"Turn it up," Ross commanded.
A series of escalating green bars appeared at the bottom of the screen while the president arranged his notes behind the podium. The expression on his face was very serious. Finally, Hayes cleared his throat and then grabbed the small mike pulling it a bit closer.
"I'm going to make a brief statement," he said, "and then I'm going to turn things over to Director Kennedy." Hayes paused for a second to look down at his notes. "I have been blessed in my life to work with some extremely talented people. At the top of that list I would put the woman to my right." The president stopped and looked at Kennedy with a paternal smile.
Garret said, "He's going to build her up before he drops the ax."
"Director Kennedy has been one of my closest advisors over the past four years, and she and her team at the CIA are some of the finest folks in public service today. Many of her successes you will never know about because they are classified. Her failures, unfortunately, often end up on the front pages of newspapers across the country and beyond." The president stopped, his eyes floating over the press corps with an expression that was somewhere between anger and disappointment. "I would like to say to the country today that there is no one I have depended on more over these past four years than Irene Kennedy. I owe her a deep debt of gratitude. The country country owes her a deep debt of gratitude." Hayes stayed at the microphone, but turned to look at Kennedy. "I am a very lucky man to have worked with someone so talented and loyal." owes her a deep debt of gratitude." Hayes stayed at the microphone, but turned to look at Kennedy. "I am a very lucky man to have worked with someone so talented and loyal."
The president stepped away from the podium and opened his arms for Kennedy.
Garret shook his head in disgust and said, "You see! That's what happens when you're done running for office. You don't give a shit who you hug. If he was up for reelection, there's no way he'd be doing this. I'd bet he wouldn't even be caught in the same room as her."
Kennedy stood behind the podium with empty hands. She looked decidedly smaller than the president, but she exuded a quiet confidence. Her straight brown hair was tucked behind her ears, and she was wearing a pair of diminutive black-rimmed glasses. A strand of small white pearls hung around her neck. She looked smart, classy, and in control.
She looked straight at the press corps and said, "Since the terrorist attack here in Washington this past October, the CIA has been actively trying to identify the person or persons behind the assault on the motorcade. This past weekend a team of CIA operatives, after nearly a month in the field, apprehended a man on the Greek island of Cyprus. This man has been identified by The New York Times The New York Times as Alexander Deckas, a Greek national. Just this morning the Greek government filed an official protest at the United Nations accusing the United States of kidnapping one of their citizens. The Greek government is demanding Mr. Deckas be returned immediately." as Alexander Deckas, a Greek national. Just this morning the Greek government filed an official protest at the United Nations accusing the United States of kidnapping one of their citizens. The Greek government is demanding Mr. Deckas be returned immediately."
Kennedy looked to her right and gave a nod to someone offscreen. A second later the flat-panel monitor that was perched over her right shoulder flickered to life. Kennedy moved around to the far side of the podium, raised her right arm, and pointed it at the screen. A black-and-white image appeared on the screen.
"This surveillance footage was taken at a Starbucks on Wisconsin Avenue only a few blocks away from the explosion that took place this past October. Based on the testimony of a Secret Service agent who was in the motorcade that day, we believe the man standing at the counter wearing the baseball hat is the person who detonated the bomb."
Kennedy raised her hand, pressed the remote and the screen split in two. The left half showed the Starbucks footage, and the right half showed a new surveillance image. "The picture on the right was taken at JFK the day before the attack. Using facial recognition software, these two photos were analyzed. Experts in the field concur that there is an eighty-plus percent chance that these two men are one and the same."
Ross's eyes narrowed and he asked, "What in the hell is she up to?"
"The man on the right entered the U.S. using a Greek passport and was traveling under the name of Nicholas Panagos." Kennedy hit the remote again and the screen was now split into thirds. "This new picture on the far right is of Alexander Deckas, the man we apprehended in Cyprus this past weekend. Using facial recognition software our experts concur that there is a ninety-nine percent match between the photo in the middle and the one of Mr. Deckas on the right." Kennedy paused and looked out at the reporters assembled before her.
A hand shot up and then a man stood blocking a good portion of the camera angle. The image on the TV quickly switched to show the reporter from the front. As he began to speak his name appeared at the bottom of the screen along with the newspaper he worked for. It was Sam Cohen, the White House correspondent for The New York Times. The New York Times.
"Director Kennedy, are you denying reports that the CIA kidnapped Mr. Deckas from his home on Cyprus?"
The camera angle switched back around to Kennedy. "I would use the word apprehended." apprehended."
"So you're not denying it?"
Kennedy pursed her lips for a moment and then said, "No."
Cohen wrote while he talked. "Are you denying reports that Mitch Rapp shot this man four times, once in each knee and then again in both hands?"
Once again Kennedy paused and then gave her one word response. "No."
Cohen had a look of surprised amusement on his face. "Were these injuries inflicted while Agent Rapp was torturing Mr. Deckas?"
"They occurred during the apprehension of the suspect, but I think you're getting a bit ahead of the story here, Sam."
"With all due respect, Director Kennedy, I think the torturing of a fellow human in any situation is an outrage. Our courts have repeatedly said the same thing. The torturing of someone whose guilt or innocence has yet to be proved is an utter travesty."
"If the man was indeed innocent, innocent, and he had in fact been tortured, I would agree with you." and he had in fact been tortured, I would agree with you."
"You have shown us nothing that comes close to proving that this Deckas fellow was the one who attacked the motorcade and I can't conceive of a scenario where an individual gets shot in both knees and both hands while being arrested."
Kennedy's calm neutral demeanor melted into a playful smile. "That's because you interrupted me, Sam. It appears to be a habit of The New York Times The New York Times to jump to conclusions before gathering all the facts." to jump to conclusions before gathering all the facts."
The smile was what gave Ross reason to pause. It was the same smile one would give during a chess match when an opponent had stepped into your trap. Something was wrong. Her expression was not what he expected from someone who was about to be gang raped by the media. Ross watched as she turned back to the screen and pressed the remote. The photo of Deckas stayed on the screen and was joined by a second, younger photo of him.
"Mr. Deckas is in fact not a Greek citizen. His real name is Gavrilo Gazich, and he is wanted by The Hague for war crimes committed in the former republic of Yugoslavia. Mr. Gazich is a person of Bosnian heritage who is charged with killing over three dozen men, women, and children during the war. Five years ago he moved to Cyprus and set up a fake identity and a company that specialized in bringing aid to the impoverished nations of Africa. Based on information we found at his office and home, we are now looking into the fact that he may have been involved in as many as sixteen assassinations over the past decade. His targets included a United Nations official, relief workers, politicians, warlords, generals, and at least one reporter."
Garret tore his eyes away from the TV and said, "What the fuck is this?"
Before Ross could answer Kennedy continued. "Mr. Gazich has admitted his role in the attack here in Washington this past October."
"Was that confession made before or after he'd been shot in both knees?" The voice was that of Sam Cohen of the Times. Times. He stayed in his seat this time. He stayed in his seat this time.
Kennedy did not bother to look at the screen. She kept her eyes on Cohen while she hit the remote, bringing up two new photos. The screen was filled with two ashen-faced dead men. "While observing Mr. Gazich's movements on the island of Cyprus, the CIA team watched him kill these two men. We do not know who they are, but we have reason to believe they are Russian. We also think they were sent to kill Mr. Gazich so he would no longer be a liability to whoever it was who hired him to attack PresidentElect Alexander's motorcade.
"Here is a brief excerpt of Gazich's confession. I can't play all of it for you because he told us some things that we are still investigating." Kennedy pressed a button again and a typed transcript appeared on the screen of the audio. A second later, voices could be heard.
"How did you get into the U.S.? Be careful. Take your time to think this one through. You wouldn't want to lie to me."
"I flew into New York the day before."
"Which airport?"
"JFK."
"The explosives?"
"They were waiting for me."
"Where?"
"Pennsylvania."
"The state?"
"Yes, the state. Now give me my shot."
"Not quite yet. You're doing a good job, though. So you pick up the van, drive it down to Washington...when, on Friday?"
"No, I told you I arrived in New York on Friday."
"So you stayed in Pennsylvania on Friday night?"
"Yes...Yes! The van was waiting for me and I drove it down to Washington early on Saturday morning. I found my spot, I parked it, I waited, and then when the time was right I blew it up. End of story."
Garret stood abruptly. "This is all bullshit...right? I mean she's making this shit up. Isn't she?"
Ross had his arms folded across his chest, his fist balled up and under his chin. Without bothering to look at Garret he snapped, "Shut up, so I can hear what she's saying."
"Director Kennedy," it was Cohen again, "was that tape made before or after the suspect had been shot?"
"What's your point, Sam?"
"When someone has been shot in both knees and both hands and then interrogated, it's reasonable to assume that they would say anything to avoid further pain. That's called coercion. And if Mitch Rapp shot this man before questioning him there's not a judge in the land who is going to allow this confession into evidence."
"I don't know if you've been paying attention, Sam, but this is a pretty nasty business. You don't send a Boy Scout out to capture a monster like Gavrilo Gazich. You need to send someone like Mitch Rapp. You don't yell freeze, freeze, you don't flash a badge, you disable the man, so you don't end up like these two guys." Kennedy pointed the remote at the screen and returned to the photo of the two dead men. "As for your question as to whether or not the confession was coerced, I'll let the totality of the evidence speak for itself." you don't flash a badge, you disable the man, so you don't end up like these two guys." Kennedy pointed the remote at the screen and returned to the photo of the two dead men. "As for your question as to whether or not the confession was coerced, I'll let the totality of the evidence speak for itself."
Kennedy put a photograph of Gazich up on the screen. "This is the man who remote-detonated the bomb that killed nineteen Americans this past October. In addition to his confession, we have discovered some key evidence in his home and office that we think will lead us to the people who hired him. I thank you for your time this morning, and I'd be more than happy to take a few questions."
The room burst into a free-for-all as more than a dozen reporters burst to their feet and began shouting questions.
Ross quietly swore to himself while Garret let loose a string of profanity.
"What the fuck are we going to do?" Garret asked. "Those assholes said they were going to take care of this."
Ross stood motionless, with his arms folded and his fist looking like he might drive it through his own chin. Slowly but surely he began to tremble and his face turned crimson.
Garret paced back and forth before him. Ranting and raving. "Did you hear what that bitch said?" He stopped and pointed at the TV, as if Ross might think he was talking about someone else. "She said they have information. Information that is going to lead them to the people who hired Gazich! Did you fucking hear her?"
"Yes, I fucking heard her!" Ross snapped and then clenched both fists in front of him like he wanted to pound the hell out of someone. He stepped toward Garret and lowered his voice. "I tell you what you're going to do, Stu. You are going to get on a plane this afternoon, and you are going to fly over there, and you are going to tell those idiots idiots that I don't care who they have to kill to put a lid on this thing. I want anyone outside the immediate circle dealt with, and I mean that I don't care who they have to kill to put a lid on this thing. I want anyone outside the immediate circle dealt with, and I mean anyone. anyone. And don't take any shit from them. They promised this guy would be dealt with and they blew it, so I don't want to hear another word about a pardon until they have erased all possible connections between them and this Gazich guy. Have I made myself clear?" And don't take any shit from them. They promised this guy would be dealt with and they blew it, so I don't want to hear another word about a pardon until they have erased all possible connections between them and this Gazich guy. Have I made myself clear?"
Garret did not feel like getting on a plane to go anywhere other than California, but he knew Ross was right. They were too close to let this thing fall apart and Green and his associates couldn't be trusted.
"Yes, you have. I'll go."
47.
POTOMAC P PALISADES, WASHINGTON, DC.
K ennedy finished loading the dishwasher and dried her hands on a towel hanging from the refrigerator door handle. The clock on the microwave read 10:29. Her son was in bed, and a pot of coffee was ready to go. They would want coffee, even at this late hour. Kennedy walked through the dining room to the formal living room. She looked out the window to see if they'd arrived. A man was out walking his golden retriever. Kennedy recognized the dog before the owner. It was Rookie and Mr. Soucheray, her neighbor. ennedy finished loading the dishwasher and dried her hands on a towel hanging from the refrigerator door handle. The clock on the microwave read 10:29. Her son was in bed, and a pot of coffee was ready to go. They would want coffee, even at this late hour. Kennedy walked through the dining room to the formal living room. She looked out the window to see if they'd arrived. A man was out walking his golden retriever. Kennedy recognized the dog before the owner. It was Rookie and Mr. Soucheray, her neighbor.
Even though Kennedy loved her neighborhood, she had considered moving. Potomac Palisades was, in her biased opinion, the nicest area in Washington, DC. It wasn't the most expensive, or the most exclusive, but that was part of what made it one of the nicest. It was old. Good-sized homes with bigger than normal city yards. Yards that people mowed themselves. Kennedy didn't mow her own lawn, but instead of hiring a service she had one of the neighborhood boys handle the chore. In another year or two Tommy would be able to take over. Potomac Palisades was not a bedroom community. People knew each other.
Her mother lived less than a mile away in the Foxhall Village neighborhood. Kennedy had tried to get her to live with them, but the woman wanted her independence, and Kennedy respected that. The Palisades ran along the eastern edge of the Potomac river. With its rolling terrain and luscious growth it felt like a sanctuary far from the nation's center of power. In truth it was a straight three-mile shot from the White House. Four if you wound your way down the Potomac. The only reason she considered moving was out of respect for the quiet neighborhood and the nice people who lived there. The CIA made a lot of people nervous. In Washington the institution tended to be less polarizing. Pretty much everybody knew somebody who worked for the CIA or had worked for the CIA. When you saw those people pulling up to a soccer game or the grocery store in their minivan it took a lot of the mystique out of the job.
Being the director of the CIA was a slightly different matter, though. Shortly after she took over the top job, Langley replaced all the windows in her house with bulletproof glass and installed steel doors and door frames with overlaid wood veneer. They wanted to do even more, like installing a ten-foot privacy fence in back. She put her foot down and told them no. Instead, they landscaped, putting in pressure pads and laser and microwave sensors. A panic room had been built in the basement and the home was swept twice a week for listening devices. A bomb tech and his German shepherd checked her car every morning before she left for work. Next to the panic room in the basement they'd also built a security shack that was the nerve center for the extremely expensive security system. The house was as secure as they could make it without tearing it down and starting over.
After all the security precautions were implemented, another group at the CIA took it upon themselves to do a threat assessment on Kennedy. At the top of their list was the suggestion that she move to a location with a long driveway. The current house was a scant forty feet from the street. Any terrorist with a couple thousand dollars and a rudimentary understanding of chemistry could simply drive down her street and level her house. Welcome to the post-9/11 world. She was a high-value target and her neighbors were understandably uneasy that their peaceful neighborhood might become ground zero.
Kennedy's response was to shelve the threat assessment. She thought of the risks her father and stepmother had taken. Her dad had also worked for the CIA. He'd been the station chief in Beirut back in 1983 when a car bomb leveled the place. Her stepmother worked for the State Department. Kennedy's parents divorced when she six. Her mother, it turned out, wasn't cut out for the world of international espionage. Kennedy spent a significant portion of her teens and early twenties overseas. She'd lived in Cairo, Damascus, Baghdad, and Beirut before everything fell apart. Having walked the streets of Beirut with machine-gun fire in the distance and mortars going off only blocks away it seemed ludicrous to think that such violence could come to the tranquil streets of Potomac Palisades.
When President Hayes decided not to seek reelection, Kennedy put the decision to move on hold. When Alexander and Ross won the race, she banished any thought of moving. Kennedy was an exceedingly civil person. Always polite and rarely confrontational. She was a woman in a man's world, and she knew her mere presence could be threatening to the insatiable egos of the men who were drawn to work in Washington. Thomas Stansfield, her mentor, had warned her often about the perils of working for men who needed to constantly prove that they were right. Kennedy avoided most of the frays by staying respectful, but firm. She also avoided gossip and politics. She had tried to do the same with Ross, but there had always been signs that there was an agenda lurking beneath the surface. Nothing big, just little things, but the little things often spoke volumes about people.
For example, Ross was habitually late for every meeting. Kennedy remembered Stansfield telling her once that when someone is constantly late, they fall into three categories. The first, he called idiot savant. idiot savant. The type of person who is so smart in his or her field of expertise that their mind is literally elsewhere. In layman's terms he explained that these people were smart in school and dumb on the bus. The second category was made up of perfectionists, people who were incapable of letting go of one task and moving on to another. These people were always playing catch-up, rarely rose to any real position of power, and needed to be managed properly. The third category, and the one to be most wary of, were the egomaniacs. These were the people who not only felt that their time was more important than anyone else's, but who needed to prove it by constantly making others wait for them. The type of person who is so smart in his or her field of expertise that their mind is literally elsewhere. In layman's terms he explained that these people were smart in school and dumb on the bus. The second category was made up of perfectionists, people who were incapable of letting go of one task and moving on to another. These people were always playing catch-up, rarely rose to any real position of power, and needed to be managed properly. The third category, and the one to be most wary of, were the egomaniacs. These were the people who not only felt that their time was more important than anyone else's, but who needed to prove it by constantly making others wait for them.
Kennedy was worried. She looked out the window and checked for headlights. Rapp and Dumond had said they'd found some interesting stuff and they were on their way over. In the past she had always tried to keep her personal feelings separate from her job, especially when dealing with those who'd been elected to office. Ross was making that difficult. It was as if she'd seen him for who he really was, for the first time, this morning. The man had yet to take his oath of office. If he'd called and questioned her about the article, she would have understood. If he'd called for an appointment, she would have thought he'd had more important things to do, but would have accommodated him nonetheless. But showing up unannounced was peculiar. It was as if he needed to see her beaten down.
A pair of bluish white xenon headlights appeared at the far end of the block. A few seconds later a silver Audi came to an abrupt halt at the curb. Kennedy watched as Dumond and Rapp got out of the car and started up the walk. The younger man, Dumond, moved with a carefree gait, his attention focused on some small device he was carrying in his left hand. Rapp moved with an athletic grace. There was nothing herky-jerky or rushed about his movements. His head swiveled from left to right and then back, like a radar searching for potential threats. She remembered seeing that awareness when she'd recruited him all those years ago at Syracuse. Kennedy strode through the living room to the foyer and punched a code into the security panel on the wall. Somewhere behind the wall she heard the faint whirl of an electronic motor as it retracted three steel pins from the door.
Kennedy opened the door and immediately noticed a puzzled look on Dumond's face. "What's wrong?"
"I'm not sure. I'll know more in a minute." He stepped into the foyer and kept tapping the keys of a very small laptop.
Rapp closed the door and kissed Kennedy on the cheek. "Tommy in bed?"
"Yes. He has school in the morning."
Rapp took off his coat and handed it to Kennedy. Dumond was too focused on his computer to bother removing his jacket and continued down the hall toward the smell of coffee. Rapp and Kennedy followed him.
"Would anyone like coffee?" Kennedy asked.
"Please." Rapp backed up against the black soapstone counter and placed his hands on the edge. He looked at Dumond, who hadn't answered Kennedy, and said, "Hey, dip shit?"
Dumond tore his eyes away from the small screen and said, "Huh?"
"Coffee?"
"Sure."
"How about 'please'?" Rapp prodded.
"Please," Dumond said without taking his eyes off the screen. "With cream and sugar."
Kennedy poured two cups and took the cream from the fridge. She handed one cup to Rapp. "So what have you learned?" She placed the other cup on the table next to the cream and slid the sugar bowl over.
"So far," Rapp said, "nothing concrete, but we have a few interesting tidbits. Back in early October, Garret flew to Switzerland for a day."
"Another October surprise." Kennedy was referencing a conspiracy theory which held that the Reagan camp had met secretly with members of the Iranian government and conspired to delay the release of American hostages until after they beat Carter in the 1980 presidential election.
"All we have are the dates of his departure and return. We have no idea who he met with. He did call a bank in Geneva several times before and after the trip, but again we have no idea who he spoke with."
"E-mails?" Kennedy asked.
"We're still trying to track all those down. The guy has at least six different addresses and he must receive and send easily a hundred a day."
"What about Ross?"
"He was in Switzerland last weekend for an environmental summit." Rapp held his white coffee cup by the handle. "Rivera got me the list of the people he met with while he was over there. We cross-referenced it against some of the other data and one name got kicked out: Joseph Speyer."
"Should I know him?" Kennedy asked with a furrowed brow.
"No, but he happens to be the president of the bank in Geneva that Garret called back in October."