The American. Andrew Britton

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СКАЧАТЬ highly unusual. Iran is denying all involvement, but I don’t think we can take that at face value, especially since they officially announced that they’re starting up their weapons program again. The timing is just too damn convenient. Besides, they had a better reason than anyone to take out the senator. He was their most vociferous opponent on everything from the acquisition of nuclear material to human-rights violations. One thing we do have is a tentative ID on the man who carried out the attack, and we can link him directly to Al-Qaeda. I sent that up to you earlier.”

      Director Andrews nodded slowly, his lips pursed. “I find this a little hard to believe. Why would they trust an American enough to bring him that far into the organization?”

      “Maybe they know what happened in Syria.”

      Andrews looked up sharply. “You said the ID was verified by this guy Kealey. Where is he?”

      “He just got back this morning. He’s looking at cell phone intercepts with Davidson and Kharmai right now.”

      “I thought he was retired.”

      The deputy director shrugged. “He gave it a shot. I think he knew it wasn’t going to last, though.”

      “Keep an eye on him,” Andrews warned. “I read the file, and I know what he did in Bosnia. We’re not trying to generate any publicity here, John.”

      “That was never proven, sir.” The director shot him a skeptical look, which immediately made Harper regret the words.

      “Just keep him in line, John. I appreciate what he’s done here as much as anybody, but we have our hands full as it is. I don’t need the Senate Oversight Committee jumping into the fray as well, okay?”

      Harper nodded and stood to leave, but Andrews waved him back down into the seat.

      “One more thing. I hear you have an analyst asking a lot of questions about Kealey. By that, I mean the same analyst you just mentioned.” Harper tried to contain his surprise, but the director noticed his incredulous look and gave a small, reluctant smile. “There is a reason I have this job, John.”

      Harper nodded. “Naomi Kharmai. She’s been with us for four years. She had clearance for the personnel file, so I gave it to her just to keep her happy. I told her not to take it any further, but I don’t know if she’ll listen. She’s pretty stubborn.”

      The DCI considered his response for a long moment. Finally, he said, “If you think it’s worth keeping her on this, then make sure she stays busy with the relevant stuff. As in, what happened in Syria is not relevant. Those soldiers officially died in a training accident…We need to be able to work with the military, and if that piece of misinformation comes out on our end, then they won’t trust us with anything else. And frankly, I wouldn’t blame them,” Andrews added.

      Harper was about to respond when the heavy mahogany door was edged open by a secretary. “Excuse me, sir, but you might want to turn to Channel 3. It’s about Senator Levy.”

      The confusion was evident on the faces of both men as the director scrambled for the remote control. An image appeared on the screen of a high-rise apartment complex that Harper recognized immediately.

      “If you’re just joining us, we’re here outside the Kennedy-Warren, an exclusive residential building on Connecticut Avenue, where officials from the Justice Department have tracked down the man suspected in providing information that led to the cold-blooded murder of Senator Daniel Levy last week. The man has been identified as Michael Shakib, a Congressional staffer with strong ties to the Iranian American community, who has—”

      “Jesus Christ!” Andrews screamed, his voice drowning out the excited anchorwoman. “How the hell did this get past us, John?”

      “The FBI is supposed to be keeping us up-to-date on these kinds of developments, but—”

      “Bullshit!” Andrews took a few deep breaths, resting his hands on one of the few empty spaces on his cluttered desk. Seconds passed, and the anger fell from his features. “Sorry, John, that’s not meant for you. I can see that they fucked us on this.”

      The DCI thought for a long moment before continuing. “You know, it might even work out better that we’re not obviously invested. I don’t see this ending well, not with all those reporters out there. All the same, get someone down there without making a lot of noise about it. Send Kealey, if you want.”

      Harper was in awe of the man’s self-control. “If I know him, sir, he’s probably already on the way.”

      “Make sure we have a part in this, John. Bring us into the loop. If we don’t know what’s going on, it’ll be easier for them to hang the blame on us.”

      It was a dismissal. Harper left the room quietly, grateful to leave behind the now-fuming director of Central Intelligence.

      Ryan had driven his BMW down from Maine rather than risk being stuck in an uncomfortable rental for the duration of his stay in Washington. He decided that it had been a good decision as the powerful 4.4-liter engine pushed the car north along Connecticut Avenue. He was quickly approaching the Dupont Circle underpass, a cell phone pressed to his ear as he expertly navigated the busy street with one hand on the steering wheel.

      “I got it, John. Talk to the guy on the scene, don’t make any noise…Fine, I understand. Here, talk to your girl.” He handed it over to a pale-faced Naomi Kharmai, who had to unclench her tightly balled fists to accept the outstretched phone.

      “Don’t let them brush you off, Naomi,” Harper said. “We need to know if this is on the up-and-up. If Shakib is the leak, then we’re getting somewhere. Don’t worry that we didn’t get ahold of this first—it’s what we do with it now, okay?” The DDO broke off to speak with someone else momentarily. “Call me when you have some details.”

      The phone went dead in her ear before she could respond. As Ryan shifted into fourth gear and punched the pedal, she slunk back down in the seat as far as she could go, absolutely positive that they would be dead long before reaching their destination.

      Connecticut Avenue outside the Kennedy-Warren was filled to capacity with emergency-service vehicles, fire engines, and the unmarked government sedans that belonged to the FBI personnel on the scene. Piles of dirty ice had accumulated at the curb, and the pavement beneath their feet was slick. A stiff wind whipped between the vehicles, making the temperature seem even lower than it really was. Ryan thought it was probably less than 30 degrees, making him wish he had brought more protection from the harsh weather than a worn, black-leather jacket. To make matters worse, he and Kharmai were forced to wait for five minutes while their identification was confirmed by the ponderously slow police officers maintaining the perimeter.

      Naomi was staring at an unmarked Chevrolet transport van that was at least 25 feet long. The rear doors were open, and Kealey could easily make out the switchboard inside, as well as a gasoline-powered generator bolted to the floor. The vehicle was surrounded by men in blue coveralls and body armor, each holding an HK MP10 down by his side, except for the few who carried shotguns chambered with entry rounds. The men were quietly conversing among themselves; some chewed gum rapidly, fingers tapping impatiently on the trigger guards of their automatic weapons. They tried to hide their tense faces, mostly failing in the effort.

      Ryan recognized the stress-relieving rituals and knew immediately that they would get the job done. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

      “Do СКАЧАТЬ