"We had dinner, sir," she said, modestly averting her eyes. "And after two martinis and a bottle of wine, Miller made it plain to me that he would: like to enter a personal relationship with me."

"He made a pass at you?" Powell asked.

"Yes, Mr. Director, he did," Patricia Wilson said. "Sir, I'm perfectly capable of dealing with situations like that. But if that's indicative of his behavior:"

"I take your point, Mrs. Wilson," Powell said.

"We can't afford to have people who lose control, sir."

"No, we can't. And you're right about this man Miller being out of control."

"Sir?"

"Apparently, in anticipation of a 'develop further' from you Miller did a five-or six-page filing."

"Really?"

"And then when it became obvious to him that he wasn't going to get a 'develop further' from you, instead of shredding the filing he apparently gave it to this Mr. Charles Castillo, who works for the secretary of homeland security."

"That violates:"

": just about every regulation concerning filings," Powell furnished.

"Yes, it does," Patricia Wilson said, righteously indignant. "Mr. Director, that sort of behavior simply cannot be tolerated!"

"It hasn't been," Powell said. "It won't be necessary for you to request Miller's relief, Mrs. Wilson. I have already relieved him."

She met his eyes.

"What will happen to him?" she asked.

"He goes back to the Army, of course. They'll have to decide what to do with him."

"I see," she said.

"My first reaction was to see that he was disciplined for his breach of security, but, on reflection, I think that an Army service record indicating his relief for cause from a sensitive position and the revocation of his security clearances will be enough punishment."

"I probably shouldn't say this, Mr. Director, but I always feel badly when something like this is necessary."

"I do too," Powell said.

He thought: Especially when I'm going to have to explain this goddamned mess to the president.

[FOUR]

Special Activities Section, J-5

United States Central Command

MacDill Air Force Base

Tampa, Florida

1110 8 June 2005

Master Sergeant Omar Perez, Special Forces, U.S. Army, who was the noncommissioned officer in charge of the Special Activities Section, J-5, looked at the officer standing in front of his desk and rose to his feet as a gesture of respect. Perez-who hated his present behind-desk assignment but had philosophically decided that it was a dirty job that somebody had to do and he had been selected by the fickle finger of fate to do it-didn't always do this, but this guy was obviously no candy ass.

This guy had two Silver Stars, three Bronze Stars, and two Purple Hearts to go with his I-Wuz-There ribbons, plus Master Parachutist's and Senior Aviator's wings. And, of course, he had a green beret in his hand.

"Good morning, sir," Perez said. "How may I help you, sir?"

"Oh, Sergeant," Major H. Richard Miller, Jr., said, smiling. "Would that you could, but I think I better see an officer-a light colonel, at least, and more senior if you have one around. My name is Miller."

"I gather the major does not wish to discuss with me what he wishes to discuss with the most-senior officer I have on tap?"

"The major does not," Miller said. "Who is the most-senior officer you have on tap?"

"Colonel Peter J. Grasher, sir."

"And does the sergeant have any idea what sort of a mood 'Grasher the Gnasher' is in?"

"I would say, sir, that the colonel is in his usual charming mood."

"I was afraid of that," Miller said. "Nevertheless:"

"I'll see if Colonel Grasher is available, sir," Perez said.

Perez went through a door and closed it. Twenty seconds later, it opened. Colonel Peter J. Grasher, a stocky, nearly bald forty-year-old, was standing in it.

"I knew goddamn well something bad was going to happen today," he said. "Get your ass in here, Dick."

"Good morning, sir."

As Miller walked past Colonel Grasher, Grasher draped an arm around his shoulders.

"I was hoping you'd get et by cannibals," he said. "What brings you back here?"

"I have been relieved, sir."

Grasher met his eyes.

Miller is scared, humiliated, or both. What the hell?

"Jesus Christ," Grasher said. He pointed. "Coffee, chair," he said.

"Thank you, sir."

"Haifa cup, half of one of those envelopes of phony sugar," Grasher ordered. "Thank you very much."

Miller poured the coffee, handed a cup to Colonel Grasher, and then sat down.

"Some candy ass in the State Department found out about you sending back-channel stuff?" Grasher asked.

"No, sir. I think I got away with that," Miller said.

"Then what didn't you get away with?"

"There have been no specific charges, sir," Miller said. "I asked the mil-attache, and he said I would be advised 'in due course.' "

I really don't like where this is going.

"What job were you relieved from? The attache job or the agency?"

"Both, sir. And my security clearances have been revoked. He said he had been ordered to 'implement my relief by the ambassador, who also apparently told him to get me out of the country as quick as possible. Which he did. I was on a South African Airways turboprop three hours after Colonel Porter came to my apartment and relieved me."

"A South African Airways turboprop?"

Miller nodded.

"Yes, sir. It was the first plane out. Luanda to Kinshasa in the Congo on the turboprop, then Brussels on Air France-which bothered me: I'm boycotting all things French and I hated to see them getting my tax dollars-then London on another puddle jumper, and then Orlando on a Virgin Airlines 747 full of Disney World-bound tourists. I rented a car in Orlando, drove here, found a motel, took a shower and had a shave, put on my uniform, and came here."

He's being witty. But as much to convince himself he's tough and in charge than to amuse me.

But, Jesus! They must have really wanted him out of there right then! There's all kinds of explaining to do when you have to move an American on a foreign carrier.

Or maybe that's something else the goddamned CIA routinely gets away with.

What the hell did Miller do?

Colonel Grasher held up his hand, palm out, as a signal for Miller to say nothing else for the moment. Then he picked up one of the telephones on his desk.

"Omar, have we had a heads-up on Major Miller? For that matter, have we had anything on Major Miller?"

He listened to the reply and then said, "If anything comes in, get it to me right away."

He replaced the telephone in its cradle.

"Be imaginative, Miller," he said. "Come up with some reason why you might have incurred the displeasure of the CIA, the State Department, and the Defense Intelligence Agency."

"Sir, you have not advised me of my rights to have legal counsel, right? What I tell you will not appear on a charge sheet?"

If he didn't think he was really in the deep doo-doo, he wouldn't have said that.

"Jesus, that bad, huh? Okay. What you say here is forgotten as soon as you say it."

"When that airplane: the: 727?"

Grasher nodded.

": went missing, I sent a satburst suggesting a Russian arms dealer named Aleksandr Pevsner may have had something to do with it:"

"I saw that. The boss showed it to me," Grasher said. "The satburst and, before that, your back channel."

"Sir, I expected I would get a follow-up message, what the agency calls a 'develop further,' so as soon as I had time I did a filing. The 'develop further' never came."

"And?"

"So I suppose what I should have done was shred my filing. But I didn't."

You suppose you should have done? You know goddamn well it should have been shredded.

"Why not?"

"Sir, I thought I was right and I thought that maybe the 'develop further' would come late but that it would come."