Act of Treason

by Vince Flynn

  Satisfied with the current forecast he spun the wheel and clicked on one of his saved Web sites. It was an online auction site that specialized in old motorcycles. Garret had a couple of bids he needed to check. One of them was going to shut down the bidding at 10:00 p.m. this evening. As he was looking at the most recent bid the BlackBerry beeped and then a number one appeared in his in-box. Suddenly, three more messages appeared. Garret opened the in-box and saw that the first message was a news alert from the Drudge Report. The other three were from other news services. Something was brewing. Garret clicked on the link and a moment later was staring at the bare bones home page of the Drudge Report. The headline across the top read, “President to Hold Noon Press Conference. CIA Director Expected to Step Down.”

  Garret pumped his fist up and down and hit the speed dial button for Mark Ross.

  Ross answered on the second ring. “Yes?”

  “How did it go at Langley?”

  “She’s dead and she doesn’t even know it.”

  “I think she does now.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Drudge is reporting that the president is going to hold a noon press conference.”

  “About?”

  “He says Kennedy is going to resign.”

  “You’re kidding!” Ross’s voice was filled with excitement.

  “Nope. Can you believe it? It took less than a day and you barely had to lift a finger.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the hotel. I’m meeting some clown from Indiana who thinks he’s going to be their next governor.”

  “Keep it short. I’ll meet you in the bar at noon. We’ll watch it together. I can’t wait to see the dejected look on Kennedy’s face.”

  “See you there.” Garret hung up just as his 11:30 came strolling into the lobby. The guy had to be six foot six. That was the first thing he noticed. The second was that he had the most pronounced Adam’s apple he’d ever seen. Unless the people of Indiana wanted a governor who looked like a stork, this guy didn’t stand a chance.

  45

  WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, DC

  P resident Hayes was as relieved as Kennedy had ever seen him. After she’d finished the PowerPoint presentation, he admitted that he’d feared the worst when he’d read the piece in the Times. For obvious reasons he did not want his administration to end with a scandal. Instead, he was going to leave on a high note. Gazich was guilty. There was no doubt about it. The Greek government had just this morning filed their official protest at the U.N. They’d jumped the gun and were about to find that out in a very public manner and, best of all, his critics and foes were going to have to eat crow.

  Rapp’s idea to hold a press conference had been an easy sell for Kennedy. The president couldn’t wait to turn the tables on The New York Times. Not only was he going out on a high note, he was going to be able to do what few presidents got the chance to do, and that was rub the press’s face in their own mistake. Rapp had been right when he’d told Kennedy that this was going to be fun. Her amusement, however, had been brief. Kennedy was filled with dread over how far-reaching the scandal might be, and she’d decided to share none of her deeper suspicions with the president. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, it was that she needed some proof. So far all she had were some very embarrassing photos, a theory, a deep distrust of Mark Ross and the fear that Josh Alexander was so power hungry he’d had his own wife killed to win the election.

  Kennedy stood in the small hallway just outside the White House Press Room with Juarez at her side. She wanted him there so she could give the Clandestine Service some much deserved positive publicity. For Kennedy there was no time to celebrate. She was worried about the larger picture. Worried about the truth that Rapp might discover. A truth that would destroy a nation’s confidence in its elected officials and damage for decades to come America’s international standing. Kennedy needed to be absolutely sure of what had happened and she needed to find out before Alexander and Ross took their oaths.

  Kennedy’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw it was Rapp. She pressed the talk button and asked, “How did it go?”

  “She had no idea they were having an affair.”

  “You believe her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she confirm that she was the one who ordered him to ride in the second car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmmm.” Kennedy wondered if they’d just hit their first stumbling block. Part of her wanted it to end right here and now, but another part of her wanted to prove that her instincts were right.

  “But, get this,” Rapp said. “Garret was the one who told her to make sure Cash and the wife went in the second limo. She said Garret told her the wife had specifically requested Cash.”

  “And there’s no way of proving if she did or didn’t.”

  “There is one way.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll grab that little piece of shit Garret and threaten to pluck his eyeballs out with my bare hands.”

  “Mitch, we can’t go around doing stuff like that.” Kennedy glanced to her right and then left. “At least not without some more proof.”

  “Fine. But do me a favor. The president is going to have you say a few words, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Make sure you really play up the fact that we found certain records in Gazich’s office that have given us a good idea as to who may have hired him. Keep it real vague, but sound confident.”

  Kennedy looked up and saw President Hayes coming down the hall with his press secretary. “I have to go. I’ll call you when I’m done.” Kennedy silenced her ringer and stuffed it in her purse.

  “Are you ready?” the president asked with a confident smile.

  “I’m ready if you are, sir.”

  “Good, let’s go.” Hayes took Kennedy by the arm and led her into the cramped and hot White House Press Room.

  46

  WILLARD HOTEL, WASHINGTON, DC

  T he first thing Garret did was separate the stork from his staff. The five people seemed put off, but Garret didn’t give it a second thought. He walked the wannabe politician over to the far corner of the lobby, grabbed two chairs, and got down to business. The stork was a Baptist who attended church every Sunday, which in a state like Indiana was very important. Even more so for a Democrat. The family was loaded. Grandpa started out buying radio stations in the ’30s, Daddy added TV stations in the ’60s, and then further solidified the family’s fortune with a cable monopoly in the ’80s. In the ’90s, the stork, who’d graduated from Purdue with an engineering degree, saw the future and convinced Daddy to get into the satellite business. The company now had three communications satellites in orbit, and the family’s net worth was estimated to be somewhere in the five-billion-dollar range.

  The stork claimed to be happily married and faithful to his wife of thirteen years. He had three kids, no history of drug abuse, and no perverse habits that he would admit to. Garret told the man that before he would commit, he wanted to run some preliminary polls to see what the people of Indiana thought of him. The stork said they already had polling data, but Garret was adamant that he would need to do a poll of his own. The aspiring candidate would of course have to foot the bill. Garret would also hire a private eye to check for dirty laundry. It was a steadfast rule of his to have all potential clients investigated. He didn’t like surprises. He’d been burned one too many times by candidates with an over inflated sense of importance and a selective memory.

  Garret saw a Secret Service agent enter the main door. He vaguely recognized him as one of the agents assigned to Ross’s detail. The man stopped, swept the room from right to left with a robotic gaze, and then brought his left hand up to his mouth and spoke into a small microphone. Garret knew Ross would be coming through the door shortly, so he apologized for such a brief meeting and promised to call the stork early next week. Even if he didn’t need to meet Ross, he would have kept it short. He wasn’t a
bout to dither with a potential client.

  Garret saw two more Secret Service agents come through the door. One stopped to survey the guests while the other continued on to the elevator bank. A second later Ross entered the lobby. The murmurs started almost immediately. Those who saw him first whispered to the others and all heads turned to watch the party’s second most important person. One of the guests shouted something that Garret didn’t quite catch. Ross smiled and pumped his fist and then the other guests broke into applause.

  Garret set out on a course to intercept Ross midway between the door and the elevators. The stork called out his name, but Garret didn’t bother to turn around. The guy probably wanted to meet Ross, but Garret had no time for introductions or pleasantries. He wanted to get up to Ross’s suite and turn on CNN. Garret fell into step with the vice president–elect and his bodyguards and marched straight for a waiting elevator. No words were exchanged.

  Ross, Garret, and four agents stepped onto the elevator. When the doors closed, Garret looked over at Ross and asked, “How did things go out at Langley?”

  Ross kept his eyes on the floor numbers above the elevator door. Out of the side of his mouth he gave a one word answer. “Interesting.”

  Interesting, Garret thought. Interesting meant he had something to say, but he didn’t want to talk about it in front of the agents. They passed the rest of the short ride in silence. When the doors opened, another Secret Service agent was waiting for them. They walked down the hall to Ross’s suite where yet another sentinel was posted. The agent slid a card key into the reader and opened the door for Ross and Garret. They entered the suite where the smell of breakfast still hung in the air.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, Ross pulled off his suit coat and said, “I can’t wait to see the look on that bitch’s face when she’s forced to resign.”

  Garret already had the remote control in his hand and was working the buttons.

  Ross draped his coat over the back of a chair and added, “Maybe we should get the Justice Department to launch an investigation. If we’re lucky, she’ll end up in jail.”

  Garret frowned and made another attempt at entering the channel for CNN. “Be happy with your victory and leave it at that. The last thing we want is more investigations.”

  “You should have seen her this morning.” Ross placed his hands on the back of the chair and looked at the TV. “She was so smug. She sat there in her office with her damn expressionless face and told me she didn’t think it was appropriate to comment on the article. When I was her boss, she used to pull the same shit.”

  “What did you expect her to say?” Garret extended the remote, turned up the volume, and in a falsetto voice said, “I screwed up. I’m sorry.” Garret shook his head. “People like Kennedy…they always think they’re the smartest person in the room. No way she’s ever going to admit she blew it.”

  The image of the White House Press Room came on the screen. It was just the podium and the blue backdrop with the cutout of the White House. Next to the White House logo a large flat-panel monitor hung from the ceiling. The crawler at the bottom of the screen said the president was expected to make an important announcement. The CNN White House correspondent was reporting the speculation that CIA Director Kennedy was expected to announce her resignation.

  “No shit.” Garret laughed. “Isn’t this great?”

  “Yes, it is.” Ross flashed a proud smile. “This is real power. Being able to manipulate world events.”

  “Look,” Garret said, “here comes bobble head.”

  Ross snickered. Garret could be brutally funny some times. After President Hayes had rebuffed the campaign for the umpteenth time and made it clear that he would not be campaigning on behalf of Ross and Alexander, Garret had taken to calling him bobble head. It was a crude reference to the way the president’s Parkinson’s made him shake.

  “He must have taken his medicine this morning. He’s not shaking too bad.”

  “Turn it up,” Ross commanded.

  A series of escalating green bars appeared at the bottom of the screen while the president arranged his notes behind the podium. The expression on his face was very serious. Finally, Hayes cleared his throat and then grabbed the small mike pulling it a bit closer.

  “I’m going to make a brief statement,” he said, “and then I’m going to turn things over to Director Kennedy.” Hayes paused for a second to look down at his notes. “I have been blessed in my life to work with some extremely talented people. At the top of that list I would put the woman to my right.” The president stopped and looked at Kennedy with a paternal smile.

  Garret said, “He’s going to build her up before he drops the ax.”

  “Director Kennedy has been one of my closest advisors over the past four years, and she and her team at the CIA are some of the finest folks in public service today. Many of her successes you will never know about because they are classified. Her failures, unfortunately, often end up on the front pages of newspapers across the country and beyond.” The president stopped, his eyes floating over the press corps with an expression that was somewhere between anger and disappointment. “I would like to say to the country today that there is no one I have depended on more over these past four years than Irene Kennedy. I owe her a deep debt of gratitude. The country owes her a deep debt of gratitude.” Hayes stayed at the microphone, but turned to look at Kennedy. “I am a very lucky man to have worked with someone so talented and loyal.”

  The president stepped away from the podium and opened his arms for Kennedy.

  Garret shook his head in disgust and said, “You see! That’s what happens when you’re done running for office. You don’t give a shit who you hug. If he was up for reelection, there’s no way he’d be doing this. I’d bet he wouldn’t even be caught in the same room as her.”

  Kennedy stood behind the podium with empty hands. She looked decidedly smaller than the president, but she exuded a quiet confidence. Her straight brown hair was tucked behind her ears, and she was wearing a pair of diminutive black-rimmed glasses. A strand of small white pearls hung around her neck. She looked smart, classy, and in control.

  She looked straight at the press corps and said, “Since the terrorist attack here in Washington this past October, the CIA has been actively trying to identify the person or persons behind the assault on the motorcade. This past weekend a team of CIA operatives, after nearly a month in the field, apprehended a man on the Greek island of Cyprus. This man has been identified by The New York Times as Alexander Deckas, a Greek national. Just this morning the Greek government filed an official protest at the United Nations accusing the United States of kidnapping one of their citizens. The Greek government is demanding Mr. Deckas be returned immediately.”

  Kennedy looked to her right and gave a nod to someone offscreen. A second later the flat-panel monitor that was perched over her right shoulder flickered to life. Kennedy moved around to the far side of the podium, raised her right arm, and pointed it at the screen. A black-and-white image appeared on the screen.

  “This surveillance footage was taken at a Starbucks on Wisconsin Avenue only a few blocks away from the explosion that took place this past October. Based on the testimony of a Secret Service agent who was in the motorcade that day, we believe the man standing at the counter wearing the baseball hat is the person who detonated the bomb.”

  Kennedy raised her hand, pressed the remote and the screen split in two. The left half showed the Starbucks footage, and the right half showed a new surveillance image. “The picture on the right was taken at JFK the day before the attack. Using facial recognition software, these two photos were analyzed. Experts in the field concur that there is an eighty-plus percent chance that these two men are one and the same.”

  Ross’s eyes narrowed and he asked, “What in the hell is she up to?”

  “The man on the right entered the U.S. using a Greek passport and was traveling under the name of Nicholas Panagos.” Kennedy hit the remote
again and the screen was now split into thirds. “This new picture on the far right is of Alexander Deckas, the man we apprehended in Cyprus this past weekend. Using facial recognition software our experts concur that there is a ninety-nine percent match between the photo in the middle and the one of Mr. Deckas on the right.” Kennedy paused and looked out at the reporters assembled before her.

  A hand shot up and then a man stood blocking a good portion of the camera angle. The image on the TV quickly switched to show the reporter from the front. As he began to speak his name appeared at the bottom of the screen along with the newspaper he worked for. It was Sam Cohen, the White House correspondent for The New York Times.

  “Director Kennedy, are you denying reports that the CIA kidnapped Mr. Deckas from his home on Cyprus?”

  The camera angle switched back around to Kennedy. “I would use the word apprehended.”

  “So you’re not denying it?”

  Kennedy pursed her lips for a moment and then said, “No.”

  Cohen wrote while he talked. “Are you denying reports that Mitch Rapp shot this man four times, once in each knee and then again in both hands?”

  Once again Kennedy paused and then gave her one word response. “No.”

  Cohen had a look of surprised amusement on his face. “Were these injuries inflicted while Agent Rapp was torturing Mr. Deckas?”

  “They occurred during the apprehension of the suspect, but I think you’re getting a bit ahead of the story here, Sam.”

  “With all due respect, Director Kennedy, I think the torturing of a fellow human in any situation is an outrage. Our courts have repeatedly said the same thing. The torturing of someone whose guilt or innocence has yet to be proved is an utter travesty.”