nor less than a highly effective tool of the trade. One just had to make sure that lies at work didn't interfere with one's personal life. But Thornhill had always been good with compartmentalization. Just ask his country club wife. He could initiate a covert action in Central America in the morning and play, and win, at bridge at the Congressional Country Club in the evening.
Now, dammit, that was compartmentalization!
And whatever anyone said about him within the confines of the Agency, he had always been good with his people. He pulled them out of situations when they needed to be pulled. He had never left an agent or case officer spinning in the wind, helpless. But he also kept them in the field when he knew they could carry it home. He had developed an instinct for such things, and it had hardly ever proved wrong. He also didn't play political games with intelligence collection. He had never told the politicians simply what they wanted to hear, as others at the Agency had-sometimes with disastrous consequences. Well, he could only do what he could. In two years it would be someone else's problem. He would leave the organization in as strong a state as he could. His parting gift. There was no need to thank him. Service and honor. He lifted his drink in memory of his late father.
CHAPTER 46
"STAY Low, FAITh," LEE SAID AS HE EDGED CLOSE to a window overlooking the street. He had his gun out and was watching a car drop a man off out front. "Is that Buchanan?" he asked.
Faith anxiously peered over the windowsill and then immediately relaxed.
"Yes."
"Okay, answer the front door. I'll cover you."
"I told you it was Danny."
"Great, then go let Danny in. I'm not taking any unnecessary chances."
Frowning at this remark, Faith went to the front door and opened it.
Buchanan slipped through and she closed and locked the door behind him.
They exchanged a prolonged hug as Lee watched from the stairs, his gun in plain sight in his belt clip. Their bodies shook together, and tears streamed down their faces. He felt a pang of jealousy at this embrace. It quickly passed, though, as he sensed the exchange of affection was clearly that of a father and his daughter; a reunion of souls separated by life's circumstances.
"You must be Lee Adams," Buchanan said, extending his hand. "I'm sure you regret the day you ever took on this assignment."
Lee came down and shook his hand. "Nah. This one's been a piece of cake. I'm actually thinking about specializing in this area, especially considering no one else would be stupid enough to do it."
"I thank God you were there to protect Faith."
"Actually, I've gotten pretty good at saving Faith." Lee and Faith exchanged smiles, then Lee looked back at Buchanan. "But the fact is we have one additional complication. A very important one," Lee added.
"Let's go to the kitchen. You might want to hear it over a drink." As they sat at the kitchen table, Lee filled Buchanan in on the situation with his daughter.
Buchanan looked furious. "That bastard."
Lee eyed him keenly. "This bastard have a name? I'd love to know it, for future reference."
Buchanan shook his head. "Trust me, you don't want to go down that route."
"Who is behind all this, Danny?" Faith touched his arm. "I think I have a right to know."
Buchanan looked at Lee.
"Sorry," Lee said, putting up his hands, "that's your call." Buchanan gripped Faith's arm. "They're very powerful people and they happen to work for this country. That's all I can really say without endangering you even more."
Faith sat back astonished. "Our own government is trying to kill us?"
"The gentleman I've been dealing with tends to go his own way. But he does have resources, lots of them."
"So Lee's daughter is in real danger?"
"Yes. This man will usually say rather less than what he actually intends."
"Why'd you come here, Buchanan?" Lee wanted to know. "You got away from the guy. At least for our sakes I hope you did. You could've lost yourself in a million different places. Why come here?"
"I got you both into this. I intend to get you out."
"Well, whatever plan you have better include saving my daughter or else you can count me out. I'll park myself inside her skin for the next twenty years if I have to."
Faith said, "I thought I could call the FBI agent I was working with, Brooke Reynolds. We can tell her what's going on. She could place Lee's daughter in protective custody."
"For the rest of her life?" Buchanan shook his head. "No, that won't work. We have to cut the hydra's heads off and then burn the stubs.
Otherwise were're just wasting time."
"And exactly how do we do that?" Lee asked.
Buchanan opened his briefcase and pulled out the tiny cassette tape from a hidden crevice. "With this. I was able to record the gentleman I've been talking about. On this tape he admits that he had the FBI agent killed, among other incriminating things."
For the first time Lee looked hopeful. "Are you serious?"
"Trust me, I would never joke about this man."
"So we use this tape to keep the hound at bay. He hurts us, we destroy him? He knows that. Then we've pulled his fangs."
Buchanan slowly nodded. "Exactly."
"And you know how to contact him?" asked Lee.
Buchanan nodded. "I'm sure that he's figured out what I did and is right now trying to deduce what my intention is."
"Well, my intention is that you call up this asshole right this second and tell him to stay the hell away from my daughter. I want it in blood. And I don't trust the sonofabitch, so I still want something like a company of SEALS outside her dorm room for good measure. And I still plan on heading up there myself. Just in case. They want Renee?
They go through me."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Buchanan said.
"I don't remember asking for your permission," Lee fired back.
"Lee, please," Faith said. "Danny's just trying to help."
"I wouldn't be in this nightmare if this guy had been straight with me up front. So excuse the hell out of me if I don't treat him like he's my best buddy."
"I don't blame you for feeling that way," Buchanan said. "But you called me for help, and I'll do whatever I can to help you. And your daughter. That I swear."
Lee's guarded manner relaxed somewhat in the face of this seemingly frank declaration.
"Okay," he sai
d grudgingly. "I admit you get points for coming here.
You'll get more points when you call off the assassins. And then after that we should get the hell out of here. I've already called this psycho once on my cell phone. I'm assuming that at some point he'll be able to narrow our location down from that. When you call him, it'll give them even more info to work with."
"Understood. I have a plane at my disposal at a private airstrip not too far from here."
"Your friends in high places?"
"Friend. Senior senator from this state, Russell Ward."
"Good old Rusty," Faith said, smiling.
"You're sure you weren't followed?" Lee glanced at the front door.
"No one could have followed me. I'm not sure of much anymore, but I am certain of that."
"If this guy is as good as you seem to think he is, I wouldn't feel too certain of anything." Lee held out his cell phone. "Now please make the call."
CHAPTER 47
THORN HILL WAS IN HIS STUDY AT HOME when Buchanan's phone call came in.
His communication link was such that the call was not traceable to Thornhill, if Buchanan was perhaps sitting at FBI headquarters. And Thornhill's phone also had a voice scrambler that would make voice ID impossible. On the other hand, Thornhill's people were working on tracing Buchanan's location, but as yet they hadn't been successful.
Even the CIA had its limits, what with the explosion in the field of communications technology. There were so many electronic signals flying through the air, it made it damn near impossible to trace a wireless call to a precise location.
The National Security Agency would be able to trace the call with its stadium-size circular antennae. The super-secret NSA possessed technological might that made anything the CIA had pale by comparison, Thornhill well knew. It was said that the intelligence the NSA perpetually swept out of the air could fill the Library of Congress every three hours, gobbling up avalanches of information-bytes.
Thornhill had availed himself of the NSA's services before. However, the NSA (the inside joke was that the acronym stood for "no such agency") was often difficult for anyone to control. Thus Thornhill didn't want to involve them in this highly sensitive matter. He would handle it himself.
"You know why I'm calling?" Buchanan said.
"A tape. A highly personal one."
"It's good doing business with someone who considers himself omniscient."
"I would appreciate some small bit of evidence, if it's not too much trouble," Thornhill said placidly.
Buchanan played a snatch of the earlier conversation between the two men.
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