Vince Flynn - The Third Option

This time, Democrats and Republicans alike turned around to look at the chairman. An accusation as blatant as this was a rare event in the tiny committee room.

«Well, well, well…» interjected Zebarth. «Given the fact that Dr. Kennedy has been very cooperative with this body in the past, I am assuming that the exuberant chairman has some information that he would like to share with the rest of us before we continue down this possibly reckless line of inquiry.»

Rudin snatched his wooden gavel and gave it several whacks. «Order. The chair has not yielded. When I have, I will let you know.» From the righthand side of the bench came a chorus of questions. Each time Rudin tried to get back to Kennedy, a Republican would ask loudly, «Will the chair yield, please? Point of order, Mr. Chairman.» This unruly behavior smacked of the antics displayed on the Judiciary Committee, but it was very unusual for the Intelligence Committee. Even the Democrats seemed a bit miffed by Rudin's aggressiveness.

Kennedy kept her mouth shut and watched. Rudin's blunt question had her concerned, but she didn't show it. The Orion Team didn't exist, and she had nothing to do with the death of Hagenmiller. She would utter those falsities until she was dead. She could never admit any of it no matter how bad it got. The big question was whether or not Rudin was bluffing, or if he had been given some information. A week ago, she would have bet the farm that he was bluffing, but today, with the unknown leak lurking out there somewhere, she couldn't be sure.

With a red face, Rudin yelled over the din of protests, «Dr. Kennedy, answer my question! Did the CIA have anything to do with the assassination of Count Hagenmiller?»

Kennedy calmly looked up at the angry chairman and said, «To the very best of my knowledge, the CIA had no involvement whatsoever in the death of Count Hagenmiller.» Kennedy did not blink; she did not waver. She had just committed a felony. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.

The face looked familiar. It was hard to be sure because the subject's eyes were closed, but it definitely resembled one of the men he'd seen in Colorado. Scott Coleman looked at the computer screen and squinted. It was mid-morning, and they were in Marcus Dumond's apartment in Bethesda. With Kennedy's approval, the reigning computer expert from the Counterterrorism Center had called in sick. His orders from Kennedy were to assist Rapp and make sure that whatever he did, he didn't get caught.

It was not unusual for a person to die a violent death in Washington, D.C. It happened all the time. What was unusual about the homicide was the number of bullets fired and the fact that most of them were from silenced I weapons. Dumond had caught the story on the nightly news. The D.C. police were handling the homicide, and they had sent information to the CTC on the off chance that there might be a terrorist connection.

Coleman leaned over Dumond's shoulder. «Are there I any other photos?»

«Let me check.» Dumond maneuvered his mouse and clicked on an icon. With his high-speed connection, it took less than a second to download the second photograph. It was of the body lying on the street between two parked cars. «He looks like a pretty big guy.»

«Yeah, this guy out in Colorado was a house.» Coleman squinted. «I think this is him. Do they have a vitals sheet on him?»

«Let me check.» Dumond went to work. A short while later, he asked, «Will the autopsy report do?»

«Very nicely.» Coleman read from the new screen. It listed the deceased's name as Todd Sherman and said that he was six five and weighed two hundred eighty six pounds. «I think this is the guy.»

Rapp came in from the kitchen. «You think who is the guy?»

«This guy who was killed in College Park yesterday… I think he's one of the people who was involved in the hit out in Colorado.»

«Let me see.» Coleman moved out of the way, and Rapp bent over Dumond's shoulder. «Todd Sherman. Can you show me what he looks like?»

«Yep.»

The screen changed, and Rapp looked at the second photo, the one of the victim lying in the street. «How about a face shot?» The screens changed, and the first photo appeared. Rapp tilted his head and studied the photo for a second. «Can you access the Seven Dwarves from here?» Rapp was referring to the seven Cray supercomputers in the basement at Langley.

Dumond smiled «I can access anything from anywhere.»

«Great. Get me in there.»

Dumond slid over to a second computer and began typing. Rapp turned to Coleman. «I think I might know this guy.»

«From where?»

«It was an operation we ran in France. I received some logistical support from a guy who used to work for the Agency. He had this big fella working for him… he was massive. Big huge hands and a head you wouldn't believe. We called his boss the Frog.»

«I'm in,» said Dumond. «Do you want me to look up Todd Sherman?»

«Was that the name on the autopsy?»

«Yeah.»

Rapp thought about it for a second. «I doubt it's his real name, but we might as well give it a try.»

Dumond went to work. The computer came up with thirty-one Todd Shermans. «Do you want me to narrow the search?»

«Yeah.»

Dumond typed in a range for age and a brief physical description. The list was narrowed to eleven. Rapp and Coleman pulled up chairs, and Dumond began scrolling through the files. All but two of them had photographs attached, and the two that didn't were for a man in his sixties and another in his seventies.

«Try Kyle:' said Rapp. «That was one of his contact names.»

«First or last name?»

«I don't know. Put it in as an alias, and let's see what you come up with.»

Dumond did as he was told and said, «You're not going to like what we get back.» Surprisingly, the search came back with a matching request of 1,462 files.

«Shit.» Rapp leaned back and clasped his hands behind his neck.

«I bet there are more than a billion dossiers in this system.»

«Are you serious?»

«Oh, yeah.»

«How can that be?» asked Coleman.

«Easy. They have individuals from all over the globe in this thing, and it goes back at least a hundred years.»

«Let's work on the search criteria and see if we can narrow this thing down.» Rapp leaned in to study the screen and began telling Dumond what to type.

THE EXPRESS CARPET cleaner van drove up Garfield and passed the Washington Cathedral. After crossing Massachusetts Avenue and then Wisconsin half a block later, it started down the hill. Four blocks later, it took a right onto New Mexico and stopped in front of a large brick apartment building. Two men got out, and the third stayed behind the wheel. They were wearing leather gloves and light blue coveralls with the company logo embroidered over the left breast. Both men also wore baseball hats, sunglasses, and fanny packs. The shorter man carried a clipboard.

The two men stepped into the foyer of the apartment building, and the taller one picked up the security phone and began looking over the list of tenants. When he found the woman's name, he punched in the number for her unit and counted the rings. He didn't expect anyone to answer. The other man casually pulled a device from his pocket that looked like a cross between a gun and a fancy wine bottle opener. It was, in fact, a lock-pick gun. He put the pick into the lock and shielded his movements with the clipboard. In less than five seconds, he had the door open. The other man hung up the phone, and they entered the lobby. They walked past the elevators and took the stairs up to the fourth floor.

Before leaving the stairwell, they cracked the door and looked down the hallway; The only thing that could stop them at this point was a nosy neighbor. They had no idea who had hired them. It had been handled by a simple phone call and some directions on where to pick up the package. It was a dead drop out at the Tyson's Corner shopping mall. The manila envelope contained a brief bio of the target and a laundry list of things their unknown employer would like to know. It also contained ten thousand dollars in crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. Twice their normal rate, and considering who the target was, they felt they deserved every penny of it. They knew who the woman was. They had all seen her on TV. She was beautiful. In light of her job, they had decided someone with deep pockets wasn't too happy about a story she was working on and was probably looking for a little insurance policy. They had done this type of job before. Almost everyone had things they would like kept a secret.