Cameron, Marc - Tom Clancy's Shadow of the Dragon

Hendricks gave a cursory nod but didn’t speak, scribbling on her notepad. I’ll be with you in a minute … She let him stew, forcing him into the next move.

He stood to leave. “Seriously—”

“Sit down, Rask,” Hendricks said, without looking up.

He did, probably out of curiosity—or fear that she knew something.

“You’re not going to pin those kids’ deaths on me,” he said. “I’m not a hundred percent sure the two events are even related. Shoop could have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time and Murphy, don’t even get me started on her. Murphy was so far off the reservation, it’s—”

“Yeah,” Hendricks said, struggling to keep her voice calm, dispassionate. “Tell me about how she’d gone off the reservation.”

Rask began to air all his woes. Murphy thought she was smarter than everyone. She worked her own little operations without clearing it first. She didn’t keep her files current.

Hendricks had yet to look at her camera, and it was killing him. She tapped her pen on the paper, pondering. “Did Murphy ever speak to you in an insubordinate manner?”

“Her actions were insubordinate,” he snapped.

“And you had her followed?” Cafaro had volunteered that, illustrating the leadership tone in the office. “By Shoop.”

“I did,” Rask said. “And I’m not apologizing for it. Look, I didn’t have shit to do with those murders and you know it. I’ve already told everything that needs telling to my boss. I’m not going to sit here and—”

“Let me ask you this, Fred,” Hendricks said. “If you were going to spy for the Chinese, how would you go about it?”

Rask fell back in his chair like he’d been slapped. “What are you talking about?”

“Answer the question.”

“I heard you were accusing half the China desk of being spies,” he said.

Hendricks kept writing. “I’d like to know who told you that.”

He shot to his feet again.

Now she looked at him.

“I said sit down!”

Off-screen, Li spoke into a desk phone. Almost immediately, the door to Rask’s left swung open and a very large security officer stepped inside. Vlora Cafaro entered behind him. They said nothing, but it was apparent that they were there to keep Rask compliant.

Li gave another order over the phone, which was connected to the earpieces Cafaro and the security man wore. They both nodded and then exited the room, leaving Rask at once blustering and dumbfounded.

“I am not spying for China,” he said. “And if anyone says I am, they’re spewing bullshit.”

“But if you were,” Hendricks said, goading him, watching his reaction. “Hypothetically, how would you do it?”

“I said I’m not.”

“Okay,” Hendricks said. “Tell me who is.”

“Monica,” Rask said through clenched teeth. “So help me … I have friends. Your career is—”

“I’m on my way out the door, Freddie,” Hendricks said. “Retiring. No career left for you to screw with. Now answer my questions. And you may consider this a pre-interview for your polygraph.”

“So this is all about your mole hunt, not Murphy and Shoop?”

Hendricks bit her lip, fighting the urge to take the discussion in an unfruitful direction. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something this piece of trash did had gotten the girl killed.

Peter Li stepped in, giving her time to get her bearings.

“These are just questions we’re asking everyone with access.”

Rask leaned forward, squinting at the screen. “Who are you?”

Hendricks spoke again. “He’s the good cop.”

“Get to the point, Monica.”

“You sent the complaint regarding Leigh Murphy up the chain, trying to find out who she was working with, get that person’s ass in the wringer.”

Rask wagged his head. “There’s these things called protocols. Murphy and her friend broke them, I made a note of it.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“Of course.”

“Dole out some punishment?”

“Befitting the offense,” Rask said. “Look, I don’t see how it’s any of your business how I run my office.”

Hendricks made a show of pitching her pen on the table, like she was fed up. She didn’t have to act. “Who else did you talk to about it?”

For the first time, Rask squirmed in his seat. He knew full well that talking about operations outside a clearly defined circle of those who needed to know clearly violated his beloved protocols.

“No one …”

Hendricks scoffed. “Come on, Fred. You were pissed at this girl because she didn’t kiss your ring and seek your permission. Even you had to have some inkling that your expectations were chickenshit. Surely you confided in some buddy, a chickenshit soulmate who is equally as chickenshit, so you could, you know, feel better about yourself. It’s a lonely thing being the only turd in the punchbowl.”

Rask crossed his arms. “We’re done here.”

“Oh, Fred,” Hendricks said. “We are far from done.”

Peter Li spoke into his handset. Vlora Cafaro and the security officer returned to take up positions behind Rask.

Hendricks leaned forward, moving the mouse up to the invite button. A moment later, Mary Pat Foley’s face popped up on the split screen. She wore a silk blouse with the top button undone. Her makeup was perfect and a string of pearls hung just below her collarbones, as if she’d been called away from an evening out with her husband, or an important dinner with the President.

“Madam Director,” Rask said, trying to stand.

The security officer put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Ten minutes ago, the chief of station would have called him “ my security officer.”

“We’ve not met, Mr. Rask,” Foley said. “But I see you are a slow learner. It would be better if you keep your seat. I need to know who you spoke with concerning your troubles with Ms. Murphy.”

“Ma’am, I …”

“I can get POTUS on the line if you need me to,” Foley said. “But I’ve gotta tell ya, that would sink what little vestige of a career you have left.”

Fredrick Rask broke, as they say, like a cheap clay pot, giving up his confidant, a case officer on the Central Asia desk named Tim Meyer.

It made sense. What happened in China or Russia cast a shadow over much of Central Asia. The entire Silk Road had been home to traders and spies for centuries, and nothing had really changed.

Hendricks instructed him to board the next flight to Dulles. Vlora Cafaro would accompany him to be certain he didn’t try to contact anyone en route. The security officer took his cell phone and dropped it in a Faraday bag to block any emitted signals. Rask looked as though he might cry. Cafaro beamed. Exhausted or not, she was more than happy to bird-dog the man who would soon be her former boss all the way back to Dulles.

Rask’s portion of the video link went dark, leaving Hendricks and the DNI on the screen.

Foley glanced down at the legal pad where she’d jotted notes while Rask spilled his guts.

“You think this is SURVEYOR?”

Hendricks rubbed her forehead with a thumb and forefinger, trying in vain to tamp back her headache.

Peter Li rolled his chair around so he was shoulder to shoulder with Hendricks. “There’s a good chance we have him, ma’am. Monica is much too humble to admit it, but he’s been at the top of her creep list since we stood up ELISE. We were simply not aware that he had access.”

Foley patted the table on either side of her legal pad. “Okay, then. We need to catch him in the act.”

“I have an idea,” Li said. “There’s a risk, but if it works, we’ll have him.”

Foley reached to end the SVTC connection, but paused. “Call in David Wallace. Work out the wheres and wherefores and then get back with me so I can brief the President. In the meantime, I need to call and warn a friend that his cover could be burned to the ground.”