Vince Flynn - The Third Option

Rapp had an advantage over most, though. He was an insider. He knew how the Agency operated, and despite all of their technological advancements, they were stil11imit- ed. If a person was proactive and paranoid enough, disappearing was easy. And Rapp was both. That was why three years ago, he had set up the Charlie Smith alias and paid eight-thousand dollars cash for the Jetta. That was why he kept it in a storage yard up in Rockville along with a few other items that might come in handy. Rapp had been the hunter long enough to understand that someday he might become the hunted. And when that happened, it was best not to waste time trying to buy weapons and steal vehicles.

As they passed under Interstate 495, Shirley let out a yawn. Rapp looked over his shoulder to see how she was doing. She looked back at him with her big brown eyes and licked her lips. Rapp had picked her up at 7319 Georgia Avenue NW. For a mutt, she was a good looker. The people at the Washington Humane Society had been very helpful. He'd asked for a medium-sized dog that was mellow and, if possible, didn't bark too much. They had brought him back to the kennels and showed him Shirley. She was part collie, part Labrador, and part something else. She'd been with them for three weeks, and no one had claimed her, which surprised the woman who was showing Rapp around. It appeared Shirley had been very well trained. When Rapp asked the woman how they had come up with the dog's name, she told him they went down a list of names until she responded to one. «It could be Curly, Burley, Hurly, or anything that sounds like Shirley, but I picked Shirley. She looks like a Shirley.» Rapp didn't argue. Shirley was fine with him. After picking her up, he stopped at a pet store and got a leash, some dog food, and a few treats to help woo her.

At Linganore Drive, he took a right off the pike and then took his first left onto Linganore Court. Rapp drove the car to the end of the street, turned it around, and parked. He grabbed Shirley from the back seat and went over to the walking path. It ran between two houses and into the Scotts Run Nature Preserve. The preserve consisted of three hundred eighty-four acres of wooded land overlooking the Potomac River in McLean, Virginia. The hiking trails were well used during the day and especially the weekends, but on a Tuesday night they would be empty. Rapp and Shirley «disappeared into the darkness and broke into a jog.

IRENE KENNEDY ARRIVED at 7:20. She had left Langley at six and stopped at home just long enough to make Tommy a bowl of macaroni and cheese and eat a salad for herself. After spending exactly forty-three minutes with her son, she handed him off to Heather, the teenager who lived next door. There was no need to brief Heather on the rules and numbers to call if anything scared her. They had run through the routine at least a dozen times. Kennedy set the security system and left, getting in back of the government sedan with her protector behind the wheel. The ride to Stansfield's house was filled with guilt and doubt. More and more, Kennedy was feeling like a bad mom. When she wasn't at Langley working, she was at home working. Tommy was spending a frightening amount of time glued to the TV.

The demands put on her time were growing with fewer respites between the flare-ups. The life of a single parent was hard enough, but with her job, it was nearly impossible. She didn't blame her ex, though. It was better that they had parted when Tommy was little. The man was out west and out of their lives. At least he would never get close enough to disappoint his son the way he had disappointed her.

Kennedy felt torn between her obligation to her son and her obligation to a very serious job. A job that saved lives. But something was going to have to give. She couldn't go on like this. Her work would suffer, and so would her relationship with her son. As they turned into Stansfield's driveway, Kennedy forced the thoughts from her mind. She needed to focus. The last thing her mentor needed right now was to worry about her. The car stopped in front of the garage, and Kennedy got out. She walked up to the front door, where she was met by one of Stansfield's bodyguards. Kennedy went down the hall and entered the study, where she found Thomas Stansfield sitting in his leather chair, his feet up on the ottoman and an afghan on his lap. She walked over and kissed him on the forehead. All things considered, he looked good.

Leaving her hand on his shoulder, she asked, «How are you feeling today?»

«Just fine, thank you. Would you like anything to drink?»

Kennedy knew he wasn't fine. He couldn't be. The doctors had told her the cancer was very painful. But that was Thomas Stansfield. He wasn't about to feel sorry for him- self, and he didn't want anyone else to, either. Kennedy declined the offer of a beverage and sat on the sofa across from her mentor. «Congressman Rudin wants me on the Hill first thing in the morning.»

«I’ve heard.»

Kennedy didn't bother to ask how. She'd stopped wondering years ago how the man got his information. «What else have you heard?»

«He wants to know if we were in Germany and, if so, if we had a hand in the Hagenmiller business.»

«And how would you advise me to answer that question?»

«Very carefulIy;» replied the older man.

«At the very least, I was planning on doing that.»

«I'm sure you were.» Stansfield thought about Rudin for a second and then said, «If he is so bold as to hold the committee in open session, you should answer nothing and politely refer him to me.» Stansfield frowned. «As much as he hates us, I don't think he would be so brash.»

«Neither do I.»

Stansfield pondered the question further and finally said, «You have to tell him that we had the count and his corporation under surveillance. Layout the same case that the president did to the German ambassador yesterday. Despite Rudin's deep hatred of us, we have enough allies on the committee to block him. Once they find out what Hagenmiller was up to, any interest in pursuing the matter further will die.»

Kennedy wasn't so sure. «Maybe we could have the president call him? Rudin is a party man through and through. He'll do whatever President Hayes asks of him.»

Stansfield shook his head. «No. I want the president kept out of this. It's become far too murky. We can handle it on our own.»

Kennedy reluctantly agreed and then said. «We're missing something here.»

«In regard to Rudin?»

«In regard to the whole thing.» Kennedy stared out the window. «I don't know… there are leaks we haven't identified. Someone is out there working against us, and for what reason I still haven't figured out.»

«I'm working on that.»

«Do you have any ideas?»

«It's all a question of motive, Irene.»

«Motive for what?»

«Did you know that Rudin and Midleton met with Senator Clark at Congressional Country Club this morning?»

«N.»' Once again, he amazed her with his network of informants.

«They had breakfast together.»

«What did they discuss?»

«I don't know, but I do know their motives. Rudin despises me personally and would like nothing more than to see me take my last breath. Midleton and I are cordial, I but he would like to have more of a say in what the CIA is up to.»

«What about Clark?»

Stansfield adjusted the afghan on his lap and thought about the question. «I'm not sure about Senator Clark. For the most part, he has always been good to us, but I sense no loyalty in the man. In the end, I think he is looking to serve only himself.»

«What are they after?»

Stansfield looked at Kennedy and decided it was time.

«We need to discuss something.»

Kennedy tensed a bit.» All right.»

«I've spoken to the president, and he has agreed that you will be his nominee to succeed me as DCI.»