Vince Flynn - Act of Treason

Hayes smiled. “Well…if you change your mind and decide you need to get away from it all, just let me know.”

“I will, Mr. President. Thank you.” The president-elect took a sip of coffee and then asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. President?”

“For me?” Hayes grinned and shook his head. “I’m looking forward to retirement. Although my dreams of becoming a master model plane builder have been dashed,” Hayes held up an unsteady hand, “there’s still a lot of other things I can do. My doctor, who happens to be my old college roommate, tells me the Parkinson’s shouldn’t affect my golf game at all, which really surprised me. His explanation was very interesting. He said I’ve never been able to putt and since it was impossible for my putting to get any worse, there was actually a chance it might improve.”

Hayes laughed at his own humor and the others smiled.

“Can you believe that? One of my oldest friends. And I actually have to pay him to hear crap like that.”

Everyone laughed. Alexander smiled briefly and then stared at the man whose job he was about to take. “Mr. President, your attitude amazes me.”

Hayes shrugged and said, “What are you going to do? You’ve been dealt a bad hand. If you don’t laugh about it, it’ll eat you up.”

“I don’t think I’ve laughed…I mean really laughed in over two months.”

Hayes cringed slightly. “You’re situation is a little different from mine. I have a disease. A manageable disease,” he added in a hopeful tone. “It’s no joy, but I still have some good years ahead of me. Your situation is a little different. You were blindsided, and someone very important to you was taken away. Forever,” he added with a force that surprised everyone. “It’s hard to find any humor in that.”

“No, just anger, shock, and sadness.”

“Well…this might help.” Hayes uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “As you know, after the attack on your motorcade, the FBI launched one of the biggest investigations in the history of the organization. Homeland Security, Defense, State, NSA, CIA…everyone got on board to help, but the FBI was the lead agency. This is where they excel…the forensics, the thousands of man-hours it takes to run down every lead. Director Roach tells me he has kept you fully briefed on the investigation.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now here’s the part you don’t know.” Hayes pointed to Stokes and Roach. “They don’t know about it either. Homeland Security, National Intelligence, tearing down walls between the FBI and the CIA…that’s all fine in theory, and in the wake of 9/11 it actually looked like it might happen for a brief period, but it’s a pipe dream. It’ll never really work. Not in this town. Not with all the gotcha politics, and the journalists who care first and foremost about making a name for themselves. The FBI must follow the law and tread very carefully everywhere it goes. Lots of rules. Now the CIA on the other hand…they deal with a different crowd. And when it comes to international things…they can move much faster and in circles where the FBI would find themselves in over their heads. Agree or disagree with some of their methods, the CIA is much more suited to go up against an enemy that does not play by the rules. An enemy that’s willing to set off car bombs in Georgetown on a Saturday afternoon.”

Alexander looked down at the floor and slowly nodded.

Hayes continued. “After the attack on your motorcade, I sat down in private with Director Kennedy and told her to pull out all the stops. To put her best people on this…and once again she did not disappoint me.”

Alexander looked up, his eyes wide with hope. “Did you find out who was behind the attack?”

Hayes looked to his spy chief. “Irene.”

Kennedy set her cup back on its saucer. She’d only realized a minute before what the president was up to. She covered her mouth with her fist, cleared her throat, and got down to business. “Do you recall hearing about the man in the red hat during any of your briefings with the FBI?”

“No.” Alexander looked to Roach and Stokes to make sure he was remembering things accurately.

“The man in the red hat,” Attorney General Stokes said, “is something that has never been proven. As with any chaotic event, like the attack on your motorcade, there was conflicting testimony among the eyewitnesses. Several recall seeing this man on the street just prior to the explosion, but most do not. We culled surveillance tapes from all the local businesses and nowhere does this individual show up. We believe that he is…”

Kennedy’s gaze moved from Stokes to Roach. She was sure McMahon would have informed his boss of the meeting he’d had in Kennedy’s office less than twenty-four hours ago. The one where Baker had dropped the bomb on them. The two FBI men had worked together for a long time. McMahon would have called him immediately. She doubted, though, that the FBI director would have bothered his boss on a Saturday afternoon. It was a potentially crucial, but small piece of the investigation. He would have figured telling the attorney general could wait until Monday morning.

Stokes was sitting closer to Alexander. Roach on the other side. Kennedy watched as Roach’s face twisted into a frown and he leaned forward. Sticking his arm out to get his bosses’ attention.

“In an investigation like this,” Stokes was saying, “we have to be very careful…”

“Marty,” Roach said, “I have to interject something. Yesterday afternoon I was informed by the special agent in charge of the investigation that the man in the red hat does in fact exist. I was planning on telling you about it in our staff meeting on Monday morning. I had no idea the CIA was already pursuing this matter.” Roach’s basset hound eyes settled on Kennedy and his expression seemed to say, thanks for blindsiding me.

“As the president said,” Kennedy reasserted herself, “we operate under a different set of rules than the FBI. A special team headed up by Mitch Rapp has been pursuing this individual for almost a month. Last night their hard work paid off, and they found him.”

“Where?” Alexander asked eagerly.

“ Cyprus. A town on the western end of the island called Limassol.”

“Have we arrested him?”

Kennedy pursed her lips as she considered the wordarrested. Rapp had not briefed her on the specifics of the operation, but she doubted he had asked permission from the local authorities. “Let’s just say we have him in our possession.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Stokes.

The president laughed. “It means Mitch probably whacked him over the head and hog-tied him.”

“Are we sure he’s the right guy?” Stokes asked with great concern.

“Irene?” the president asked.

“Mitch says he’s one hundred percent sure this is our guy.”

“That’s good enough for me.” The president slapped his knee with finality.

“Are they still on the island?” Roach asked.

Kennedy shook her head. “No. They’re in transit.”

“Where?”

“They had a layover in Germany…” Kennedy glanced at her watch. “They’re probably somewhere over the North Atlantic right now.”

“I want this man put on trial,” Alexander said with absolute conviction. “I want these terrorists to see that no matter how well they plan, no matter how far they run, we’ll hunt them down and they will be brought to justice.”

Rapp’s eyes fluttered and then opened. He checked out his surroundings, not sure where he was for a moment, and then things fell into place. He rubbed his face and then stretched his arms over his head. Behind the cockpit was a small cabin with seating for twelve. Old, gray, worn leather first class seats had been installed in two rows. Four seats on the port side, four in the middle, and four on the starboard side. No personal DVD players or entertainment of any kind. It was a bare-bones operation. What it lacked in ambiance it made up for in space. Plenty of legroom and the seats reclined to a comfortable napping position.